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E-Mail to Babygirl

Short story By: Steven Hunley

A man finds someone else's E-mail on a public computer

Submitted:Jul 20, 2010    Reads: 75    Comments: 4    Likes: 2   

E-mail to Babygirl
Steven Hunley
At the library I had some work to accomplish at one of their computers. It was crowded, and I took a seat at one on the children's side. Many people use these computers and the keyboards are shaky at times, the white paint denoting the letters on each key nearly obscured by constant use. But not to worry, I just had something to print out, and opening WORD, the first thing I saw, strangely enough, wasn't my document at all, but something left by someone else, and being the snoop that I am I decided to read it before sending it to the trash. Here it is:
I like calling her with her Babygirl, rather than that name he'd given her, because it's more lyrical and intimate, and because, when it comes down to it, I'm jealous . So much for the ways of men. She's petite, and being so, makes me feel so much more a man. Her hair is coal-black, and has curls, whose curves were calculated by the gods themselves, and therefore perfection, shot with a single strand of pure silver that runs straight through to my heart, and only accentuates the blackness, as dark and shadowy as Conrad's Heart of Darkness, as dark as Conrad himself. This tangle of darkness and silver runs to her shoulders, and falls softly across them in repose.
Her eyes below that are sweet dark chocolate explosions, radiating outward from the depths of her soul. They are, all in all, the most dangerously engaging eyes I have ever beheld, and I know to be cautious around them. Her smile reveals teeth that dazzle with a brilliance that vies with the sun, which always comes out a poor second. She knows this, and for him to save face when she catches herself laughing, which is often as not, she covers her mouth with her fingers, which appear delicate on account of their size, yet are incredibly strong like the rest of her. What do I think of her? I liked her the moment I saw her.
All this is written on a whim, with the slight fever, of what was it she called it? A crush.
I think we'll be fine as long as there's some distance between us. It makes her feel safe. If we were closer it would make me blurt out the fact that I feel she is the sun and the moon, and probably put her off. So right now I say let us be cautious, and let the bet ride. We can be only winners or losers, neither is all that bad. Love is the only ultimate gamble besides death, and you only lose your heart one time with certainty. Sometimes, if you're lucky enough, that's exactly what happens.
If she suspects me of trying to seduce her with words and asks me straight out, I'm going to answer, "Babygirl, that's exactly what you need."
Written under the influence of F. Scott Fitzgerald and the effect of a truly remarkable woman.
I found this piece extremely interesting, it was stylish, and seemed sincere at the same time, which is a rare combination. It was only too obvious that whoever wrote it had it bad for this girl, whoever she was, and I longed to meet her myself.
It wasn't my work, and I was ready to trash it, when I noticed the top of some letters that were cut off, they were so low on the page. So then I scrolled down.
It read something unusual. It said:
By Steven Hunley


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