Her eyebrows looked like two worms– bait worthy for catching trout, and her smile was like a bag of marshmallows—soft and gooey, sweet even.
I couldn’t stop watching her piercing green eyes that made it hard to notice the other pieces of her collected self. A hat would have helped the frizzy hair, but for some reason it made the worms less noticeable, and the combination somehow became instantaneously beautiful.
I had a thing for quirky girls and girls who liked rain boots with shorts. Or cowboy boots. Or really any boots at all.
She answered one word with a smile as big as a grapefruit.
Only she said it long. Haaat-fiellllddd.
She said it in her best southern drawl.
Then her smile curved up– the marshmallows lined up nicely framing her pointed chin.
“Going to Cooks house. You comin?”
“Who all’s over there?” she asked.
“The usual hangers.”
She kicked a rock into a puddle, her polka-dotted pink boots skipped toward the sidewalk and up the hill.
“Why don’t we go somewhere else?”
“Like where Kat?”
She bit the bottom of her lip and tossed a frizzy curl out of her eye.
I was losing my patience.
“I don’t know. Her eyes batted. I was just thinking about an ice cream cone or Chinese food.
Thinkin about slippery rocks by the river and moss-covered stones drinking up the earth. Noticing a firefly—a butterfly, or a bee stealing nectar.
I want to dance Hatfield.”
She kicked her heel up behind her.
“I want to fly a kite.”
She moved her arms like a rainbow satin tail of brilliance tied by a string.
“I want to soar.”
She grabbed her imaginary umbrella and like Mary Poppins, she was perfectly perfect for me.
I smiled from a place that held emotions. She was thawing out my frozen limbs and trunk. My heart of stone.
“Hatfield, I want to live!”
She said it as if I never had before, and with a certainty I took her hand and we skipped all the way down to the Baskin Robbins counter.
“What will it be?”
“I’ll have very berry strawberry, she said.
The pink ice cream atop the cone matched her polka dot boots and her strawberry heart.
I ordered superman flavor, hoping that I could acquire the strength to remove my cape and completely be myself in the presence of such a beautiful woman created by an amazing Creator.
He seemed to be whispering to my spirit, “Live Hatfield. Live!”
And I will.