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'he's a star
I am not'
And so begin the journey as she walks the valleys and peaks of her dreams.
I blog, I write, I sing, I postwhored at messageboards. And to top it all, I actually live. Or lived, rather.
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Love Him So (Poetry) Why do I love him? [228 words] [Relationships]
'He's a star.
And I am not.'
The distorted version of the very catchy song flashed briefly in her head as he walked in. Her brain scrambled to cover and alter the puny wish that he was finally there to look her in the eye and say something along the line of: "hey, I think I want to share my life with you!" - While every other noise in the cafe faded into oblivion.
"Hi," he said. And the world stopped for her.
"Hi, can I help you," she replied reflexively, flatly.
"Yeah, I'd like a cup of black coffee to go, and a mocha latte, please." he said. She savored the Midwestern lilt of his voice, a unique sound in her Californian neighborhood. She wanted to stare into his brown eyes forever, tracing the sharp, sculpted lines of his face softly for the rest of the day. Heck, she could do it for a living, she thought.
But her realistic instinct kicked, instead. She replied simply cheerily, "Coming up! Would you like a couple of cookies to go with them?" as she ring in his orders, she already know the answer. He would smile and decline, as always, and rush to the cashier to pay his orders, and zoom out to the door before she got her fillings of the sight of him.
He smiled warmly and shook his head. She watched, half mesmerized as a wisp of golden brown hair fell to his forehead. 'His hair is getting long,' she thought.
"No thanks," he said. "That'll be bad for my diet," he suddenly added unexpectedly. She paused and briefly wondered if the celestial order has gone awry. He was sturdily built with the shape that most wannabe starlet in Hollywood would kill - or use illegal means - to have. Unfortunately, instead of a six pack, he has love handles. Nothing overly extensive, just a little paunch that would only be visible if he was slouching.
She could not help a little dig forming in her head, "So you've gone Hollywood and start worshipping the holy weight loss gods? How about a carrot cake, then? It's *very* low fat and healthy," she added to soften the blow a little.
He crinkled his nose and tilted his head to the side. "Holy weight loss gods, that's a good one." he commented softly. "Come to think of it, I am kind of hungry. Do you have anything that doesn't contain carrots and is low fat, anyway?" he asked with a mock-cringe and mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Will oatmeal yoghurt cookies do?" she complied, silently praying that whatever was causing the celestial drifts and his change of moods to keep on working.
"Yeah, alright. I'll take two." he smiled and nodded resolutely. "My wife'll probably kill me on them. But heck, you only live once, right?" he half-sighed, half-questioned.
"Aw, don't worry. They won't hurt your diet," she replied lightly as she packed the cookies. "Besides, it's not like you need one, anyway." she added under her breath, half hoping he had not heard her. "Here you go!" she handed him the small bag of cookies.
"Thank you," he said. "And thank you for saying I don't need a diet," he grinned impishly. She wished the good 'ole San Andreas would shift right about then, split the ground she was standing on, and swallow her whole.
“Weeell…” she drawled slightly, desperately trying to hide her embarrassment. “I don’t think you do, really.” She replied meekly. As if on cue, one of her colleagues lightly elbowed her as she placed his orders on the counter before her. “Oh! Here’s your black coffee and mocha latte.” She handed the items gingerly to him, half hoping that – should life do her good and start imitating art – he would lose his grip on the cup holder’s handles and drop the drinks and then she would have to profusely apologize and the world will stop its track and maybe, just maybe, all of her dreams and daydreams would come true.
But his grip on the handles was good. It was she who nearly let go of the handles as his fingers slightly brushed hers.
“Thank you,” he smiled as he headed toward the cashier.
“You’re welcome, come back again some time!” she piped her standard fare, silently cursing herself for being incredibly lame and wished she had been more witty. Angelina Jolie would have known what to say in a situation like that and bend the impossibilities of the world to possibilities.
He had already taken a bite at one of the cookies on his way to the door when he heard her. He turned around and, with half-chewed cookie in his mouth, winked at her and exclaimed: “Tell whoever made this cookie, for this, I will come back. See ya!” he waved and disappeared out the door.
“Earth calling Ellie, come in, Ellie!” she winced at Martha’s jibe at her.
“Shut up, Marty,” she snapped as Martha snickered.
“Good job on the cookie, though. When will you tell him that you made ‘em?” she continued her teasing.
“Probably never. But that was a life-changing comment enough as it is!” Ellie said defensively.
Martha shrugged. “Sure, but I still think you’re a coward.” She went on.
“What? For not taking credits? For not asking him his name? I already knew his name!”
“Sure. You also know that he is married, right? That ring on his left hand is a seal, girl. They’re not meant to be broken. And by all means, they also meant ‘go away! This man is taken!’ – got it?”
Ellie scoffed. “Oh, sure. And even if I try, he would really walk out of his model-sized wife and come to the laps of the plain ‘ole me. Get over it, Marty. I’m not stupid. And I’m not slutty, either.”
“Will you two stop bickering and get back to work!” a voice from the general direction of the kitchen called. The two girls shrugged and proceeded with their respective jobs.
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© 2007 Outlaw's Serenade
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