This is my novel recreation of "The Ballad of Ella".
I will be updating this almost everyday, and you will be able to find the most recent update by finding the bolded word.
The characters in the story are slightly weird. Bear with it. It's extremely good.
Feel free to criticize and leave comments, they're always welcome.
Enjoy!
The Ballad of Ella
This happened ten years ago. I was 19 at the time - a freshman in college. I was seemingly alone when I first enrolled, but to my relief a high school friend, Pete, had admitted to the same college. Because you’re away from family, your high school life behind, the new freedom you have in this new life can get hectic. During these chaotic times, everyone needs a friend that they can lean on for support: they they can depend on. We were that kind of friend to each other.
After several months of rooming together, Pete and I were practically brothers, and in turn, we pretty much attended the same classes. So, by the time second semester had rolled around, we decided to start a new class, economics or some shit. On the first day of this new class, a student had walked in late. My head did the natural human response, and started to turn towards the door. It got stuck. It was an automatic reaction, my vision getting sucked to her. Almost like she was a black hole sucking in light, my eyes. A high powered magnet to metal. Pete and I must have saw her at the same time because we wanted, and tried, to point her out to each other, but we were powerless. We couldn’t look away. That was the true definition of tunnel-vision.
She held the attention of the entire class. It had gone lifeless. The only two sounds were her feet shuffling across the floor - a quiet, elegant sound - and the resonating dripping noise that came from the constant drooling. An angel? A beam of light? I don’t know how to describe because words are at a loss. To us mere mortals, a value of 10 or under is assigned, determining beauty, but her beauty could not be calculated or properly abstracted by numbers. The moment you saw her, you knew that you shouldn’t stare. Not because of the social ethics, morals, and confinement, but because you simply knew that you just weren’t worthy… Not for her. But Pete and I kept staring. We couldn’t look away. Her aura of beauty and magnificence drawing us back in over and over. We contributed our fair share of resonance. For the remainder of class, Pete and I just stared her down, studying all of her features. She was a tall beauty, easily 5’9”. Long, wavy, auburn hair coupled with a pair of gorgeous emerald eyes that were to die for, maybe even kill for. A flawless skin complexion, like what you see in photo-shopped ads, with a slight tan - an attraction that every man on campus fantasized about, and made straight females ready to convert.
After class had finished, we instinctively began orbiting her like some janky asteroids around a black hole. We slowly kept getting closer and closer, clumsily bumping into each other. With our thoughts completely erased as we stood in the hallway leading to the cafeteria, she turned around. For whatever reason, I don’t know. Maybe she heard a sound, or felt our eyes beating on her back and realized that we were following her like pervs. Either way, she stopped in the middle of the hall and turned toward us. As it was happening, Pete and I awkwardly bumped into each other as if it were some comedy skit. Her beauty was so mesmerizing that we forgot to look away. Her emerald green-eyed gaze blew our brains out, painting the walls and floor behind us with brainmatter… And then she smiled - she fucking smiled! We froze: couldn’t breath. I swear, if we weren’t healthy and fit, we would have had a heart attack right there. I could sense my thought process completely shut down as she turned and continued on her way to the cafeteria. Pete and I stood there, watching as our black hole rounded the corner, leaving us lonely space debris in the cold, pitch black space.
After school, we went back to our dorm. We had no information: no name, no nothing. I began searching up women with emerald eyes and auburn hair, but to no avail. None came even remotely close to her beauty. I felt hopeless. A longing that I’ve never felt before. Pete, on the other hand, knew that he had to do something. He, too, was frantically searching before he screamed.
“FUCK YEAH! I FOUND IT!” At first, my heart soared, I thought he had found “her”. This was not the case. When I looked over, all I saw were at least a thousand tabs of “amazon” and “ebay”; all of these shopping and fashion sites we both had no clue about. Then I saw what Pete had found, the unknown brand skirt she was wearing. Surprisingly, I wasn’t disappointed - I couldn’t be. I felt the same way Pete did. I was pumped up and as joyful as a little kid on Christmas morning. We might not have found her name, but fuck it if we didn’t know the skirt she wore. With my new enthusiasm, I jumped back to work and together we created a list of everything she had worn. We knew what flats she wore, her shirt, even the brand of her red, bow shaped hair clip. By the end of the night, I probably knew more about the clothes she was wearing than her. At that moment, even though Pete and I were mildly handsome, athletic gentlemen, we were more homosexual than a male fashion design student wearing pink dungarees, coming out of the closet singing YMCA.
Midway through another week of us ogling over her, Pete had an epiphany. He realized that in order for him to even talk to her, let alone date her, he needed something extra. An umph. That’s when it came to him:
“I’m going to start learning everything there is to know about fashion, and then use my new found knowledge as a conversation starter.” I had somewhat ignored what Pete had said because I was too busy believing how if I went to Mars on some new Apollo mission, or saved the entire world from a new Nazi regime, I still wouldn’t be able to impress her. I was hopeless.
That very morning Pete went and enrolled into a fashion design class. He didn’t know if his plan would work - if the magnificent creature would talk fashion with him - but he was determined. However, at the time, we still couldn’t talk to her. We were like kids afraid of Freddy or Jason. Fortuitously enough, we ended up learning her name through a friend. Ella. Her name was Ella.
Learning her name gave Pete hope, as well as an opener, and because our first impressions were that of two stupid perverts left alone in the middle of the hall; Pete didn’t want to waste time. However, Pete still couldn’t talk to her, he didn’t have the courage, and being a chump I followed in suit. I thought, “
if Pete can’t talk to her, how can I?” Besides, Pete was so focused on his goal, he ended up knowing more about fashion than seniors knew about economy in our department. He spent weeks browsing fashion blogs all night, bringing home a list of what Ella wore that day, studying her taste in fashion - which was amazing. Compared to a lot of girls on campus who dressed like trailer trash, she dressed to perfection everyday. Our room was stashed full of Vogue and GQ, all types of fashion magazines. Not wanting out secret to get out, once, a few friends had caught wind of our stock, forcing Pete and I to lie and claim it as “top-notch material”. Fortunately, they bought the lie, and we ended up joking about it.
One morning, Pete turned towards me: dead serious.
“I’m ready…” His voice trailed off and I was positive that he was nervous as hell. Nevertheless, that morning Pete made up his mind, and he believed that he had enough knowledge in his arsenal to hold an intelligent conversation about whatever Ella wore that day. As we were walking to our economics class, Pete had this stone-hard look etched on his face as if he were mentally preparing himself for a deadly battle. After class, we walked together up until the a new hall conjoined with ours forming a “T” shape. We stopped momentarily and checked to make sure that the coast was crystal clear - tumbleweeds and crickets. I gave Pete a hearty, manly handshake, the one where you grab the forearm. We nodded, then departed. No words were spoken, but there certainly was a lot said.
I was relaxing in our dorm, listening to my music while playing some classic video games: really living life. It must have been an hour or so after our silent splitting when Pete had crept into the dorm. His face seemed neutral, as though he were in a deep thought.
“How did it go?” I asked in a quiet voice, prepared for the worst.
“I… I don’t know, I really just don’t even know man. I mean… I might have done great or completely fucked it all up.” Pete spoke in a cauldron of emotions. It was obvious that he doubted himself, but in his doubt was a dash of both hope and sadness. Mixed messages: I didn’t know how to respond, so I resorted to the basics.
“Why?”
“Look. We talked for an hour -”
“Shit man, that’s great.” He made a loud grunting noise as he ran his finger through his hair.
“UGH! I don’t know?! What if she thinks I’m gay?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. He had a point. Straight men tend to not talk about anything fashion related, especially women's fashion. Suddenly, there was a gentle, rhythmical knock on the door. Since I had been sitting for almost two hours, I lept at the opportunity to stretch my leg muscles. Pete was in the kitchen when I answered the door - we had a pretty small, rectangular kitchen area that was directly to the left of the door when you walked in, and since the door pulled inwards and to the right, it blocked the kitchen almost completely from sight. I remember where Pete was because as I pulled the door open I glanced towards him. As I turned to see who it was, I got bottom up processed. My body froze almost immediately when I saw who was there.
“Hey Pete!” She spoke in a slight crackly, deep voice, somewhat like Scarlett Johansson. I tried to savour her voice, like an elegant, high-end entree, but it was abruptly interrupted by Pete's choking.
“Ahem… Uh, h-hey Ella.” He struggled to produce a voice. Recovering from his drowning, nerves? Who knows?
“I had just remembered, I got it from Anthropologie.” I was stuck between them, frozen, while Ella peered into our dorm next to me talking to Pete about something I had no clue about. I was lost in thought, happy that we had cleaned our dorm a few days ago, happy that she was so close to me - I could smell her hair. Something like lavender.
“Oh, thanks!”
“Don’t mention it. It’s from last season though, so I don’t think you can buy it for your sister. Although, they might have something similar.”
“Alright, well… Um, thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome Pete. See you around.”
“See ya Ella.” He cooed in response, ending the conversation. Ella backed out of dorm, giving me a slight nod before she skipped away. It took me a moment to rev back to life. I walked over to the counter and stole Pete’s drink.
“Dude… Your sister is seven…” I shot Pete a questioning look.
“Yeah, I know…” We stood there, elbows pressed against the counter top. A long pause hung in the air like a sheet of glass before I let out a sigh, shattering it.
“Damn, she is -”
“Magnificent… I know.” Pete cut me off as we shuffled over to the couch, grabbing the controllers.
A week had passed when Pete had his second brilliant plan. In order to not look like a gay couple, Pete advised that we create some sort of handshake to show Ella that we were just friends. So, like idiots, we stayed up all night concocting the best complex, yet subtle, handshake. While perfecting our performance, Pete continued to chat Ella up. He was afraid, however, of becoming a gay best friend, losing all chance the date her. So, the night before our execution, he told me to approach them around noon in the cafeteria. I was to casually walk up and “apply” the handshake, clearing all heterosexual doubt. Or so we thought.
Around noon the next day, I joined them in the cafeteria. As I walked towards their table, Pete and I made eye contact. He excused himself like a true gentleman, and we clasped hands right next to the table - it had begun. Our handshake was total bullshit. Hands flying everywhere, fists bumping, fingers clicking - it was the douche version of cirque du soleil. About half way through, this handshake was so long that it required an interlude, Ella started laughing her ass off. We froze. I glanced over at him; looked pale as fuck, all the blood drained away from his face. We both realized how incredibly hard we just fucked up, but we forced ourselves to face Ella. She was trying her hardest to become silent, but she just couldn’t hold back her laughter. My mind immediately shifted gears and I started looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed our sideshow. Thanks to the great gods, everyone else had been preoccupied with school work, food or conversation, although they were now staring due to Ella’s hysterical laughter. For an unknown reason, my mind went into some kind of 3rd person point of view, and I began replaying our performance. I started to crack up, too. Infact, I laughed so much, I was forced to take a seat and catch my breath. Pete had slinked into the chair next to mine and fortunately people resumed whatever they were doing before.
“Guys… I know you’re not gay.” Ella spoke, but she giggled a little afterwards. Pete looked as though he shit his pants: his face was red, jaw clenched. I stretched my arm out towards Ella and she firmly grasped my hand, leading into a shake. With a slight friendly smile, I spoke:
“Hey, name’s Clark.” She substituted a curtsy with a slight head nod, like at our dorm, as she replied.
“Hello Clark, I’m Ella.”
“Nice to meet you Ella.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” Her voice seemed to have awoken Pete from his petrified state because by the time she finished her first word he was back to normal - or at least as normal as he could have been.
“So, how long did you guys practice your stupid handshake?” Ella questioned. We started to blush, like a couple of embarrassed children.
“All night…” Pete answered meekly. She clapped her hands together over her mouth in an attempt to cloak her giggling.
“I knew it!” She started waving her index finger at us, “you guys are insecure!” Pete grumbled slightly as he tried to think of a retort, but Ella wouldn’t let him. “Ooohhhh, that’s too cute.” She put on an adorable face, pouting her glorious pink lips at us. “Well, I know you’re not gay… but, you two are definitely homophobic.”
“Wha-... No we’re not…” My defensive attempt was futile.
“Oh, it’s okay Clark.” She smiled at me as she finished,” I understand that feeling.” At this point, Pete had to of lost his mind because he was just sitting there like a lifeless corpse. “Oh come on Pete, I know you’d feel uneasy talking fashion with me.” His face morphed into shock.
“B-but…” Pete tried to speak.
“It’s ok Pete. I can sense that you have been working on “fashion” for quite some time now.” She threw up finger quotes. Pete looked flabbergasted.
“How -” Ella stopped him from continuing.
“I know about your stash of fashion magazines.”
“What. How’d you know?”
“I have my sources.” Ella giggled slightly before winking at Pete. I was smitten… we both were. “Seriously though, I have a friend in Pete’s class. Also, your friends were joking about your stash and I overheard.” Pete shook his head, eyes glued to his twiddling thumbs. “... but most of all, Pete, I can see that you are new to the fashion world.”
“Where did I go wrong?” Pete’s voice was meek again, losing hope.
“A fashionista…” She put her finger to her lip, humming quietly. “Mmm… A fashionista must look more fashionable. Don’t you think?” Ella was correct. Granted, Pete didn’t walk around in dad sandals, a plain tee and baggy sweat pants, but he certainly was not a fashion icon. “Besides, your fashion sense has no context: a person who is deeply involved in any subject always speaks from the heart - in some form of context.” As Ella continued on about Pete’s failure, I couldn’t help but feel both sad and extremely intrigued. I grew up in an environment where there weren’t a lot of smart women, or maybe I’m just sexist, but I’ll be damned if this amazing woman wasn’t smart. Ella must have noticed Pete shrinking because she ceased her vocal soliloquy. “Hey, Pete… I know why you did it all; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Pete came back to life like someone pumped him full of adrenaline and dopamine . Pete finally looked back up, great timing because Ella had just tilted her head slightly, her hair sliding over - I was lost. Melted. “So, I’m going to give you the chance! Go ahead, ask.” Her voice resonated through my head, and I started thinking of a million questions to ask, but my fantasy was short-lived.
“A-a-a-a-ask what?” Pete’s stammering shattered my illusion, dragging me back to reality. She continued to tilt her head as she raised her eyebrows. She pursed her lips, giving off a scornful look. Pete regained his composure again and he cleared his throat. “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me after school?” Ella smiled at him, playfully nodding.
“I would love that Pete.” She spoke in a gentle voice accompanied by a quiet chuckle. Meanwhile, I sat there struggling to veer myself away from asking
“can I come, too?” To me, Ella is beyond words, and I feel stupid and powerless whenever I am near her. Pete let out a massive sigh after finally getting the green-light from Ella. I couldn’t even imagine being in his place right now, and even though I hate to admit it I was a little jealous. All three of us sat, talking for an hour or so, but even if it were only for a short time, I got to know her, so I took this little victory, this amazing, but short, experience, and headed back to the dorm.
To Be Continued...
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Topic: The Ballad of Ella - Rewritten (Read 11608 times)
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