Charmed, I'm Sure

She walked casually into the room with a dirty coffee cup in her hands and a clear intention of washing it in the communal sink. I sat on a beat-up couch a few metres away, attached to my guitar. I gave her a friendly nod as her gaze passed through me.

I had seen her many times before around the dorm, since she roomed just down the hall from me. She seemed quiet, like me. Although my quiet was a diffident one, and hers was more superior, as if she had better things to do than return my friendly nod. She moved with such deliberateness that her ignoring me almost seemed forced. So I started to play an unassuming folk song.

She turned on the hot water and began to rinse her cup. The rushing water created a sound barrier, encouraging me to play louder.

For quite some time, she stood there, washing the cup with orange scented Palmolive and the scolding hot water; its vapour rising and then disappearing as she inhaled. And still, I played. I made sure to play my best, but she didn’t even flinch.

Finally, she turned off the tap. I perceived an instant of hesitation! Her eyes flickered to me and her hands nearly fumbled the coffee cup. It matched the denouement perfectly, as the guitar softened, and the song trailed to its end. But she swiftly overcame it, and walked gracefully out of the room, just as she had entered.

“What does it matter?” I thought, “She isn’t that pretty anyways.”

Moments later, I was still sitting on the couch, and had begun playing something gutsier. She walked by the room again—but there! There is was! A smirk or a smile; which one and for what particular reason, it didn’t matter. It was emotion.

I considered standing up and following her, but I dared not. I figured that I had to stay in character: a boy with a Kleenex box; elastic band strings; toilet paper roll, like when I was five.

She returned within a few minutes, entered the room, and sat beside me. She did all of this while keeping eye contact, and with a box of sugary cereal in hand.

I stopped playing instantly. My breathing was hardly existent and I was now completely aware of my every move. I could feel my nerves squirming beneath my skin and a red rising in my cheeks.

She opened the box, took a handful of dry cereal and ate it. Then she spoke, directing the box to me, her voice smooth as honey, or small, white clouds. “Lucky Charms?”

I cleared my throat, and wiped the daze off my face, searching for perfect response. “No,” I answered coolly, attempting to play her game.

I took another moment to think of something witty to say, but she quickly closed the cereal box and stood up. She made her way to the door and I hastily reconsidered my reply.

“No, wait!” I cried.

She stopped and turned to face me with a blank stare that seemed to be laughing. I felt like such an idiot.

“I meant,” I started, in hopes of redemption, “I meant to say that I don’t like it dry.”

She smirked in the slightest, and said “I do.”

And that was it; she left.

But what did it matter? She wasn’t that pretty anyways.