Another

She talks and, of course, I listen.  A song is playing in the background.  There is silence between us while I don’t know what to say.

She cuts time short, “Why, though? Why do I even care?"

The song plays.  A mutual song.  It has meaning and we both love it—listening, I remember times listening to it with her.  I smile, buying time.

“One day,” I say, choosing pro-nouns, avoiding what I know I should.  “One day, someone will deserve you.”

Her eyes flick to mine, level—intense.  The music plays, a glance turns into a stare.  I lose my nerve.  My eyes jump away, investigating the burn mark on the table between us.  It’s still brown, the shape of an eye.

“Someone will deserve you, too”

I barely breathe, my nervous systems interfere.  It’s not as bad when I don’t drink.  The glass is already half-empty.  The song is still playing.

“We could just deserve each other,” I manage.

I can’t tell, but I feel like her eyes are on the burn mark too. Everything is buzzing, everything but the song.  And her.

I raise my eyes.  Hers are still on mine.  We stare a second before we laugh.

 Playing and playing, pro-nouns and time.

Everyone’s waiting.