He was sitting in the company lunch room, a bleak industrial
space without windows and under fluorescent light. A slight buzz could be heard from a failing
bulb. He had decided to trade in the
desperate loneliness of wondering about his lost love for the piercing pain
of certainty in searching out photographs of her on social media. He was
staring at a photo of her in a group. It
was a mixed group of men and women, smiling with the shared comraderie of a
night out. He studied it like the
Zapruder film of the Kennedy assassination.
What did the subtle facial expressions indicate? Each hand location implied familiarity and no
doubt created dozens of potential scenarios in his head. He stared over at me. “I never should have looked for her.”
I, on the other hand, had hoped to slip by and go out to the
parking lot with that nod of acknowledgement that signified “Hello. I see you.
Greetings, but I cannot stop due to inflexible time constraints.” He was deep in it though. There was no way I could avoid it. I was going to have to fill the role of
priest, advisor, and most likely liar. He needed someone to throw him a rope.
“What do you think?
Is she with one of these guys? Or
is this just like a bunch of people from the office that went out?” Now I didn’t know any of these people. I had never seen them before. And these photos were frivolous instants in
stranger’s lives. What did I know? It was a group of people in their late
20s/early 30s. Everybody had probably
fucked everybody or was at least trying to.
I looked at it closely. Somebody
was fucking the cute little brown girl. That
was clear. Probably the guy in the
baseball cap. His ex-girl was in the
back of the group smiling, not wanting to be the center of attention. She was probably just out with the
group. Yet… Who was that guy back there near her? He seemed a bit meek, like he was under the
sway of the girl in question. Hmmm… Something was going on there.
“I don’t know. Who
are these people?” He wasn’t sure. Work friends he thought. They were all on some sort of outing. “Well, someone is hooked up with that girl in
the green. I think it’s that douche
baseball hat guy. One of the two dorks
is probably with that puffy pale girl in the sundress. It looks like your girl is just hanging out.”
“Really? Do you think
so? I think that guy back there next to
her might be her new boyfriend. See how
he’s lurking near her?” Uh-oh. He saw the same thing I did. I looked over at my co-worker, knowing full
well what he expected. He needed me to
provide him with a scenario where he could have the willing suspension of
disbelief that his girl was still like he remembered her, thinking about him as
much as he was thinking about her, that somehow, they would get back together. He needed me to tell him a lie that he could
cling to for combating the misery of imagining her happy, in constant coital
bliss, and having totally forgotten him. He needed a lie that would work.
“No way. She would
never go out with that pussy. Look at
him. He’s probably just trying to get in
there. Look how uncomfortable he looks,
like he’s got no game. I wouldn’t worry
about it.” He stared back at his phone,
trying on my scenario, seeing if it fit.
I took that pause as my way out. “Hey,
I gotta go. Don’t let it bother
you. It’s her loss.” I walked out the door, a successful
escape. I still had the image of the
photo in my mind, of the girl and the thin uncomfortable man. There was no doubt.
They looked like a couple.
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