Followers

Mighty Jacksparrow is an Earth-based sub-intergalactic blogger who enjoys writing and in the same time entertaining his ever-amusing will-kill-to-read fans with sensationally hilarious and at times dramatic musings. This blog offers endless ideas and results; they might be charming most of the times but could be offending in some others. Therefore, it is always noble to remind that if you enjoy the pieces, carry on reading, but if they upset you, do quietly leave like the evening breeze and not like exploding diarrhea, which exactly what you will look like if you ever lose it on me. Enjoy! :D

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Blinding Farah


"Are you blind?"

The evening wind was rather chilly there at one of the patio located just a few walks from the main restaurant. The clouds were thick with moisture, signifying that the rain was about to fall any minute then. In my full view was the Clubhouse lake and at somewhere further was the breathtaking views of the bluish mountains. At a closer distance to me was a round table with two plates, each held a salami sandwich and three honey pancakes, and next to them were a full pot of freshly-brewed coffee, a pot of sugar, a pot of fresh milk and two equivalent-looking white porcelain cups. And next to all this was a woman.

"Nazmi," she said. "Tell me, are you?"

I took a look at her, with such indifferent face expression, while my hand was still holding my head with my elbow against the armrest, two of my fingers resting against my cheek and my thumb playing with the surfacing hairs under my chin. She looked delicately gorgeous, especially when the evening wind blew her long, wavy hair along its way across her fair-skinned face. That long nose and stunningly beautiful and moist lips made me anchored my eyes for quite some time. Her hazel eyes and her perfect eyebrows completed it all. In a way, she is something that you get when you put Diana Danielle, Zooey Deschanel and Gloria Estefan together and form another person. My God, I said, look at precisely what Thou have had granted me today, hallowed be Thy name.

"Why did you say so?" I asked her.

She stared at me for a while. A bit uncomfortable from what appear to be completely penetrating stare, I poured some coffee into my cup and sugar and milk followed, and soon I made a proposition to her a cup of coffee too, from which she said no. Strange, just how she invited me for a cup of coffee right after work at the golf resort but hesitated to actually have any of it.

"I can't believe that you are still single," she said. "I mean, there are a lot of people around you, women, see? Women who like you."

It sure did take a while for me to reply.

"Well of course, Farah, yes," I said. "Of course there are women around me, who like me and the likes."

"So what seems to be the problem? Why, you afraid to love again?"

"Not specifically. Why would you say that?"

"Look at you," she said as she leaned back to her chair and crossed her arms. "You have almost everything a guy your age does not."

"Aha," I cut into her speech and raised my eyebrows. "Almost."

"That's not the point," she replied. "I just don't get it why."

"Why would you try so hard to know?"

"Curiosity."

"That kills the cat?"

"Precisely." She lifted both her hands backward over her shoulders to tie up her hair, showing those bare fair and silky arms pointing directly at me. When at work Farah always wear that jacket that covers everything in between her neck and her waist, and to actually see her in baby-tee like at that moment was always a rarity. Then she reached my hand that was resting on the table and placed her fingers in between mine. They fit.

"Poor you," she said, her concerned eyes poked into mine as she brushed her fingers against mine. "All you need is love."

"Maybe. But I am at the clear at the spur of the moment. Love to me will be the very least of my concern."

I pulled my hand back and placed it on my hip. The warm feeling instantly disappeared, replacing the sensation with the usual coldness.

"And," I continued, "I do not have a specific victim that I significantly have in mind to even begin with if I ever decided to love again."

She cheerfully chuckled to that.

"You are indeed blind, young man."


* * *


And here I am sitting before my monitor trying to fully understand her last (at least the worthy and memorable last) sentence - "You are indeed blind, young man." A few of the very first attempts, all of them actually, had failed to supply me with sufficient information as to decode her quite a challenging message.

And then it suddenly occurred to me.

Blind is when one is not able to see. But I can see. To say that I am blind means that I am spectacularly blind to some certain things that were in my views but somewhat were not fully or at all noticed by my peripheral vision. And one of these things was her.






"God damnit, Farah."


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