I think I’ll just sit here. If I lean my back against this tree I can appear relaxed. If there is enough time I can seem to be as relaxed as I feel tense inside.
It is quite nice here, I’m glad I chose this spot to be our place. The energetic stream that rushes past not only adds a pleasing counterpoint to the incessant buzz of the insects that inhabit this bank, but also gives a slight coolness to the air that the reluctant breeze seems to be unable, or perhaps, is unwilling to provide. Hopefully it will keep the crisp white shirt I have chosen to wear from sticking to me. Even though I am sure I have just felt a trickle of nervous perspiration rolling down my spine. It always happens, at the slightest thought of approaching and speaking to her. Every time I see her passing by I end up as though a small but sodden cloud had disgorged itself of its moisture and thrown every last drop in my direction. With an unerring aim that cupid himself would be proud of and, which would guarantee it a place in the university cricket 1st XI.
I hope the book I have decided upon, after much soul searching and wringing of hands, gives the right impression. I wanted it to make me appear intelligent and manly, but also leave her thinking I was a sensitive soul. Not that it would be a false conclusion of course. I don’t want to start the rest of our lives together with a lie. It was going to be the “rest of our lives” after all. Hence the need for the meticulous planning. It mustn’t even cross her mind that my only thought was to ensnare her heart, steal her innocence, and then cast her aside without a care or thought as to what comes after.
Not my only thought.
Although the first part is of course true, I can’t deny that my intention is to take her heart and put it with mine. The second is also true enough and I think only natural for a man and a woman in love. The last is as beyond my capabilities as it would be for me to walk up the side wall of that sandstone building opposite and seat myself against the protruding flag pole, in the same manner that I have used the willow behind me.
She will pass by soon. As she has a thousand times before. But, this time it will end differently. The book of Blake’s verse that I will be reading as I rise from my recumbent position, which she will without question have noticed, and which I will be so intent upon as our paths cross. So much so that I will brutishly career into her and become distraught with remorse, to the point that I will apologetically insist upon buying her a cup of tea, to make restoration, in the small tea room attached to the bandstand a few yards away. The string quartet murmuring under the ornate cast iron filigree of the freshly painted roof will work its magic, as I earnestly apologise once more, no matter how unnecessarily she thinks it.
A man can never appear too polite and caring.
I have to get the timing just so…
*
I wonder if he will be there? He thinks I haven’t noticed how his eyes never leave me as I walk passed. Twice every day. I’ll soon know. Just around this corner. Yes, there he is underneath that willow. Sitting rigidly relaxed, reading that book with a ferocity that I swear can only end up with him boring two holes in the stupid thing.
Is he ever going to speak to me? Two months now and I still don’t even know what his voice sounds like. I’m sure it must be deep and rich with well enunciated vowels. I couldn’t bear it if he cut short his words with some sort of clipped whine which sounded like an old worn out jalopy being coaxed into starting on a cold winters morning. There I go again, what would it matter what he spoke like. He looks so dashing in his bright red bowtie and gleaming straw boater. If his speech is too offensive I will just not let him talk in front of my friends and family. Easy enough to accomplish, my father always says that I could talk for England and that he feels sorry for any man willing to pay that high a price for my company.
Daddy is such a tease.
Oh, he’s just leapt up as if he has found he was sitting on an ants nest. No, no I must try not to laugh. He is certainly setting a cracking pace across the lawn. It looks for all the world as if he intends to ram me like an enemy destroyer. I must pretend I haven’t noticed him. I wouldn’t want to scupper his plans no matter how absurd they may be. The poor lamb, two months planning and this is the best he can come up with? I’d best get ready to repel all boarders I think. The speed he’s going when we do meet it will be such a collision he will have to do the decent thing and marry me.
I must hurry or he will glide straight passed at right angles and never the twain shall meet. The poor boy, he seems so desperate. Trying so hard not to look where he is going and keeping that book up in front of his face. How on earth does he think he is going to catch a girl carrying on that way…
…no matter how much she wants to be caught.
Here we go!
A Life On The Shelf 