A Plate of Spaghetti
You found her in the bookstore.
Cuddled up in the far corner behind a wooden shelf sitting in a cream colored arm chair. Her hair glows in the sunlight that streams in from the storefront window. She’s lost in her imagination as she flips the pages of the book that is cradled in her lap.
She bites her bottom lip and leans in closer. She squints her eyes and shakes her head slowly.
You can’t help but watch her intently. You find it cute how she focuses on each page and you are drawn to the smatter of freckles right above her lip. Just then, she lifts the book a bit higher to get a second look. The cover shows that it is a guide to Italy.
All of the sudden you’re sitting outside a café. At a table sitting across from her. She twirls her fork in her spaghetti and you can smell the deliciously sweet tomato sauce as she raises her fork. She slurps and a bit of sauce lands above her lips. She giggles as you lean forward to wipe it off for her.
That perfect pattern of her freckles makes you smile back.
You both laugh as you raise your glass of red wine to take a sip.
You take in your surroundings; the street lamps of the piazza create a soft glow that makes her skin look stunning. The light from the moon is reflecting off of the cobblestone to give the night a spectacular glow. The outdoor seating of the café is filled with beautiful Italian people, but you can only see her. She says your name and you turn to her. She smiles at you and in that moment you are overwhelmed by her beauty. Her teeth that aren’t perfectly straight but give character to her smile. Her long chestnut hair that curls perfectly in all the right places is now softly blowing in the breeze. But it’s her piercing green eyes that make you forget about everything around you.
She points to your untouched plate and you look down to see that you haven’t eaten a bite of your food. You begin to dig in, but as you bring the first bite to your lips you look up. You are back in the bookstore. She is still in the corner reading her book. She smiles at something that she read. But before you get the nerve to talk to her, she stands up. She places the book back on the shelf and walks down the aisle to the door. You want to follow her but you don’t know what you would say.
You take the same book off of the shelf and open it to a random page. And right there on the page you opened the book to, is a picture of the same perfect night you just dreamed of, in a piazza, at a café, with a plate of spaghetti.
Melissa Libbey is a recent graduate with her MA in English and Writing Studies. She is also the first intern (turned Senior Editor) for Sick Lit Magazine. When she isn’t writing or reading, she can be found drinking wine while petting her dog. She has also been published on Thought Catalog, Kean Xchange and her twitter: @Miss_Libbey16