The first time I saw him was back in first semester when me
and my friend were walking to lectures one morning. A bright bundle of orange
hair came and tapped my friend on the shoulder. She said hi and they exchanged a
few pleasantries and I was introduced to him. He is one of those who stands out
in a crowd and leaves an impression on anyone that sees him. I smiled politely
while trying to take in the sight before my eyes. Pale in complexion, he was
tall, but not so tall as to be intimidating to my 5 foot 2 inches. He was thin
but not starved looking and had the brightest most beautiful ginger hair, I had
ever seen. Bright was the early morning sun but despite that, his hair shone
like a new star, catching the light and making everything else around it appear
dull and insignificant. I was awed by him, he caught my attention and I was
intrigued to learn more about him. Though he paid little attention to me and
was talking to my friend.
He had interesting fashion. He was what my parents would
call a hippy. With wild hair and baggy clothing, he was distinctive in every
definition of the word. Sometimes he would plait a few strands of his hair and
wear bracelets and bangles. some girls told me he once had his nails painted. He
didn’t conform to the chinos and hoody that is the trademark for most guys my
age at university. He was unique and he was happy like that. I got to speak to
him a couple of times. We had a couple of classes together and once he sat with
me and I was like a teenage girl who had just met her idol. I was shy but
polite. I listened intently to every word that he was saying drinking in each
word like they were liquid gold. He spoke with a mild Manchester accent. Sometimes
he would get close to me. A couple of times, when we were looking at the same
specimen in anatomy, he would lean towards me and his hair would brush against
my face. Each time, I would catch my breath and could feel my heart hammering
against my chest. I would feel my cheeks inflame terrified that it would give
me away. I was mesmerised by him.
Not only was he quirky on the outside but his personality matched
his appearance. He had a really strange sense of humour and could make me laugh
with every word. He is so unpredictable and the fact that I couldn’t figure him
out just made him even more interesting in my eyes. The way he walked with laid
back confidence. If I saw him in the library, every now and then I would lift
my gaze to catch a glimpse of him across the room, eyes focussed on the book he
was reading, his forehead screwed in concentration, one hand in his beautiful
hair.
“O that I were a glove upon that
hand, that I might touch that cheek!”
William Shakespeare
I was never one to quote from romance literature. But this
quote perfectly summed up that moment for me. This quote is from Romeo and
Juliet by the way. That was one of the quotes from that play that I remember well
from all those years ago when we studied it in English. I remember thinking
that’s a bit dramatic but that was the first thing that popped into my mind
when I saw him that time in the library. I would probably substitute cheek with
hair though.
