The Girl with the Red Hair

[The Challenge: Describe yourself in the third person (in your physical appearance and personality) as though you were a character in a book.]

As she makes her way down the staircase my eyes slither over her and begin to sum her up.
Her vibrant heels stand out from the standard brown or black ones that fill the room and with each footing the confidence in each step echoes around the room stating I’m here. I watch as her delicate pale fingers glide against the bannister and I can see that one light touch allows a moment of uncertainty, there are moments where the knuckles whiten as she leans on the bannister for support and I question if it’s for physical support or emotional support. 

The dress she has chosen to wear tonight clings to her like an old lover who has discovered the gift of life and is refusing to let her go. Though her heels scream for attention, her dress whispers gentleness and the combination of the two make you want to flee to your wardrobe so you can dress to match your personality instead of wearing what you always wear – the trend of the season.
There is a moment where she flounders and as I watch her closely I notice it’s the strain of having to remain tall, her body not use to the posture of a princess which makes me exhale, she is human after all – not perfection.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and immediately heads in the direction of the crowd seeking to be distracted by the entrance she has made. I see her stop by an array of different people as she makes her way across the room and in turn some people stop to greet her.  Are these friends, ex-lovers, work associates… do they even know each other? I can’t figure out if she has slept with half the room or if her natural instinct is to flirt. Judging by the light contact she makes with everyone in her path I decide it must be a defence mechanism: charm them until they feel content and then flee before she blushes too intensely with embarrassment.

I’ve walked towards the center of the room now in order to watch her movement, her direction, her decisions and yet I don’t remember walking in her path at all. She has finally reached the destination that every human reaches at any event or outing – the bar – and I watch as she leans her slim figure across the marble counter towards the barman waiting to serve her with his open smile.
I’m curious to see what she orders – will it be something as simple as a cold-drink which shows she is confident enough to be happy with her surroundings and herself or will it be a glass of wine to match the dress she is wearing to show off elegance and grace or perhaps champagne? The barman slides her drink towards her and I can read a mix of elegance and discomfort comes with this drink. She lets her unpainted lips touch the rim of the glass and sips her Cosmopolitan before moving – I can tell she isn’t as confident of her next steps as she was of her previous ones because she still stands at the bar sipping on her cocktail, yet her vibrant blue eyes pierce through the crowd, dissecting everyone in the room. She lingers too long on people and she watches their every move too intensely which makes me realize she is doing exactly what I have done – she’s building a story around each person.

Finally a figure walks up to her and introduces himself to her yet she looks neither shocked nor pleased. She reaches out her hand and her freckled arm stands out from the rest of the tanned people that surround her, I watch as her hands tighten around the figure and I notice that an air of authority is placed within this greeting – perhaps she is drawing a line? Perhaps she is faking confidence? Before I can answer my own questions I hear her laugh and the sound of realness leaks out from her and into the crowd breaking the routine of pretend. Her eyes sparkle as she laughs and her waist-long red hair dances across her shoulders as she vibrates with laughter. It’s not long before this figure removes himself from her company and I notice that insecurity fills her again. I realize that though she is bubbly, flirtatious, fun and open she is also insecure, human, unsure and real. 

This makes me happy and confident enough to approach her without feeling like an idiot. Her eyes watch me cautiously as I approach her – another stranger to greet perhaps? – but her body language remains welcoming and I don’t hesitate now that I’ve put one step forward. As soon as I reach the bar I panic and pretend I needed a refill (with my half a drink still in view) but she can sense the tension and breaks it by ordering two shots. How does she know I like whiskey? She turns and smiles in my direction. “You look like you needed a shot so why not have one together?!”

She extends her hand and her friendly smile allows me to find my voice and reply, “Thanks. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Nikita.”