He sits across from her, two isles of desks away. She saw him the first day he showed up with his four girls crew. She saw him, looked at him broadly twice and dismissed. Not that he was dismissible, but her head had had enough to handle for years to come. Not yet. Not again.
Two days went by. She had caught him glancing at her three or four times through the mornings and lazy afternoons. She had caught his puzzled eyes wondering, but she refused to assume he wondered about her. He was just lost into thoughts, not into her. No wetting her toes into any river. She needed ground.
The third day it might have been the baseball cap. There was something about the whiteness of the cloth against his tanned skin that sucked her into his soft beard, his blue eyes, his half smile. She looked away. He answered the phone. His raspy voice echoed in her ears. No. No. Not yet. Not again. She locked her ears from any outland.
But then she spotted his calves under the desk. She spotted the roundness of that muscle riding her into sudden lust. She looked at his ankles, thin as a good dancing slave. His protuberant chest yielding surface to his shirt. His hands typing away seventy-five words per minute. She lost her eyes in him until awaken by his smile. She looked away as if she had been looking through him. But inside her blood was sprinting. She could smell his scent from miles.
She walked outside and lit a cigarette she didn’t want to smoke. She lifted her arms wishing for the wind to dry the sweat drops off her skin. She sighed heavily and asked the gray clouds to distract her intensities. Please, take them with you. Take me with you.
She walked back into the office and his eyes stared directly at her. No hide, no secret. She stared back all the way to her chair. Sat down, cocked her head expressionless while still looking at him and finally looked away at her computer screen. Still, he stared. God, help me. Let me resign from my hunger for a split second. Not yet. Not again.
That night she escaped to home without saying goodbye to anyone.
Next day she came in too early, haven’t had noticed the anxiety of her early wake up. She had sped up to work distractively, not aware of her crave.
She sat in her car reading while waiting for the office to be opened. She watched his crew arriving, one at a time. He will be the next. He always comes in after the Coordinator. She watched the minutes walking through the door, but not him.
She thought she got her mind in place, paced into the office and camped her eyes at his empty spot. He must be getting here any moment now. What? What am I saying? She typed away into her keyboard a story she didn’t want to live; a story about a girl meeting a boy without really getting to know him. A story about the hesitance of a girl persisting to avoid new storms within. She wrote about the girl and felt sad for her despair, her intransigence with herself.
She wrote for as long as she could. He was to arrive any second. But then ten o’clock came and not him. She remembered his blueness gazing at her the days before. She remembered his mystery, his mist and she felt moved. She felt moist.
She ran into the restroom and looked at the mirror. Stop. Stop. You gotta stop. Rest your breath for a second. She looked into her eyes and shut down her fantasies. This is not about him. This is not about anyone but my inability to rest alone for a split second. Stop. You don’t want to know him. I plead. She was tired of her hastiness. Tired of repetitions and the frugality of her inconsistence. The diagnosis was clear; she had been addicted to excitement, to feeling too much, to loving and desiring and engaging and diving. She was exhausted of longings. She washed her face and peed in silence. Enough. She flipped her head and fixed her hair. Not yet. Not again.
When she came out of the restroom there he was at his chair exhaling fire. He smiled at her and she grimed shyly. Run for your life. I can feel it, it’s burning again. No, it’s not any chemistry, it’s just caffeine. It gotta be.
She refrained from thinking but her hands were shaking. Mothafucking cappuccino. Perhaps, I must blame this demand-less job that allows my mind so much to drift. All I need are some tasks and my mind will be clear. Send me the infantry; I’m ready for the battle against my will.
So she got back to writing her story about the girl that didn’t want to meet the boy. She threw herself into words and disregarded her heartbeat. It kept beating. She wished to demise her evil sweat glands persisting to flow rivers under the fabric. She looked at him sitting quietly and wished to run her fingers through his still wet hair.
The day became long. Every second insisted in stretching itself. She saw everything. His dark-gray converse, his dark jeans, his hip green shirt, his attention while scribbling into the post-it, his carefulness with the taping down pictures, the kindness in his tone, the sharpness of his angles. You evil God up there. Leave my motives alone. Leave me be.
She went outside and smoke another cigarette against her will. Let me smoke away my thoughts, blur them with smolder and divert my chemical imbalance. She sat by a chair outside and drifted into bewilderment. She rested her head on her hands and found a pair of dark-gray Converse by her feet. He had sat next to her. No words just presence. They sat in silence hearing each other’s breath, feeling each other skin without needing to touch. Not yet. Not again. They kept the hum of the silence in their heads until requiring tasks pulled them back in. Uff.
The day had gone by with her searching for quietness in her mind. The clock was ticking and she had a chance to win against her overly adventurous hunger. But please, stop talking. Allow me to refrain from hearing your voice against my ears.
By five o’clock she had survived. It was Friday. By the time the weekend would be over she wouldn’t be sitting on that desk again for months to come. Her job was to end and that last Friday was the last chance to give in.
She packed her computer. Looked at him with freedom and wished for a soft kiss. She stood up, pretended to not be leaving––and left. Left alone and drove away holding her breath. It was done. It was over. She closed that chapter and rode along.
Not yet. Not again.
