When I say my courage has been building, it wasn’t quite ready for what happened today.
I began my day like any other Friday morning, meeting in the cafeteria with my colleague and closest human friend, Madeleine Lewitt. She and I were classmates in medical school, although we didn’t really come to know one another very well until entering internship. The three years of combined internship and residency are an intensive and sometimes harrowing introduction to the practice of medicine. Co-residents tend to commiserate and keep each other bolstered, forming bonds that only such a uniquely shared experience can bring. Although we have little contact outside the workplace, Madeleine and I can chat for hours on everything from hair care products to medical board examinations to movies, music, and men.
We were in the midst of our typical chatter, just sitting down to our usual corner table, when I caught a glimpse through the window of a couple having coffee at one of the bistro tables out on the plaza. Madeleine was in the midst of relating her weekend plans, but in that moment I honestly wasn’t paying any attention. My aforementioned courage was abruptly snuffed when my eyes took in the shockingly gorgeous woman sitting across from Eric.
She was slender but very shapely, with long layered dark brown hair and high-arching eyebrows accentuating her bright blue eyes. She wore a form-fitting black sweater and pencil skirt with long, porcelain legs extending down to her black patent heels.
She was like something out of a fashion magazine.
Eric leaned in toward her to whisper something in her ear, and they both broke into raucous laughter, like giddy schoolchildren. It was the most animated I had ever seen him. When she laughed, her red lipstick contrasted perfectly against her brilliant white teeth. I felt an instantaneous jolt of resentment toward her, detesting the way she casually stroked his forearm as she spoke. It was immediately followed by the realization that I was a pathetic fool.
What on Earth had made me think that he was single?
My trance was broken by the sudden gap in Madeleine’s dialogue, as she realized I was lost in thought. I sheepishly apologized for my inattention, but Madeleine knows me well enough to recognize the look of distraction on my face. I stammered in an attempt to fabricate an explanation for the tears welling up in my eyes, grumbling that I had burned my tongue on the hot tea. But my recovery came a moment too late—she had already followed my line of sight and raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Who knew that Eric Moran has himself a supermodel girlfriend?” After a moment of careful inspection, she turned back toward me with a smirk.
“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” I tried to hide the repulsion in my voice.
“I wonder who does her hair, it’s amazing.” As if I hadn’t already taken notice of that nauseating fact. “Well, I guess it’s no surprise…He is gorgeous,” she said. Without giving it any further thought, she moved on to another subject.
I tried to divert my attention away from the happy couple, forcing myself to focus on the conversation with Madeleine. It was hard to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I couldn’t help but notice as they stood to leave, embracing with a tender hug. He walked beside her, gently guiding her forward with his hand on the small of her back, until they rounded the corner and were out of my view. I was at least relieved that they hadn’t kissed goodbye. My stomach was in such a knot, I surely would have lost my breakfast.
I gave it my best to get through the rest of the day, but my mind kept wandering back to the mysterious woman who had stolen the man of my dreams. I tried to reason with myself—I barely knew him, how could he possibly be the love of my life? And clearly she hadn’t stolen him from me…He was never mine to steal.
Try as I might to forget the whole ordeal and accept defeat, I kept mentally comparing myself to this divine goddess. I have already alluded to the significant contrast between her flowing locks of radiantly shiny hair and the mess of wayward waves I battle every morning (Have I made it clear I’m not a fan of my hair?).
The only feature I despise more than my hair would be my ears. I must say, I didn’t get a good look at hers, but I would bet my life they are nothing to rival mine…
Oh, how I loathe my ears—all pointy on the top like elves of lore. Not quite Santa’s-little-helper style, but close enough.
My sister has a faint but conspicuous peak to her charmingly delicate ears. The kind of feature that is easily overlooked in an otherwise gorgeous woman, almost adding to her feminine allure. I on the other hand am particularly well-endowed with an obvious sharp point to the tips of these cursed abominations adorning the sides of my head.
And cosmetic surgery really isn’t an option. If the comparatively tough, fibrous tissues didn’t give me away, the bright orange blood would certainly get their attention. So I am resigned to keeping my bangs just long enough to sweep to the sides and conceal the evidence.
I am quick to point out my faults, but there are attributes for which I am grateful. My facial features are relatively attractive—round, clear blue eyes…a dainty, slightly upturned nose…full lips with a narrow chin. The net result is a feminine, almost childlike appearance. Despite my many years, I can easily pass for a human woman in her thirties.
I am fairly petite, standing five and a half feet tall—a bit small by Onontian standards—but with long, lithe dancer’s limbs. I have studied ballet for a number of years, and generally enjoy all things athletic; but I must admit there is a healthy portion of good genetics that comes into play.
All the same, I know without a doubt it is hopeless to expect I could ever distract Eric away from his own personal Miss Universe. I saw the love in his eyes as he hung on her every word, while I sank back into the loneliness I have always known.