I don't think she knew I saw her. I did. She was sitting outside of the Econ 213 class on that bench that looks like it's about to fall over if you don't sit on it in just the right way. I guess she knows what that way is because she was sitting on it indian style. Her head was bent over a book. Something big and complicated looking. I was half hiding behind the soda machine, hoping to observe her for as long as possible.
She wore these perfect jeans. They weren't trendy, but they weren't out of style, they were her jeans. She wore some sort of red vintage shirt, I couldn't tell what it said. Probably something like "Elon Elementary Pee Wee Baseball Championship". She wore a black cardigan over that. Her long dark hair was pulled up and twisted into this messy bun held with a #2 pencil. She seemed engrossed in her book, but every now and then the sides of her mouth would curl up in a smile and she would turn a page. A strand of hair fell out and she pushed it back into the twist with an absent gesture.
If you saw this girl on the street, you probably wouldn’t look twice. She would pass you while pushing up her thick rimmed glasses and you would pass her off as another indie rock wannabe. But she’s not trying to be indie rock or grunge or geek or prep. She can’t be put in a box like that. If you really looked at her, you would see that she’s intellectually drop dead gorgeous. Her mind exudes such a beauty and presence that when she enters a room, you start to worry that she’ll talk to you. You start to think of things you can say to her to make her laugh or consider you at least one step above a neanderthal.
It’s like sitting beside a super model and all you can focus on is that big zit right on the end of your chin. The super model is nice, she likes you even, but you blow the whole conversation because you’re focusing on the zit and not just being yourself.
She is charming and smart and beautiful and I am hiding behind the coke machine.
Doors begin to open on the hallway as it fills up with students. It’s time to change classes. I have to walk by her. I step out into the vending machine light and walk forward. She raises her head a little and glances at me over her glasses. She smiles. It’s such a secret smile that it startles me and I just pass her by. I count three steps and turn back to look at her. She is bent over her book again, but she is still smiling secretly to herself. Perhaps she is still smiling to me. Maybe she thinks I am intellectually drop dead gorgeous.