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Blue Eyes and Freckles

Harrison Linklater Abbott

    There was this American girl I used to study with in university and she had red hair and blue eyes and freckles and I was Scottish and had black hair and a prominent brow and sturdy cheekbones and she tried to flirt with me on several occasions – or rather she did flirt with me many times (during tutorials, when she’d sit next to me), and I really wanted her too and fantasised and thought about her endlessly, but, umm, she was four years older than me and just way too attractive, extroverted, too intimidating: all of that brazen physical beauty and something about the prowess of the U.S.A. – it was too much and I couldn’t deal with it and I remember in the second year her coming/walking/trotting/diddling/dallying down the campus towards me, along the cobblestone roads, the handsome merry pretty tingly campus road which connected with an alleyway which led up to the library and we were both heading there and we’d just finished a lecture (we studied psychology) and the alley was totally perfect and picturesque and I really wanted to say Hi to her and talk about what we’d just learned in the class and she was wearing these brown boots and playing with her orange hair and there was every chance to make the initial cue ... but instead I let her walk on ahead of me and watched her body continue up the lane and then it faded away as she met one of her friends and stopped and chatted and I never came into contact with her ever again and I still think about what could’ve happened if I’d just been brave enough to say hello, she had such an astonishing face.



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