Simon looked up from his laptop to see a YouTuber he knew but mildly disliked enter the coffee shop. He did a double take. What was Jack Fitness doing in this humble spot?
He looked for someone to tell, someone who seemed as excited or surprised or in the know, but nobody’s eyes beamed with awareness. Everyone sat rayless. And what would he tell, really? There was nothing to say.
That is a person, he imagined saying while pointing to Jack, that is a person I have seen eat breakfast in his rustic aesthetic home, in his plain black pajamas. I know his exact oatmeal recipe, his favorite protein powder brand. I know his girlfriend’s name and his dog and that his father died earlier this year. I have seen him weep. I have seen him do ad placements. I know the frown he makes when the dumbbells start burning his arms. That the left side of his back is stronger. The small, delicate letters tattooed on his sternum. I know him. I have borne witness.
Jack, the YouTuber, got his coffee and left without glancing around. Simon was seated expectantly still, in ready position, clenched, when the door closed behind him. Jack disappeared down the street and nothing happened, because they didn’t know each other, and it’s not like Simon even liked him, either.
Kleopatra Olympiou is a writer from Cyprus. Her writing has appeared in
HAD, Electric Literature, and Maudlin House. She lives in London. Find
her on Twitter/X @kleopatra_o.
No comments:
Post a Comment