Admiring Aysha

Plot. Star struck male's reaction on seeing the most beautiful girl ever.
1939. words in the story.

e/humour
Admiring Aysha.
Never in all his life had he seen anyone so beautiful. From first sight he could not take his eyes off her. An instant desire to be with her, talk to her, hold hands with her, but above all, to touch and stroke the centrepiece of the beauty that she had. Her hair.
Her skin was a soft, almost translucent buff whiteness, with suggestions of teak duskiness. The sparkle of light, reflecting from her deep black, almond shaped eyes, was like the twinkling of the brightest star.
Her hands, long and elegant, cut the air in magic arcs as she gesticulated. Her smile, warm, and although not really inviting, giving out a hint of welcome and friendliness.
Her dress was a bright spring flower print, with soft pastel colours filling the inter spaces. The material, a stiff cotton, held its shape without any obvious creases and gave her the pristine appearance of a dress shop mannequin.
But the crowning glory. The thing that had first drawn his attention and had then held his gaze riveted to her in utter admiration, was her hair. Sparklingly clean, shining as though reflecting sunlight. Shimmering with natural jet blackness, whilst flashing hints of rainbow colours, has the shimmering blackness of the raven's feathers when covered in sunlight. Like spun glass it cascaded down behind her back, to where the soft level ends danced at her waist. Two tiny yellow silk tapes tightly held two side bunches. The brightness of her hair, contrasting so much with the dusky oriental suspicions of her skin seemed to enhance the beauty, rather than emphasise the contrasts of her ancestral multi racial origins.
He hated Monday mornings normally. The thought of having to be cooped up indoors after a hectic weekend of sport depressed him. But suddenly this Monday was like a bright new dawning. Try as he may he could not concentrate on his work, as he listened intently for the name of this Angel to be revealed. He kept surreptitiously turning and glancing towards her, his ears attuned to every word that was being spoken between her and the girl who had been allocated to sit with her until she became familiarised.
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'Aysha Da Silva.' He heard it! Aysha Da Silva. Aysha Da Silva. Having heard it, he knew that he had never heard anything remotely so exquisite. It was like a host of Angels softly singing. Like the sweet warm winds of late summer rustling through heavily leaf laden trees. He kept repeating it to himself, and linking his own name with it.
"Norman Bottomley and Aysha Da Silva." "Aysha Da Silva and Norman Bottomley."
Having now been able to link a name with her visual beauty, he knew that he had never heard or seen anything so divine.
He lost concentration on his tasks, and closing his eyes, lapsed into a dream world, in which he could see himself and Aysha Da Silva walking hand in hand in the meadows, as they made their way towards the shade of the giant sycamore trees, close by the newt ponds.
He would take off his jacket and spread it on the grass for her to sit on whilst he skimmed flat stones into the pond making as many as four or five splashing impacts before they sank, much to Aysha's admiration and excited clapping.
Then a vision of them picking fluffy matured dandelions and laughing as they blew away the floating fairy like seeds
He imagined walking with her to the children's playground where he would push her on a swing, her beautiful long black hair flowing out behind her. The higher he pushed the swing the more she would laugh and call out in excitement. Oblivious to all the kids playing around them.
He thought of how he would be initially embarrassed as he proudly took her to meet his parents. Then an inner questioning set up doubts in his mind. What if his parents did not approve of Aysha? What if they said that he should wait longer before committing himself to a serious relationship. What if she did not like his parents, or the two up and two down terraced house in which they lived. Would he be too ordinary for her? From appearances she certainly looked to Norman to be from a wealthy household. These were serious doubts that were infiltrating into Normans thoughts. Doubts that he knew he had to overcome.
Up until now he had hardly ever given any girl a second glance. But he knew that this was to be the love of his life. He was determined to be with her forever.
Û
A nudge at his elbow and a command from his friend Albert, "wake up Norman or you'll be in trouble," brought him back to his senses and he pulled himself together. Head now down to the work on his desk, he concentrated on the task in hand, but not being able to resist an occasional surreptitious glance. He felt that from this day on his life would never be the same again.
It was mid morning break before he could renew his quest to get close to this wonderful being, who was surely to be his soul mate for the rest of his life. Try as he may he could not get close to her. She was surrounded by curious girls, who were equally interested in getting to know this newcomer. He stood as close as he dare to the group, and said quietly, dreamily, but loud enough to have been heard, if the girls had not been so busy looking at Aysha and chattering so much. "Aysha Da Silva and Norman Bottomley." It never passed his mind to think that given the chance to speak to her face to face, his nerve may give out and he would make a bumbling idiot of himself
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Aysha, having only arrived in England a month previously had no thoughts of romance, or even wanting to meet any English males. She had had enough admirers in her native Kenya. He main aim now was to work diligently and loose any traces of accent as soon as possible. She and her parents where convinced that they would all do well in their adopted country.
Her parents, although native to Kenya, but with Portuguese ancestors on her father's side and Burmese ancestors on her mother's side, felt a certain smugness about how they would be received in Britain. Their light colouring hardly showed African or Burmese appearances.
Aysha's main ambition was to be able to work for the BBC as a foreign correspondent, but that would have to wait. She had to do many things first, as she, her father and mother and her two sisters established themselves in their new country. Her father said that if she progressed well he had contacts who would be able to put in a good word for her at the BBC, when the time was right for her.
Û
Back at the work desks, where everybody was busily going about their allotted tasks, Norman tried to blot her out of his mind. "There will be plenty of time." He told himself, in an honest effort to hold back his impetuousness. "Think of football, and your place in the team. Think of scoring goals." His mind temporarily went to the football field, where he did a replay of the previous Saturday’s league game, and the goal which he had scored after a solo run down most of the length of the field. Then he thought of Aysha standing behind the goalposts laughing and applauding him.
"Think of the Summer holidays already booked in Cornwall." This did him no good at all, for he immediately imagined the two of them strolling along the beach and splashing gaily through the seaweedy rock pools of warm water, then, they would try to beat the ebb and floe of the incoming rollers. She would playfully throw handfuls of water over him, then he would chase her with a frond of wet seaweed, her loosened hair would fly out behind her, flashing the message of its beauty in the bright sunlight. They would hold hands, and lick enormous ice cream cones, as they stood, happy in each others company, leaning over the hand rail by the docks, and watch the busy fishing boats chug in and tie up to the dock side, where the fishermen would hastily unload their catch in the warm sunshine.
These were dreams of never ending halcyon days with Aysha.
He struggled through the morning, and at lunch break, when she went to eat with a group of the girls, he took his normal place in the dining room, where there was the natural division of male and female.
At the table nobody else talked about Aysha Da Silva. All the conversation was as usual. What had been on telly over the weekend. How horrible the food was. How mean Big Bertha was. She was the one who served up the sweet course.
After lunch, for the first time ever, instead of the usual stroll around with the lads, he rushed back to take his place at his desk, which was two rows to the side of hers, and one row in front. It was soon becoming obvious to the others that he was constantly turning to look at her, through starry love torn eyes, instead of concentrating on his work. This was sure to fetch a reaction from somebody.
Norman felt a nudge from behind him, and looking around he saw Tommy Long looking intently at him. "Norman, what's up with you? Get your head down to your work, or you will be in trouble. You know that she said that this is very important work that our section are doing, and everyone must concentrate really seriously."
Norman again tried to concentrate, and excused himself as he went to the toilet. Every minute that helped this day to pass quicker was appreciated by him. He resolved that he would, without a doubt, speak to her face to face, before going home that day.
The afternoon break still didn't bring a chance for Norman to get close to Aysha, but it did give him chance to recourse to the first trick that he had learned to attract someone's attention. He took a sheet of paper into the toilets and tore it into small pieces, then he ran a tap to wet the paper, which he screwed into small pellets. Now sitting at his desk again and watching for the right moment when he thought that he would not be seen, he sat with a pellet at the ready. Now!
He turned and threw a pellet at Aysha, but he was leaning low over his desk, this restricted his aim and the pellet missed her. It plopped against, and stuck to the wall "Try another one quick," he thought. This time, half standing, and turning, to be sure to hit the target, he threw the pellet with nearly, but not quite, perfect accuracy. Instead of hitting Aysha on the arm as he had intended, the pellet hit her on the cheek. Norman stood transfixed in horror as she let out a yell of pain and everyone looked around.
"Norman Bottomley", shouted Miss Prendergast, sharply, as she rushed to attend to Aysha. "Go and stand and face the corner. I'll tend to you in a minute young man!"
Norman stood feeling very sorry for himself, as he thought how unfair life was for a ten years old schoolboy.

The End.
Copyright Brian Kelly. 09/03/98