Room Mate

Firm shake and I utter good morning before I shuffle my way over to the sink. Received and revised in your mental processes before responding with a crisp hello.
You catch me dumbfounded when you ask what’s up.
I stammer,
trying to decide if I should remark “nothing” or “good.”

Here we stand, as strangers. Our only history recorded in the visual memory
I have of you slipping your
cigarette into an ash tray before walking through the door.
Our front door.

To be blunt, I thought the moment containing our awkward introduction would have arrived the week before last. It never bothered me until now.
Now that you’re unloading reality while I stand,
one hand on the door knob and mouth half open. Open and unsuspecting of the dispute inviting itself in.

Wording is not chosen carefully on your part and
the meaning falls through your sentences. You don’t belong here.

I am grasping for the holes,
trying to bind them together with a neat stitch. I think you’re mistaken.

Instead of asking to exchange numbers, you’re asking to exchange territories. Actually,
you’re looking at me as if it was written on the front page of today’s newspaper.
And even if the article was smacked in front of my face, the hole you’re boring into my brain with that stare-glare of yours is triggering a sudden loss of intellect on my part. (!!!)

I am reduced to a vocabulary consisting of one word.
Oh.

I chose “oh” because I thought it to be a clever counter against your immediate line of accusatory fire. In one quick motion I have reduced our animosity towards each other to mutual bewilderment.
Tired of wasting your energy in conversation, you plant your lips on top of each other and steal one last glance in my direction before excusing yourself from my presence.
Actually,
I think you just tossed your hair to one side before strutting back to your room.

Oh.

I exit out our door.

Published by Anna Buck

"everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

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