He spoke out of the corner of his mouth about business, finance, and sales. I tried for their attention, but they stared at him with stars in their eyes and hunger in their breath.
She forced me to speak when I didn’t want to. There were dimensions of naivety that surrounded her senses. He told everyone at work that I was the office manipulator, because I wanted people to like me.
They nodded in unison to his words, despite the glazed over expression on their crystalized faces. It’s easier to pretend, to dream about anything…everything…than interrupt to say, “I don’t fucking understand any of the shit coming out of your month, and quite honestly don’t care.”
Chatter away and soothe me with your swollen lips and tired words.
The more I laugh the more I expose your weakness. The truth comes from nothing you do or say. I am alone in what I see and think, as you are. You take life too seriously, or maybe not serious enough…I’ve been told that I care too much, and that I don’t care for anything.
I sat in the chair by the door and watched the others through the smoke. I had no desire to speak. Just wanted to observe. To feel their movement. I loved their German words because my mind didn’t have to register it. It was the closest thing to silence.
I later asked him to speak to me in his native tongue. He either didn’t hear me or chose not to. We swayed together in a room full of animal noises. I thought of someone else, lifted my body, and closed my eyes. Work was what pleasure had become.
I brought him in closer. Holding him tighter and tighter, trying to pull him as closely into me as possible…trying to bring his physical body into mine; defy our barriers.
Inside me I felt a hole, or was the hole his?
There was a heart missing where one was suppose to be. An emptiness…a crater.
What is that, I thought? That sinking feeling…
We separated and all the movement of the rushing people resumed…the car’s horns, the shouting Americans.
He opened the door to the taxi and I ducked my head in as I slid inside. Once through, he shut the door behind me and the taxi driver simultaneously, automatically, accelerated the car forward…my heart left beating on the sidewalk beside him.
I didn’t look back. I know he didn’t either.
As our physical distance grew, I started to doubt what had just been decided. I searched for his name through my contacts and typed, “I don’t feel comfortable about this.”
Almost immediately my phone beeped. The screen read, “Come back then.”
If there had been a glass in front of my face I would have smashed into it.
“Excuse me sir, I hate to ask you this, but would you mind turning around? I need to go back to where you just picked me up.”
I tried to lean back, to sink into the fake leather, but I was covered in prickles.
It was true. I hated to ask him, but I needed to.
My silence will serve as a testament to the
genuineness sincerity of all my words.