It is true, what they say about seeing your true love for the first time; it is as if you are seeing the sun for the first time. You've been walking this earth a blind man, and she brought you into light. You look at her and everything suddenly makes sense. She is your reason and your life.
This moment happened for me about eight months ago, at a barbeque. There I was, licking sticky sauce off my fingers, when there she was. She did not shine as bright as the sun; she was the sun! Standing there, in her blue dress, the full skirt coming to just above her knees and the bustier shaping her hourglass figure nicely, she was sipping on a cold glass of iced tea. Oh, how I desperately wished that I was the straw she was bringing to her lips!
Her long, spiral curls were covered in an iridescent shade of fiery orange-red that contrasted with and framed her porcelain face that was shaped like an expensive golden locket. Her wide eyes were bright blue orbs set deeply into their sockets, yet they were so outstanding and captivating that it was as if they were protruding abnormally. Her full lips were a shade of juicy red, as if she had glided a fresh strawberry over top of them.
I knew that I could never talk to her. She is too beautiful and I am too shy. I am weak and vulnerable to my overpowering feelings. I kept a close eye on her the entire time, watching her interact with her friends and neighbors, who were now also my friends and neighbors. I had just moved and the barbeque was an end of summer, welcome-to-the-neighborhood event.
I remember the first time we made eye contact. How glorious it was to have those baby blue eyes looking directly into mine! It was as if they had a power of their own, because suddenly I felt myself walking towards her without conscious effort. My legs moved but I couldn't feel them at all. She drew me to her with a single look!
It was as if she was aware of her powers, because she looked at me and smiled that smile that magical women smile; the kind of smile where they know they've already got you wrapped around their red-polished fingertips. Before I could say a word (not that I would have been able to) she told me that her name was Rose, and she held out her hand for me to shake. My mind had no control over my body, but I was not complaining because the moment I touched her soft and silky hand, I knew with overbearing assurance that she was the one for me.
"My name is Robert," I managed to sputter.
I could say nothing after that moment. That tiny sentence took all the breath out of me. She told me that it was nice to meet me, and then she went off to be with one of her lady friends, a stout brunette with chunky thighs and breasts that bulged out of her top, trying to escape to fresh air and free space.
There was no dancing at this party, yet the way Rose walked and carried herself was a dance all in its own. I was desperate to be her partner.
We met several times after that barbeque. The grocery store, the movie theater, the park-she was everywhere in this small town! And although it is a small town, I knew that our repeated meetings were a sign of fate. Each time we saw each other, Rose would wave to me. How my heart leaped inside its suffocating cavity, the beats increasing rapidly until I was sure that I would have a heart attack or my heart would just rip itself out of my chest.
It took me several weeks of waving to get the courage to speak to her again. She glowed with pure radiance and astronomical beauty; how could a man like me have a chance with her? She was always surrounded by her friends, who seemed to be dim-witted and dopey dropouts. I had no idea why she associated herself with them. She was far too intelligent.
The first time I caught her alone was on a rainy Friday night, which was unusual because she was always with her friends at this time. But I was not complaining!
"You shouldn't be walking home alone at night, especially with this rain," I said to her as I pulled up in my car and rolled down the window. Her eyes widened when she saw me. I just knew she felt the same way I did!
It took some persuading to get her to agree to let me take her home. And for good reason; a woman as beautiful as her is bound to attract a few crazy men. A woman can never be too careful when walking the streets alone.
I caught her scent of wildflowers and fresh daisies when she closed the passenger door and clicked her seatbelt. I had to remind myself how to drive a car. I asked her all sorts of questions to fill the silence. Does she like music? Who are her favorites? What is she studying in school? Is she seeing anyone? I hope not! She's too beautiful for any pathetic boy. She needs a man, like me.
Instead of taking her home, I asked her to my house. It's only a block down from hers and not out of the way at all. I was overjoyed when she said yes! Anything can happen when a woman accepts an invitation inside. This will be the night that she becomes mine, I'm sure of it!
Having Rose in my house for the first time was equal to inviting the Queen over for dinner, only for her to arrive and see that you live in a shack. Nothing I had was good enough for her and she knew it. She wouldn't even sit on my couch when I invited her to sit. She refused a cup of tea when I first offered, but eventually agreed, out of politeness I assume. After our tea, she finally agreed to let me show her something down in the basement. It was a piece of art I was working on, and surely someone with her intelligence would be able to properly critique it.
She yawned on the way down the stairs and it was the most beautiful yawn anyone could ever yawn, if beautiful yawns are such a thing.
"Getting tired are we?" I asked her.
As soon as her pretty little feet, dressed in their kitten heels, touched the bottom of the basement steps, I knew that from this moment, she would be mine, and only mine, forever.
And that brings me to today, when I am telling you this story, the story of how I met and fell in love with the most beautiful and unattainable girl in the world.
"That's right, Robert," you told me. "She was just a girl. A sixteen year-old girl whom you raped and murdered in your basement and buried in your backyard. You were not in love with her; you were obsessed with her, Robert. Everyone could see it, especially Rose. The report says you stalked her everywhere-the grocery store, the movie theater, the park-her friends are witnesses. You watched her every move; that's how you knew that she would be alone that night, and the weather was just a coincidence that worked in your favor."
I love her so much! I was doing her a favor. This world was too cruel for her. She belongs as an angel in the world above, not in this pit of hell with us swines.
"Spin the story however you want, Robert. There's overwhelming evidence against you, from the hundreds of pictures you drew of her right down to the way your beady little eyes objectified her. I'm not taking your case. You're an evil man," you spat, and promptly walked out of the holding cell.
Evil? I'd say genius.
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