from katsuya terada’s rakugaking, page 0915

Everyone always said they liked her smile. It weirded Theresa out a little, because in high school and college no one liked much of anything about her, not that they’d felt compelled to tell her at least. She wasn’t even wallpaper. She was the paste behind the wallpaper. Rarely thought of and complimented never.

But now she was grown, she had a good job, her bank account was okay, she had a nice little black lab puppy at home, and every couple of weeks, on the subway, at a restaurant, at the coffee shop, on the street, she heard someone say “Excuse me, but, uh, you have a really pretty smile?” or something to that effect. One guy told her she was “high-beaming,” paused, and immediately apologized. “My mouth sometimes gets out in front of my brain,” he said, before asking if she was busy that weekend.

Theresa had the shy, awkward smile of someone who practiced smiling in a mirror. Nothing special, as far as these things go, but the reaction certainly was remarkable.

The first time someone complimented her, she ignored him. She hated being catcalled. This was just more of the same. The second time, she got caught looking at one guy. He was fresh from the basketball court, judging by his clothes and sweat, and he saw her looking. She looked away, waited, and looked back. He was still looking, so she smiled her practiced smile and looked away again. She could feel a faint warmth crawling its way up her cheeks, physical proof of her guilt.

He sat down beside her and waited a moment. When she didn’t look up, having suddenly become very interested in the gossip magazine she’d been absent-mindedly flipping through, he tapped her shoulder. “I hope this isn’t too creepy,” he began, “but you have a really, really pretty smile.” She smiled back, by accident, and he smiled, too. “I just wanted to say that, I don’t want to bother you or nothing.”

Imagine a woman. She’s tall, but reserved. Skinny jeans, loose t-shirt, and her hair in a bun. Now imagine that same woman, but she is walking on air for a week straight.

—

After a while, Theresa gave in to the pressure and began going on dates, as long as the complimenter of the day came off genuine and wasn’t too creepy. She was scared of creeps. She was from a small town, and she still wasn’t too sure about New York. She’d heard all the horror stories, most of them false but still terrifyingly feasible to her, and took them to heart. Text a friend before, during, and after a date. Google someone before going out with them. Mace, pocket knife, and know where to throw a knee, elbow, or claw to do the most damage.

To her surprise, Theresa didn’t need any of it. The dates were simple affairs, like coffee and a treat at Starbucks or drinks and pool at a local dive. The picnic in the park got a little awkward, but that was on Theresa’s dog rather than Theresa herself.

The dates didn’t lead to anything past a little drunken making out every once and a while, but that was nice. She didn’t get a lot of that when everyone else did. And each time, she walked home with a pep in her step and a song on her lips.

It felt good.

—

Once, while she was drunk in a bar with girlfriends, she tried to explain what was going on. It sounded like bragging to her ears, but her ladies only wanted to know more. Did she… with the…? No no no, she demurred. But they kept on: the journalist in the bar bathroom with the leaky faucet, the baller in the backseat of the Acura, the financial district geek in his Benz? Nope, nope, of course not, are you serious?!

Theresa felt good, better than she had in years. She daydreamed about going wild and leaving a trail of broken hearts up and down Manhattan, turning into a real man-eater, and devastating the hearts of lady-killers. But it was a daydream, and nothing more. She didn’t have that in her. She was far too kind for that. She didn’t want to rock the boat so much as just enjoy the ride.

Life was good. She wanted to enjoy it. She liked to smile.