I saw the woman again after many years. After a while she saw me.
I was only a hairs breathe from her. It was only a couple days out until xmas.
She was standing neatly amongst the exotic teas surrounded by floral aromas in the St Luke’s tea shop. I remembered her perfectly as a girl from school who
dyed her hair. Sometimes she would wear to much make-up at all when she
really didn’t have too. Her skin was fair even though she was part maori
and enjoyed preforming Kapa-Haka. The last time i saw her face must have
seven years or more ago.
In the interim she had become rather plump, but in the most splendid way.
Her bottom always large in my hazy memory was now enormous easily double
if not triple the size of what i recalled. By the grace of God i swear upon your
beating heart haha I nearly had a heart attack when i saw her turn round.
After a moments with memories performing backstroke in my head I slowly realised
she was wearing a boring grey jersey around her body. She was trying to conceal
maybe even restrain her fine architecturally designed curves.
I almost chuckled, as if a woman alone could hold back the raging tsunami
that was her surging femininity. In many ways the woman reminded me of
a deep crush of mine being Nigella Lawson, except the girl now a woman
was much younger and without a famous name. My thoughts then returned
to her body to which I do feel guilty for sexualising without consent or approval.
Her breasts were round and vast like bumbling twin moons happy and gay in
each others company. Her nose forever her finest feature remained angular
and as lopsided as ever, giving her flare and character, one could never hope to
achieve such asymmetrical beauty with the help of expensive plastic surgery.
My eyes also noticed how her healthy jawline remained intact as well as her
protruding cheekbones that would easily slice the toughest french baguettes like butter.
When she cast her gaze upon me I sensed she was ill at easy. Insecure in her body,
she seemed as if she had been through a taxing war of emotional disappointment since last I saw her. I thought wisely about pouncing on herald making trivial chit chat to try re-establish our paper thin high school connection, but was unsure. She seemed slightly
frightened almost tearful and the last thing i wanted was to bring her dis-comfort.
If i had talked to her, which In hindsight I should’ve had I not been a coward,
i would’ve told her in all sincerity how serenely beautiful she looked the night
before Christmas eve. Perhaps in my drunken state of mind I may have even rabbited
on about how she looked far more stunning than i remembered her all those years ago
as a skittish snot-nosed girl in the eternal bloom of her youth.