Monday 10 August 2015

The girl with the referee’s nose




Not this is an archive story that has moved out of place due to editing. Apologies. 
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This short story is brought to you by the author of Maggie's Milkman and Extraordinary Rendition. 
She had a face that was a joy to explore, pale skin, and bright green eyes that changed colour with light. There was a slight chubbiness to the top of her cheeks that gave the impression she was peering out over a mountain. I often think noses are like a good football referee, when they are bad they ruin everything but when they are good they are hardly noticed. Her nose was one of the best refs out there.  I just couldn’t tell how old she was. Smiling took years off her. With the curl of a lip she went from a stern-faced, late-twenties woman to a fresh-faced teenager with a twinkle in her eye. Her green eyes so grey when serious were filled with light and mischief when that smile crossed her pink lips. I couldn't decide which version I preferred, the stern, serious, stare or the, glinting, gleaming grin. Both were beguiling, either could mesmerise me.  
She was telling a story to her travelling companion that made her expression change regularly, one minute earnest the next playful. I couldn’t hear the words but I was hypnotised by them as they danced from her lips. She looked at me and pulled a what are you looking at face. God, I’d been staring again, I been so lost in her beauty I’d forgotten to be subtle while sketching her face with words, I blushed and quickly looked away, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the fascinating face. I wondered how long it could be before I could look back, before I could casually look in her general direction again, pretending to look at something else.
‘Let me see it.’ The voice was angry. I looked, it was her, right in my face, she’d crept up on me like a ninja cat while I was averting my gaze.
‘See what?’ I asked.
‘The picture, you were drawing me. Show me.’
I looked at her, her face fixed in an angry pose, no sign of the twinkle, or the smile. I felt breathless staring into those severe grey eyes. I let the moment linger as the bus pulled up to traffic lights. I could feel the eyes of other passengers on us, but I only had eyes for her.
‘I wasn’t drawing anything’ I said.
‘Prove it!’
My words had been nothing but complimentary but had I overstepped the mark, invading her privacy, somehow objectified her by using her looks to inspire my writing?
I slowly turned my pad around, allowing her to read my words.
I could see her eyes move across the page, her brow furrowed as she digested my description of her.
‘Creep’ she spat the word at me and went back to her friend. I thought it expedient to get off at the next stop, despite it not being mine.

Two days later…
Two days later same bus home and there she was again, alone this time, getting on the bus and looking around for an empty seat. I looked down as soon as I saw her. I'd felt guilty about the whole episode since she'd hissed creep at me. The last thing I'd wanted was to upset her, to objectify her, to make her feel threatened. So I looked down at my phone and hoped she wouldn't notice me.
I could tell by the perfume that it was her who had chosen the seat next to me. Why? There were plenty of free places, why had she sat next to me? I stared at the floor, getting hotter, getting redder, like a schoolboy sat next to a long held crush by a vindictive teacher.
‘I’m 27’
Had she spoken? I still didn't dare look at her. 
‘I’m 27’ she said again.
‘What?’ I said.
‘You said you couldn’t tell how old I was. Well I’m 27.’
I glanced at her, she was staring straight ahead, not looking at me.
‘I see,’ I smiled still not looking at her properly.
‘You’re a creep,’ she said.
 ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you should be, so you bloody should be, do you know what it’s like having men staring at you, undressing you with their eyes.’
‘I was hardly undressing you, just describing.’
‘Still it’s pretty unnerving having someone taking an interest in you like that, it’s creepy.’
‘Why are you talking to me then?’
‘Cos your words got stuck in my head.’
We were still not looking at each other, she staring straight ahead, me down at my feet.
‘So I’m not a creep then?’
‘You’re a nice creep.’
‘Would you consider going for a drink with a nice creep?’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
I sat back a bit disappointed I thought it was going well. I realised we were coming to my stop.
‘I’ve gotta get off.’ I said.
‘See you tomorrow.’ She said, finally looking at me. She was smiling, her eyes twinkling, her face full of light and mischief.
‘Looking forward to it.’ I said and left the bus, a spring in my step.

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7 comments:

  1. the description of the girl's face is superb:) I envy her - it must be nice to have become the object of the author's admiration and fascination:)

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    1. Thank you… have you ever been drawn by an artist when you didn’t know he was drawing you. some people think it is flattering some creepy.

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    2. for me it's flattering:) as I am always attracted to artists, which is against the survival instinct as they are usually short of money and not faithful:)

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  2. Hasn't the author got nothing better to do than staring at strange women on the bus?:)

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    1. Nope, it’s not just women I stare at though. Every face is a potential story, every scene a potential description. :-)

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    2. .... yeye... but a young attractive woman offers a better chance for a story:)

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  3. Although the author is reinforcing his fascination with a woman with a phrase taken from the every artist's slang, he is right.. 'cos Reality is relative as beauty is endless..
    Murder, tragedies and war also offers a better chance to any story and the difference is the beauty from the author's glance :-)

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