Willie Mays made "The Catch." Harry Truman dropped "The Bomb." The Band was "The Band." And, on a memorable Wednesday, May 5th, 1999, Elkie gave me "The Smile."
     When it happened, Kim, Ryan, and I were sitting in the sunny Southern Cross plaza. Kim bragged about Julie, her new girl who loved ice cream. Ryan mentioned a girl back home. I didnīt need to say anything, as, at that moment, my lower neck felt the wind-like tingle of Elkieīs pinching hand.
     She was speeding to class, but as she walked she cast a spell that couldīve frozen a cheetah.
     Tight grey and black covered her rainforest-rich body. Dark, pointed strands climbed down her face. Between angel-white cheeks were eyes, yellow as a field no man had tumbled in, that made me want to cry for the wrongs Iīd done and admit to those I hadnīt. Frosty lips curled thin like a stretching cat who would have all she wanted, and they hinted tantalizingly that she wanted me. Tasty eyelashes lowered alluringly, intensifying her rays of green and giving me hope that I could own the stars. Making the wonderful mistake of watching this eclipse, I was Elkieīs instant prisoner for as long as she could smile.
     Minutes later, Elkie had finished taking her step. She turned to class, nearly taking my eyes with her as she went.
     "What was that?" Kim reminded me of an inhabited planet located somewhere in the vicinity of Elkieīs feet.
     I could only respond with a smile of my own, this one brainless and drug-induced.
     I could only relate this incident to what people were rumoured to have said about the ancient beauty, Helen of Troy: "Any man would gladly give his sight to lay eyes on her but once."
     After observing this occurence - though a harmless flirt - few things seemed worth seeing.
     With all due respect, Mr. Mays, thank god for Elkie.