You turn to her to whisper like I can’t hear you. I didn’t sit near you two to be ignored. Don’t you know that the air slingshots your secrets to me, adding something sour to the aura of the room? I don’t mean to be narcissistic, but when you stare at me and then turn to her, I can’t help but wonder. My watch’s thin tail ticks in between each snicker. The tail has passed the 12 at least twice. I never knew I was such a mouthful. I stare at my walkie-talkie, in my lap, hoping for it to cough out a command or sigh my name; instead, the walkie breathes feedback and shuts off by itself.
I’ve been on break for only five minutes, but I’d rather be out on the floor than watch you two tilt towards each other like a teepee and act like you are talking about something else. I wonder how many days I have to work until one of you feels the need to talk to me. My introduction and handshake seem to affect a lot of people. I’m happy to hear that you are content with the way you are, with the way you sit across the room from me, like the distance will make a difference.