A CRUISE ENCOUNTER
(a little fiction by Cella)
The bustle on the mezzanine is all around while Jen and I are waiting in what is now a long line to take pictures -- a must on Formal Night. Jen's in her tight black dress with gold bugle-bead accents and I'm in my strapless velvet in black and shades of deep purple – shorter in front, long in back.
Our turn now – the photographer calls us forward and positions us behind a prop chair. We smile and the first bright light flashes. He poses us again and another flash, then he asks me to step aside so he can get Jen. Two more flashes and it's my turn at solo. As I walk back to the chair, I spot a lanky man about my age with heavy wire glasses looking at me. I don't think much of it – just a chance glance by two people -- happens all the time on a ship with so mmany passengers. As the photographer is positioning me, though, I see he's still looking.
The photographer tells me to smile, but for some reason tonight I'm overly-concerned with my two crooked front teeth, so I continue to give a closed smile.
First flash.
The photographer is gently trying to coax a bigger smile out of me, but it's not working. I look back at the lanky young man – he knows what's up, too – and I see him mouth the word “Smile,” followed by two fingers raised to the corners of his lips and a flash of teeth. I can feel the amusement he's giving me rise up, then he does one more thing -- his mouth gapes open wide as if astonished, then gives one huge goofy grin. My laughter brought out a big toothy smile and a sparkle in my eye.
Second flash.
I didn't stop smiling or sparkling.
Finally, I step away behind the line and the photographer motions for the next group.
“Let's go to the lounge and get a drink before dinner,” Jen says to me.
“No wait, Jen. There's this guy in line.”
“Oh, there is? Where?”
I discreetly look toward him just as his group is summoned by the photographer.
“The tall one in the dark suit,” I tell Jen as I point. He's not hard to spot, considering he's surrounded by women and one older gentleman.
“Him? You can hardly see his face behind those glasses. He's so skinny! His hair needs a cut.”
“Yeah yeah Jen, I know. Just hold on.”
We both watch as the photographer is positioning the group. I see him scanning the people beyond the camera, then his eyes land on me. He smiles and my heart leaps.
“Oh my God, he's smiling at you.” I'm still staring at him. There's a flash.
“Those glasses – tell him to take them off,” Jen tells me. I take off imaginary spectacles as I mouth “your glasses” to him. He mouths a little “oh!” and removes them. Everyone is moved around again and a second flash goes off.
“Did you see that smile, Jen?”
“His eyes are green,” she informs me. She's always been a little quicker than me spotting things.
He steps aside while the four others have their separate pictures taken. All the time, we're looking at each other. I forget Jen is even next to me, but she gets a ringside seat to this “Certs Encounter.” This is too cool.
The photographer finishes with the fourth person and motions him to come forward. Before he moves, his finger motions me forward and I see him mouth, “Come around.”
“Oh my God, he wants you to take a picture with him!” Jen exclaims in a whisper.
My eyes go wide with surprise, but there was no stopping me from going to him. I feel a giddy 16 again, but fortunately I'm no longer that age and bold enough to go for it when opportunity knocks.
As I approach the chair, the photographer looks perplexed, but he tells him, “It's ok – just take the picture.” The photographer has us wrap our arms around each other's waist.
“Ok, look at each other and smile.” The photographer didn't need to ask us twice – we were already looking at each other with huge happy grins on our faces. I heard a few “aww”'s rising from the line.
Flash.
A final “Thank you...Next,” came from the photographer. I felt his hand touch the small of my back as he allowed me to leave first. We moved toward the photograph-lined walls and Jen walks over.
“THAT is going to be a beautiful picture, Cel.”
“Oh, I'm sorry...” I say as I'm staring at this lanky strawberry blonde, “...this is my friend, Jen. Jen, this is...”
As his yellow-green eyes looked into my dark browns, his response came with a mild southern drawl.
“It's Clayton, but just call me Clay.”
Our hands clasp and I smile.
“Hi Clay...I'm Cella.”
-THE END-
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~Posted 12.24.2003~
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-Cella