Young Underpaid Professionals

FICTION posted by Rica

How does he do it?

When I look him in the eyes, he glances right through me and walks past me, suddenly disappearing in the crowd. And when I chance upon him in the train heading home, he’s taking in all of me, and I see his lips curl at both ends upward, a sign of amusement or bewilderment flashing across his homely face.

And when I get off the bus I see him in the corner of my eye, hiding behind another passenger. When I finally turn around to see if my mind’s playing tricks on me again, his amused face is nowhere to be seen.

I think I should get my eyes checked this time.

They talk about him through the walls of my tiny office, too. Cubicles housing drones seem to be talking nonstop all nine hours of my workday, and I can’t avoid my ears from catching bits and pieces of phrases and gossip jumping from one square compartment to another.

Twenty-seven, caught my right ear. Pretty face and pretty wallet, caught my other ear. I am almost sure they’re talking about someone else. But then it’s almost like they’re also exchanging words about me when they talk about him. The “he” I hear them say always comes with a “she”, and I somehow see that “he” and “she” are in the same phrases and rumors jumping from one cubicle to another. And I see their faces light up when it seems I get distracted from the “he” and the “she” snippets I hear. And the little excitement only dies down when the watchful eyes and ears of the manager pass by the corridors near the cubicles, and the sparkle on their faces disappear, and they’re back to their usual pallid state.

In the corner of my eye I steal a glance at him during coffee break, and although I might just be imagining this, it feels as if he’s doing the same thing. I don’t see a pretty face, just a “he” and no “she”, and he’s not doing anything extraordinary. He stirs the coffee he poured in his mug thrice, like how he usually does. He brushes away the hair that fell on his face when he looked down to read the reminders stuck on the pantry table. He sighs again like he always does when his fifteen-minute break is over.

Still I wonder he times his glances at me when I’m not looking. I often feel eyes are on me when I’m trying to work, when I’m refilling my tumbler for the fifth time with free brewed office coffee. I feel eyes follow me whenever I walk back to my four-walled enclosure, but when I look up and look around, no-one’s there.

I wonder how he does that, and doesn’t he stand out if he really has a pretty face? Often I hear the sound of a pair of shoes walking toward the corner where I work, but it disappears every time the person gets close enough for me to have a good look at his face. Or her face? But I’m certain it’s him. Maybe he should be stealthy next time.

Now I’m walking to the train station with people I work with and don’t, but their hushed blabbering and meaningful glances at me make me feel like they’re all talking about something I should know about but refuse to acknowledge. It’s that “he” and “she” ball again, getting bounced back and forth. And just as sure as this will turn into another mad gossiping, I spot him walking toward me. Or maybe he sees me walking toward him.

I see that his is no pretty face at all, and I see no pretty wallet either. I see his fingers moving as if he’s stirring his coffee again the same way he does during his fifteen-minute coffee break, stirring it thrice. And he sweeps the hair on his face away, as if to clear his sight. He’s staring at me like before, and just before I get a good look at him, he darts behind another man and stays hidden from my sight for a couple of seconds – enough time for me to wonder how he can take a good look at me when I can’t see him looking. He appears again when the man staggered to the right, and I finally see him clearly again.

It’s impossible for him to hide behind someone’s back now. He’s already too close, and although my strides and his have become smaller and slower, we’ll be meeting each other at one point. It’s infallible.

I will meet him head on if I just walk straight, but I take a step to the left at the exact moment we’ll be inside that one square foot of space in the middle of the busy crowd.

We walk past each other, and as we do, I take a peek at him on my right, and I finally spot him looking at me. He took a glance for less than a second, and I saw that he might actually have a pretty face like they say he does. And when I finally notice we’ve passed each other, I remember I should be feeling eyes following me as I walk away.

But I feel nothing. The “he” and “she” phrases and gossip don’t bounce from one co-worker to another, though I’m sure something else will light up their faces again tomorrow. Another ball with different bits and pieces of rumors.

And now I feel like I dropped something a few seconds ago – like my favorite pearl earring – and I have no chance of finding it again, even if I glance back.

Did you like this post? Let us know.

Unlike