Glimpses
“Do you work here?” the lady asked.
“No I don’t,” I said.
“Oh. It just seemed like you belonged here.”
…
His face contorted into a plaintive raisin, the edge of two chasms, miscomprehension and incredulity. How could I be so assertive? Just how was I so sure I was right? It was too shocking.
…
I don’t know if my sight is piercing, or if I am simply blind. Do I peer through your being as a child through a pane of glass? Then you would feel the discomfort of invisibility, or worse, complete nudity. Or have my eyes perched on you like a dead weight, ballast heaved off in order for my mind to float upward? You would feel me lifting off, and you would be conflicted, to pay attention to this body, or to search for my metaphysical presence somewhere in the vicinity, you think.
…
She wants to lead me, but she’s the follower. In Tango, her personality is plain to see. She thinks she knows where I am going, and maybe I will fool her. Her mind is in her shoes, not in me. My mind is somewhere too. In my shoes or in my chest, in my clasped hands or in my lungs. There’s no hiding anything.