Bottoms Up

Ms. Charisma

There was something captivating about her, though I couldn't quite place it. It was like Ms. Charisma had entered the mall. Maybe it was the way her short, messy black hair fell effortlessly yet gorgeous, perfectly framing her face, or the way her thin rimmed, golden glasses sat low on her nose, or simply how short her black miniskirt was. Or maybe it was the way she laughed along with her friends, without a care in the world. She felt magnetic, like everybody around her had the urge to come closer in hopes that her uncanny joyfulness would rub off on them, even just a bit. And it certainly did. Her smile, her laugh, even her confident strut seemed contagious.

I stumbled and fell over the second she walked passed me, of course, and she actually stopped. She turned back towards me and told me how totally clumsy she could be, and how sorry she was. I just stood there with my tongue practically hanging out of my mouth. I rambled on about how I'm totally fine and it totally wasn't her fault until she smiled, turned back and walked away. I had passed up my change to do anything even remotely memorable because I, once again, didn't know how to communicate to the human race. 
But I wasn't ready to give up on Ms. Charisma just yet. I had overheard one of her friends yell Brooklyn when she told a punny joke, so at least I had a name and absence of humor to fantasize about.
I went home that night and searched Brooklyn pretty girl in Instagram, Twitter, and even google for loss of a better lead. Scrolling though thousands of results, I concluded that it was hopeless. You couldn't actually ever find her, I told myself as I turned my phone off and pulled my blanket over my body. And besides, she would never fall for a girl like you.