Unspoken

Nearing midnight, I was still awake. As I tossed and turned in my bed, I thought of different ways to approach her without being too obvious that I was overly attracted. I knew she could read my actions if I came on too strong.

It was not the first time I courted a girl. I was not as amateur as I looked at age 26 although my calm disposition often painted a picture of an insecure man, unsure of his worth when facing the opposite sex. In some way, the image worked in the past because some women found it a sign of being down to earth.

I decided to perform a well-disguised serenade, something totally unorthodox that she would not even suspect I was starting to influence her feelings toward me.

Months earlier, I bought a portable DVD player, the successor of the Walkman cassette player. One of the first compact discs I acquired was Chicago’s Greatest Hits collection. I was quite aware that the lead vocalist sang in high notes, which my voice range could not match, even with constant practice. I endangered my honor by trying hard to sing like the original.

While I washed the dishes, she was nearby checking the ingredients of her planned menu for the next day. The DVD played one of my favorite songs and naturally I belted out a sing along while headphones covered my ears.

“Are you alright?” she asked first in Swedish, then in English.

I removed the earphones immediately, elated that she noticed me right away. I was nervous though I tried not to show it.

“Is everything okay?” she rephrased the question.

“Ja!” I replied, using the very first word that popped out of my head. “Javisst!”

She displayed her killer smile: I nearly knelt down to mimic a religious fanatic adoring an idol. If I was an ice cream, I could have melted in seconds.

“I can speak English,” she revealed, her accent clearly close to British.

I tried to impress her by expressing my rehearsed lines in her native tongue, everyday phrases used in casual conversation that I learned watching the early morning children’s show.

She giggled politely, not sounding harsh upon hearing my crooked and laughable pronunciation.

“I thought you are crying. You probably missed your wife.”

“I am still single,” I replied, showing her my left hand without a ring. “Still available.”

She turned he gaze away, embarrassed when I did not remove mine on her face.

“Why did you think I was crying? Was my voice that bad?”

She laughed all of a sudden, confirming my suspicion. I was not angry. On the contrary, I was glad I already made some kind of a headway, removing the uneasiness between us.

“I did not say it,” she smiled again. “You did.”

BLOGGING   LIFE/STYLES   MY STORIES   WHISPER   ZONE

Advertisements

36 thoughts on “Unspoken

      1. you are so funny sometimes..dear bro..please if i am missunderstood, when it is your birthday? ..you said humans are sweet and loveable when they are honest and do good things….keep be yourself…honest and full of love for everybody…answer to my honesty with honesty…kisses

      2. Sometimes I am funny but most of the time I am serious. Well, seriously looking. 🙂
        I always try to be as honest as possible with my replies. Sometimes, I have to keep things to myself, those that are too personal to share in the blogging world. I hope you understand my reasons.

      3. i understand you very well, i thought that if you are so honest to us, to show us your real life and the fantasy life too, it is not a problem for you! because with every post we read, we discouver you and your world. 🙂 and it is fabulous! God bless you !

      4. Here’s a tip for you if you want to know the difference between fact and fiction with respect to my writing.
        Check the category of each post: my real experiences are posted under My Stories and the invented stories are posted under Fiction. I am very careful not to mix the two though sometimes I hide my personal experience in some of my work of fiction.
        I hope you will be pointed to the right direction. 🙂
        My regards to you always,
        Blessings,
        belsbror

      1. so…still waiting for your clear answer…:) you know me…a child who is trying to learn good and real things…

      2. I have to go back and see the question. The post was before I took a forced break for 15 days. I am sorry for keeping you waiting.
        You are a very precious child. I believe you will find the answers to all your questions in due time. Keep the faith. 🙂

      3. the question is simple…when do you celebrate your birthday? 🙂 i need help in my journey…Harap-Alb avea ajutoare…:) cand este ziua ta de nastere? pupici

      4. Some people say it is the fourth of September. It was too long ago. 😀
        (I waited for the translation of the last sentence of your reply before answering.)

  1. Despite accusations of Peter Cetera being egocentric, his voice is still well associated with the Chicago sound, and Chicago 17 is still their best album in their entire catalog.

  2. So very sweet. -) You captured your – I mean the narrator’s, eh hem – adoration of her. And very nice that you didn’t paint her too strong so we can imagine her for ourself; her mystery is part of her beauty.

    1. A long time ago but she still haunts me. She was literally imprinted on my skin. 😀
      Sometimes, I often wonder what could have happened if we stayed together to this day.We could have Eurasian kids. Oh, well. that’s life. We were not fated to be.
      You are right, of course. Painting her too strong would diminish the mysterious quality. As you aptly pointed out, “it is part of her beauty.”
      Thank you for sharing your thoughts, As always, you see through the ‘unspoken” words. 😀

What's on your mind?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s