The first time I saw Holly, she barely caught my eye. I was talking with Tommy Chambers which is to say I was listening to Tommy Chambers. I turned to see if there were any chocolate chip cookies left on the dessert table and Holly was getting a cup of coffee. Her hair covered her face, but I couldn’t help noticing how she moved her hair over her right ear revealing her cheek. I could feel my posture shift. I just kept watching as her weight shifted from one leg to the other as the coffee filled the cup. She stood up, she paused to look at me before taking a sip. A little drip slipped over her substantially pouty bottom lip and she turned to take cover. I was instantly charmed. Tommy told me to forget about it, but that was just because he knew he didn’t have a chance. I probably scared Holly more than anything else for the remainder of that particular evening. I just kept looking up at her. I can’t even remember if I smiled at her. She smiled at me a few times, but then went back into the huddle. You know the huddle. Women go into the huddle to talk about the boys. Especially if they suspect one is on the prowl, in this case me, they talk and turn him inside out. Women are vicious. I heard Nebraska, I call her Nebraska because I have no clue what her name is. I just heard that she is from Nebraskal. She told Holly that I was always looking at her, at Nebraska. If I ever looked at Nebraska, it was to look through her at something else. What the hell? You women are the same at 33 that you are at 13. I guess that’s why you often she mother’s post on facebook 13 going on 30. Anyway, Holly is clearly special. She wasn’t rich or poor as far as I could tell, but I could tell that her friends wanted to hate her. Yet, they couldn’t. She’s too kind and loving. She has what those pastor-types refer to as the fruits of the spirit, whatever the hell that is. She just has a quality. I’m going to talk to her at some point. Would it be too brash to just approach her and ask her out on a lunch date? I wonder what it is like to hold her delicate, lightly tanned hands. Light brownish hair that leads to a collarbone, I better stop. Somehow, she and Alma have never spoken. I should say, they’ve never had a conversation. Alma just directs her and she does. Something going on there…. Holly’s parents wisely never told her that she is a princess. They watched all the Disney movies and she “played” princess with friends and what not, but she was grounded somehow. She knew she was special, gifted even. Yet, she walked in beauty with daylight casting shadows over the princess-types. She went through a wild time. That was before I got to know her. There were whispers of promiscuity, but that was teacherly-gossip girls that had nothing better to do. I figured she’d tell me the truth if we got to the point of that conversation. Hell, I haven’t even asked her out yet. What if she doesn’t like me? There’s nothing spectacular about me. Nothing. I can already say I love one thing about her. It’s her voice. It’s soothing to just hear her say “You do it like this” when showing a child how to fold a napkin or place a setting or however you put it, a place setting. A beautiful voice she has.
