Undulant Reaction

Watermarked magazines, water stained ceiling tiles, a lazy-eyed dog languidly hovering in the corner, the taste of stale alcohol lingers with the fresh scent of your deodorant. I lick my lips. The lady across the room stares oppressively outward, but her gaze is distant. I can't tell if she's looking at or through me. Did it matter? We likely wouldn't meet again. Even if we did we wouldn't recognize each other. So we're acquainted again and again and again without acknowledgement by either party. The light fixture two panels from the front hallway flickers. The inconsistent tungsten upsets my stomach.

He walks close. His smile is genial. I grin back. He introduces himself. I become annoyed. I play the game anyway. Hi, I'm Arwen. We've never met before, but I've seen you around. You have a very natural and beautiful smile. Are those real? I touch your tooth. You've been smiling long enough that they're dry. I find it hard to pull away. The game is suddenly fun, but because it is I feel that sick feeling in my stomach magnify.

I wish I didn't doubt. I wish I didn't feel. But I love these undulant emotions, because I knew it wouldn't be true if I didn't feel them. I pull my finger aside. The lady across the room is bleak and unaffected. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I leave the room with the poor lighting, pungent smells and sad-eyed dog. I leave the shadow of doubt behind and open the heavyset-doors, expecting sunshine, but find a sheet of opaque cloud. My reaction is impossible to decipher, so I squat to the side and enjoy a metaphorical cigarette in voluntary solitude.