You unlocked the door for me this morning. Layered brown hair bounced in front of your eyes, and you let me in. I offered to let you walk inside first, but you insisted. I was merely a guest.
You leaked an aura like a nuclear silo. Despite your best efforts, you still glowed through your neutral color blouse, your neutral color shoes, and your neutral color skirt. If there was a customizable feature on your person, you dulled it down to an earnest precision. I know why you dress like that. I can see it in the way you try to cloak your stride. You don’t want anyone to know how wicked you can be. How utterly delicious you are after-hours. On the clock, however, you’re a moneychanger. Working in the temple, merely trying to make a living. You prefer it that way.
The ring on your finger. A diamond band with numerous encrusted jewels. A man somewhere on this planet loves you very much, or at least has the finances to fake it. No one is allowed to see the green bra, or the cherry-scented candlesticks except him. You keep your legs shaved. But you still want others to admire all of your calf exercises. You work them out three times a week. You could crack walnuts between your knees. As you drag that lint roller across the skirt that’s a few inches above company policy, you hope someone is watching you.
I asked you simple questions so you would shuffle over and repair my computer. If you had never fallen in love with your man, would you have shown me around the branch, explained the rudimentary functions of the coffee grinder, and locked me in the vault with your caged appetite? Of course you would have. You’re almost twice my age. You would have ripped me to shreds with a sinister smile. Whisper in my ear again… IRA closeouts, miscellaneous debts. Paralyzed by your legs alone. Gore and fluid splattered over the new state quarters and Visa gift cards. I’d be caught in your lights and merely along for the ride.
But your head never wavered as you fixed my workstation. You scooted back to your desk, and we ignored each other for the remainder of the day. Then I saw your eyes. You were staring, if only for a moment. Waiting for me to screw up. For me to ask a question. To lean over me again. To whisper ever-soft with a twist…lines of credit, final balance totals.
I know you would’ve done it too if it weren’t for your husband getting into a serious car accident and your childish need to go to the hospital. Go on, darling, play your half-hearted role. There’s no lint roller shortage. I’ll savor the tension, and wait my precious little turn.
