Alayna Reid
Editor-in-Chief
(tw: obsessive thoughts/behavior, implied stalking)
She was there, at 5:08 pm, every Thursday without fail. Today, she kneels at the water’s edge and hand-feeds breadcrumbs to the ducks, making sure to give extra to the young ones. From my place up the shoreline, I can hear her calming speech and giggling as the small yellow feather ball climbs onto her fingertips to voraciously peck at the feed.
“Now, now, Clyve, don’t be greedy!” Her other hand came up to lightly lift the duckling back into the water, a small smile adorning her delicate face. The motion reveals shallow canyons that descend from her nose and connect to the corners of her lightly glossed lips. They’re a fair, rosy, pink today, and I can’t help but wonder what they would look like pressed against my own deep, red ones.
{<*>}
She first crossed my path 3 months ago, in May. I was in a café, and she walked in sporting linen pants and a floral tube top. She ordered a maple cold brew with oat milk (what I have learned to be her usual, she never gets anything else) before sitting in one of the window booths. She gazed around the space, her eyes glossing over me in the corner just like everyone else’s, before looking down at a notepad on the table in front of her. Perfectly manicured French-tips clutched a pink pen as she began sketching, periodically peering up at the details of the shop. Cerulean eyes caught the mid-afternoon light with each glance, only to be hidden from view again by curly, blond bangs.
“Ophelia!” She turned back to the counter and rose, striding over to take her coffee from the barista with a smile. Her loose linen pants twirled around her frame as she returned to her seat by the window. Unable to take my eyes away from her bouncing hair, I watched until she finally sat back down, crossing one long leg over the other and continuing to sketch her surroundings.
Ophelia. Finally, a name for the face and body who has happened to cross my path. And of course, it would be a name just as beautiful as she, one with a deep history and an airy quality. No, she wouldn’t have a name as common as Linda or Stacy or Debbie or Mina—she’s Ophelia. Ophelia with blond hair and shining eyes and manicured hands and an artistic spirit. Ophelia, with the aura of a goddess on Earth who stepped down from the heavens to bless my mere mortal self with her beauty.
I did not dare approach Ophelia on that first day. Not that I think she would be unkind, no, a woman as graceful as she would never be unkind or uncourteous. But instead, because she was an abnormality. A phenomenon. A natural artifact that I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt with my presence. So, I left the café five minutes after her, just early enough to see her climb into an evergreen Volkswagen decorated with bumper stickers. “I’m just a girl!” “Love is not a crime,” and “Body, Earth, Soul,” taunted me as she drove away, effortlessly gliding into the steady stream of early-afternoon traffic.
That night, I breathed heavily with the thought of climbing into that Volkswagen with her. Going back to her studio apartment and lounging on her sofa and running my fingers through her hair and being led to her bedroom and taking off her clothes and—
{<*>}
I glance down the shoreline and see Ophelia rising from her meeting with the ducks and brushing off her knees. A sigh escapes from me as the slowly setting sun reflects off her hair, illuminating it to its golden totality. She turns and I turn away, lifting my dusty book from my lap and pinning my eyes to it. I hear her steps drawing nearer in tandem with the beating of my own heart until eventually she is walking behind the bench I have made my station. For this small moment in time, lilacs and vanilla fill my nose as I time an inhale perfectly to catch her sweet perfume in the breeze. My eyes slide close as I exhale, and my shoulders roll out the tension that was there.
In the distance, I hear a car begin to drive away, and I stand with its departure. No point being out in the park if she isn’t here, really. It’s a short walk to my dingy apartment, just 4 blocks and then 5 flights of stairs and then I’m home. The dishes piled in my sink stab their way into my nose. Shit—right, I forgot to do them yesterday…again.
The Pizza Rolls in the freezer are calling my name, so I grab the bag and toss a meal worth into my air fryer. Walking around my cramped kitchen island, I grab my tv remote from its place next to some empty chip bags, flipping to a random channel. Animal Planet displayed on the screen showing a documentary of a young cheetah struggling to be a mother for the first time. Right as she began a desperate hunt for a gazelle, my phone started ringing.
“Hey Mom,” I pick up my phone, muting the TV in the process.
“Hi Lizzie! How have you been?” she says all-too cheerily.
My eyes narrow as I pull my legs to cross on the couch. “I’ve been good… why are you calling me? Is everything alright?”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m so proud of you for getting back into your schooling!”
Oh right, classes start on Monday. I nearly forgot that I had signed up to be a part of that world again. “Thanks, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing…”
“What are you studying this time? Still psychology?”
“No um…well I haven’t declared any major yet, just going to finish off my gen eds this semester, I think.” The air fryer beeps in the background, signifying its finish, and I put the phone on speaker before setting it on the island.
“Okay then, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Her voice echoed through the space as I took the tray out of the fryer and dumped the small rolls onto a paper plate. “Oh! How is it going with that girl you’ve been dating?”
“We aren’t dating Mom—we’ve just been, like, getting to know each other, I guess…”
“Oh, sorry sorry, I always forget that getting coffee together doesn’t count as a date nowadays.” She chuckled to herself, making me roll my eyes. She always thought she was so funny when she couldn’t understand anything that’s going on with me.
“Was there anything else you needed?” I popped one of the Pizza Rolls into my mouth, the steaming sauce bursting out and burning the top of my tongue.
“Well, no, I guess not dear. I just wanted to call and check on you—you’ve been so distant all summer…” I coughed and spat the heap of sauce, dough, and pepperoni bits back onto the plate, quickly grabbing a cup of water to cool my mouth. “Lizzie? Are you alright?”
I gulped down the water, wiping my mouth with my hand before speaking. “Yes Mom, I’m fine, alright? Don’t you need to pick Micky up from volleyball soon?”
“Shoot! Yes, look at the time! Thank you for reminding me Lizzie! I’ll give the others hugs for you!”
“Yep, see ya Mom. Love ya.” I picked the phone back up from the island, leaning against the wooden surface for a moment.
“Love you too, good luck with school!” She hung up and my attention returned to the TV. Grabbing my dinner for the night, I sat down on the couch and watched the mother ultimately fail at catching the gazelle.
{<*>}
Monday morning my alarm went off and I sat up like a board with a grin on my face. University, campus, classes—that all starts today…again. But does it really count as dropping out if I was only there for a semester? I mean, really, I just took a 5 year long gap. But this time is going to be different. I am motivated now, passionate, determined—all these thoughts dance around my head as I shower and get ready for the day.
The campus wasn’t any different than it was 5 years ago, so I was able to find the lecture hall easily, taking a seat in the back of the room. After a few minutes of waiting, there she was. Ophelia…
Her clothes are different from usual, sporting jeans and a cardigan rather than a flowing skirt and a small crop top. Yet all the same, ethereal air carried through the room as soon as she entered. The signature lilac and vanilla-scented air gently toys with my hair as she walks right past me and makes a b-line to the front of the class—of course she sits in the front of class. Perfect woman, perfect student all the same. The beginning of class draws near, and the professor begins taking roll, calling out the list of names.
“Jamie Richards?…Francis Slemming?…Elizabeth Trawney?” I raise my hand, and he marks me down, hardly sparing me more than a glance. He sets his paper aside, and I sit up straighter—he didn’t say it. This dumbass man didn’t say her—
“Excuse me sir?” Her melodic sweet voice carries through the room like angels would a choir. “You didn’t say my name.”
“Did I not? I’m sorry miss, what is it?” There is no way this man is qualified to teach if he managed to miss the name of the singular nymph who sits before him.
“Ophelia Barrett, I should be on the list…”
The idiotic teacher shuffles and grabs his paper again, having to pull down the glasses from on top of his head to properly see the text. “Oh yes, Ophelia Barrett, I see you right there. Sorry about that.”
My legs cross as I sit back in my chair again. Ophelia Barrett… not exactly the last name I envisioned she would have. It should be something like Hastings or Tudor or Windsor, something that matches her grandeur. Barrett is fine, but it’s so plain—so mediocre…my thoughts carry me completely through the class session into when people are shuffling out of the room. I quickly gather my things and stand up, joining the crowd as we all exit.
“Excuse me! Miss, you forgot something!” Her voice wafts up the aisle in a billowing breeze. Oh, how blessed whoever the person she is talking to is.
“Miss! You in the green shirt!” Why are they not answering? Are they purposefully ignoring her? Don’t they know that Ophelia is speaking to them?
A hand grips my shoulder, stopping me from walking. My fists clench and I turn around, a venomous remark hot on my tongue, until I see the blonde in my peripherals. Shit—
“I’m so sorry, usually I wouldn’t just grab someone, but I was afraid you weren’t hearing me.” Ophelia stood in front of me, smiling bashfully as she held out a ballpoint pen in my direction. Ophelia is talking to me—
“You dropped this when you stood up and I know how expensive pens can be,” she giggles, GIGGLES, and holds the pen out closer to me. This is bad, I’m not meant to talk to her. My existence pales in comparison to hers and they shouldn’t even be happening in the same room, let alone the same conversation. What would make her retreat? The pen—take the pen!
“Oh uh—thanks.” I reach forward and take the pen from her hand, my fingers brushing hers slightly in a way that spikes my pulse and hitches my breath. She smiles a warm smile and leaves carelessly, unaware of the calamity rushing through my mind.