by Shay Moyal
She had straw-colored hair, a prominent nose, and some light adult acne. Her eyes were a greyish blue. Her teeth were nice enough, more or less white and more or less straight. Her name was the kind of name you’d forget at a dinner party.
She was an accounting assistant at a software company, owned yellow rain boots, and had never left the continental United States (but very much wanted to). She drank coffee daily.
But her smile was kind and she seemed like she would be the kind of person who perpetually smelled of vanilla.
Maybe she would encourage him to call his grandma more.
She could help him with his taxes.
Make him eat more vegetables.
He was quite sure that she had always been the kind of Christian who didn’t believe in God but also didn’t quite disbelieve either. Perhaps they’d go to Church together and laugh lightly under their breath, secretly desperate for certainty. Hiding their shame behind their hymnals.
She was a Taurus but hated astrology.
She had her tonsils taken out at age 12.
She liked cherry-flavored things but hated actual cherries.
He’d help her finally pursue her travel dreams and they’d fly to India together. She’d confide that she had always been self-conscious about her nose and he’d tell her that it was majestic. That it was the fucking Taj Mahal of noses.
She was reliable to an extreme degree, politically moderate, always wore her hair parted down the middle. She ironed when she was angry. She owned the same cardigan in 5 different colors (“cardigans are practical!”).
The day her father left was the day she became a mother to her mother.
And she loved him in a way that made him feel whole. She would kiss him while unbuttoning his shirt and smile up at him – her lips curving upwards to reveal her okayish teeth.
It was 2:07 A.M and the gentle glow of his phone screen seemed to mock him and his daydream (can one daydream at night?) He was in his bed and he was very much alone.
Wes swiped right.
You can connect with Shay and view her photography on her Instagram.