This is impossible, and yet it must be true. There was no one in my studio all that week, let alone when I scribbled the bird. I’ve checked the drawing and there’s not the slightest sign of the creature front or back. God knows how, but you really can see me, can’t you?
Why doesn’t this alarm me as much as it should? I suppose because I’ve always sensed that I was being watched, but I’d put it down to everyday paranoia.
I’ve a million questions. Am I the only one you see? What form does your sight take?
How come I can’t see you?
I want to hear everything. Write in detail. Tell me all about yourself. I demand to know — please.
I arrive at the reception desk. Chat.
“No one tells us anything.” Followed by, “I have to show you!” Photo of new kitten then, and photo of a sketch of same kitten. Awesome, but I’m too distracted to feel it.
“Enjoying retirement?” Yeah, although we certainly hadn’t expected a pandemic, that does put a damper on things.
I’m a little early, time to think. Or maybe, to zone out.
Conversations, quiet ones, behind closed doors. Water running. Brisk walking down the broad hallway, a swish of sleeves along a coat hem.
Overheard, “I go to work for my vacation, haha.”
Conference operator, phone dialling, a beep of buttons. “We just got a call about a direct admission.”
I’m the lucky one in the shadows, today.
Thoughts? Feel free to share them here.