28.08 III

‘I have a steady income.’ She continued, ‘Granted it’s not much-‘

Oh.

‘Oh.’

She was here to talk about her credit card.

‘I know. I know. But I like the work and it keeps me-‘

She stared at the table as if the word she was looking for was petrified in the glass and she couldn’t quite make it out. I tried to peer into the frosted glass too, but just saw the distorted reflection of the two of us. Me with my black and red tie, and the ‘not quite white anymore’ collar of my old, hand scrubbed shirt. Me with my ‘not quite long enough’ sleeves and my ‘not quite hidden’ tattoo. My ‘not quite swollen’ knuckles gripping the table as if I was afraid it was about to topple over or that I was about to going under, depending on which one us was stronger.

She, on the other hand, was barely visible. An indeterminable mass in her dark suit and her tangle of black curls, blending into the dark green glass like she had always been a part of it. Effortless. Nondescript.

I felt a bead of sweat run down my neck as I waited for her to speak.

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