Incident Three:
Where They Meet
Fennel Richmoney was not the type of girl who thought she was attractive, or that anyone else might mistake her to be. But she did have a certain way about her that made people warm to her. Her little laugh after each sentence. Her quick blinking whenever she listened intently. The way she smiled whenever someone said her name. They liked her, she realised, without ever wanting to really get to know her any better.
Now on the wrong side of thirty, she learned to keep to herself. Her skin was light, her complexion faded, and her hair always seemed lifeless, but there was a sparkle in her blues eyes that hinted at a personality full of life.
It was a hint that no one answered. No one seemed to be interested to take the time to look into her eyes. No one, it appeared, wanted to get that close to her. Of those people who knew her, they only knew bits and pieces. It was fair to say, the only living things in the world that fully understood her, or even seemed to genuinely like her, were her cats.
Bennet first took an interest in Fennel when she started passing his cubicle on her way to the copy room. One time she passed, their eyes met for just the briefest of times. He had no idea how to tell her that he was not like most other men, how he believed that personality outweighed beauty, and the real essence of the person was what made them attractive. It was an opinion he had learned to keep to himself, since everyone he had ever shared it with ridiculed him; both men and women. Unlike Fennel, Bennet didn’t have any cats to fully understand him.
It took him two weeks to discover her name. At first he was unsure if Fennel was her first or last name. He hoped it was her first name, since he liked it and it seemed to suit her. Then he started to worry that he had never heard of anyone with such a name, and if it was a sign that she might be a little bit odd. That thought vanished once he realised that his name was a little bit funny too.
Whenever he saw her again, he tried to make eye contact, or say something to gain her attention, but there was always someone else there, in the way, to distract her. Still feeling elated from his recent floating, he was confident to not wait for her to pass him. He would instead go and find her and pass her, and even say something to her. He did not plan what to say, and hoped something interesting might pop into his head and he could capture her imagination.
He went out from his cubicle and looked for her through the large room. No one noticed him as he searched the faces. With each step he felt his feet getting lighter, and every now and then he needed to stop and take hold of a desk or door, to make himself feel grounded. If he didn’t know better, he would go ahead and float up in front of everyone, and they would be forced to take notice. No more would he be the unnamed faceless guy who was tucked away in an unfashionable cubicle, stuck to a phone all day. In truth, the only one he really wanted to impress was Fennel, and he preferred better surroundings to do that in.
And there she was, coming down the hall, and no one else was with her. She had a worried look and she acted like he wasn’t there. He started toward her. She looked at him, then away, and seemed focused on passing him.
“Nice weather, don’t you think?” he asked with his most pleasant voice.
“What?” she asked, not expecting him to speak, not thinking that she may need to stop walking.
“The weather. Nice. Don’t you think?”
“Don’t I think what?” she asked as she stopped and gave him a pained expression. She looked around at the nearby cubicles to try to see what department she was in.
“About the weather?” he repeated, noticing that her face needed better makeup. She seemed annoyed at him for stopping her, and that did not make her look the way he remembered her. He felt like there was a weight on him, as the reality in front of him was not the one he had imagined. She really wasn’t that attractive up close. There was no other way around it; she was definitely one girl who needed to be appreciated solely for her personality.
“Don’t I think about the weather?”
“I’m Bennet,” he said, trying to change the conversation and perhaps make her lighten her mood, and with it perhaps her appearance.
“I’m busy,” she said as she hurried away from him, and he thought he heard a huff of disapproval.
He went back to his desk and considered what his own appearance was like, and how she saw him. He was neither tall nor handsome. His bland light brown hair was getting thin, and over the last few years his body was becoming portly. He could never grow any decent facial hair, and a large mole decorated his left ear. His eyes were the type that no one was sure if they were hazel or light green, and sometimes he didn’t really know either.
He leaned back in his chair and looked over the prospective clients he that needed to call, in an attempt to forget about her. It occurred to him that trying to fly may be easier than trying to befriend Fennel, or any other woman.