She stared at him like outstretch hands, fingers caressing his tight, pale cheeks compassionately. The poor man finally veered his look upward, meeting her eyes and instantly understanding her empathy. She gave him a faint smile before fluently standing; managing to not awaken the slumberous, fatigued faces around her. Her eyes remaining steady-on the man in the darken corner of the room- a worried frown now edged across his lips.
The poor man felt suddenly ill…his gnawing nerves making their unwelcome scandal- a throbbing temple, delicately quivering hands, and droplets of preparation discernible. With her every step nearing, he felt his back stiffen and his mouth, dry and sticky, breathless with dreadful anticipation. Her smell- an overpowering aroma that he recognized as not fashionable, but of inferior quality. Initially he could not hear her words, an almost silent sound that he could not decipher.
Hello Jim, she whispered so as not to disrupt the “jubilee” behind her. The dim corner shrouded them like a giant blanket, making them invisible from curious eyes that might intrude. This realization of privacy, which penetrated his thick tension, calmed him. At once his dead ears opened and he heard her voice, a soft, warm resonance that miraculously soothed the ferociousness in his gut. My name, how did she know… my name?
His cautious eyes met hers with a quizzical look. She understood his unspoken doubt. Pointed directly at the sticker glued to his lapel she returned his frown. My nametag, he told himself…he felt like a dunce, but was able to manage a smile. He felt all the emotional garbage drain away and, courageously, offered her the seat next to his. She accepted with a wider smile, exposing her straight dentures; Her eyes, Those eyes, he thought briefly, Beautiful!
The moment, so far, was perfect.
