A Little Piece Of Annie (Entry 2.)

I met Samantha at work. She was my best friend’s new secretary. She always sat at her desk in her little cardigan sweaters, looking over her glasses. There were never any magical sparks between us, just strictly business. After a while, I started to notice her smile, and those light blue eyes hidden behind her glasses. She must’ve noticed me too, because her skirts got a little shorter, and she freed her lose blonde curls of that prim ponytail. Months later, after casually conversing, I finally asked her out on a date. I still don’t really know why I did. Yet, I did and soon we just grew on each other. It was an odd feeling to be with someone you know you love, yet at the same time wonder why they don’t make your heart stop. I guess I’m just a little confused about love altogether now. It was totally different when I met Annie. I was having a late lunch one afternoon at a small Italian cafe. I remember how homey the restaurant’s atmosphere was. With the boisterous family clearly audible from the kitchen, and the other relatives dining and socializing in one corner. I was studying the close knit family when I heard a strong voice calling my attention. I fixed my gaze on the lovely waitress standing at my side. I couldn’t even speak; her beauty had taken away my ability to do so. I remember she was wearing a red sundress. Her long raven waves were spilling over her shoulders. Her skin was so radiant with its olive hue, and her eyes were a deep, rich brown. She looked so regal. Her posture was so straight and gave her an air of self-assurance. She even had a very aristocratic looking nose. She stared at me over that lovely nose; eyes cocked, her mouth drawing up in a half smile. I finally managed to order Manicotti. After that day, I found myself having lunch at that same restaurant every day. Medici’s Cafe had become a second home for me. I would dine with Niccolo Medici’s youngest daughter everyday at 12:30. I was fascinated with every aspect of her. She intimidated me so much with her royal air, beauty, posture, and finesse. After 4 months of lunches and dinners, the sparks coerced me into asking Annabella Maria Medici to be my wife. Annie agreed. We began planning a wonderful wedding at the local catholic church, but three weeks after our engagement, we found ourselves stealing away to elope. We had left late at night without a clue as to where we were going. We somehow ended up in Louisiana. We got married on a muggy summer day in a church on the bayou. We then got on a riverboat and spent our honeymoon traversing the mighty Mississippi River and eating Jambalaya. The day that we left to go back to North Carolina, Annie was so sad. She bought a snowglobe from a roadside stand to remind her of this warm place laced with jazz, jambalaya, voodoo, and ghost stories. I could see in her eyes that she was going to miss the mysticism of the place. I could also sense her pain by the childish way that she clung to the tacky little globe all the way home.1