Josephine
“You always dress so well,” is what she said to me. Josephine and I had been friends for only a short period of time; yet, she made it a personal point to tell me when I resembled Steve McQueen. Perhaps it was because I looked like a slob eighty percent of the time, perhaps it was ulterior in motive...perhaps I’m thinking wishfully. In any case, it was a compliment; something that I did not receive often enough. “Thank you, you’re not too harsh on the eyes yourself.” Her teeth, always ever so pristine, grinned faintly; in a manner similar to what you see in films from the Forties; the ones where the woman tries to hide her smile as if it will insult someone. “Stop it, I’ll blush.” She states this as if it’s a bad thing. I’d be telling a falsity if I said I never wanted something more of Josephine. Not only am I shy and reserved...I’m taken. By Jo-Jo’s - a name we use to tease Josephine often; cousin none the less.
It was the classic case of untimely circumstance, you know those. Those instances where you begin to date someone seriously, and poof, out of the blue comes someone more fitting for you. Something about the air of the room when they walk in...it gets rather light, it has a strange hue even. Azure, for me. At that first small social gathering the Azure was deeper than a European sky, and from across the room I noticed Josephine. As beautiful as ever, hiding that smile...the same smile that I’ve told her time and time again that she should show off. She pays me no mind. The party was rather drab, not much memorable about it...other than Josephine. She wore a yellow dress, red flat shoes, and her curly locks of hair rested on her collar. I don’t even remember what I wore that night...jeans, loafers...something rather banal I can assume. There was nothing normal about her...in the least. I often wonder if Josephine feels the same way as I do.
Sure we flirt, but it’s all harmless. At least I feel so. Teasing, play fighting, knocking over ice cream cones...you’d think we were five years old the way we act in public. And to be honest, I think that’s what attracts me to her. The fact that I'm so childlike around her; at ease. It’s as if the only thing that matters in that moment is sprinkles or no sprinkles...Strawberry or Vanilla. Sometimes I say with such resolve in the morning, “Today will be the day. The day that you tell her how you feel.” Even stare myself down in the mirror...but it never happens. I doubt it ever will to be honest. And I’m perfectly fine with that. Why spoil it...if it’s meant to be, I’m sure serendipity will intervene.
One day, we’ll be coming from the pier...and it’ll start to rain...heavily. We’ll run, but the closest place will be my...no, her apartment. We’ll wait it out. Laugh more, she’ll dry off and her locks will retain a small amount of water, slowly dripping on to the linoleum in the kitchen. She’ll make us tea. With honey. Not too sweet, not too bland...perfect. We’ll share a blanket, play fight, and that’s how it’ll happen. We’ll recognize that we’re both out of line...but neither of us will stop it...and just like that, her Yellow Dress and Red Flats...my Loafers and Jeans... The room will be the deepest azure. She’ll look at all the articles tied in a boondoggled knot on the wooden floor of her living room and say, “You always dress so well.” To which, I’ll reply “Thank you, you’re not too harsh on the eyes yourself.” And we’ll both laugh......only this time, she won’t sheath her smile.
