There he’s sitting, keeping the safest distance, leans back against his chair. He used to sit where I am, but now he chooses to sit three meters away from me. I take a long, deep breath. Suddenly I feel nostalgic: it feels similar to my Dad’s workplace; the damp scent of old, yellowish books, the rusted tables, and the silence when my dad took his overtime; no one was there but him and me. Dad always looked very serious with his work. While dad was working, I used to wander around his workplace and tried to find things I could play with.
Beside him—that man who sits three meters away from me—piled up an artifact, bone-colored, like the stuffs I knew from the past. While contemplating this place, I fidget; clicking my pen and rolling my hair with my index finger. I think I want to smoke.
“Do you have a lighter?” I ask him
“Yes. Wanna smoke together?” He stares at me, his body gesture signs he wants to stand up and ready to go outside, because we actually cannot smoke in this small, old library.
“Oh, I would prefer smoke while doing my test, sir.”
He nods slowly. “Oh, right.”
I approach him and use his lighter awkwardly. He seems busy with his laptop. I thank him and go back to my chair. While I’m sitting, I occasionally cast my sight to him, making sure he is still there. He is still there. And my mind wanders around. What if he asks me to stand still in front of the bookcase while he slowly approaches me and put his arms right next to my ears, pushing me softly against the shelves and—oh! Where was I? I stare blankly at my laptop.
“You know Blade Runner? It’s cyberpunk.” Says he, out of the blue.
“Yes, it’s cyberpunk. You told me you didn’t know what it is, right? That is the example.”
“Oh, yes? I must’ve really ignorant to know punk as merely Mohawk haircut.”
He giggles. I almost die.
“No, it’s not.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll do some research about it later.”
And then silence again.
“You should really watch it, you know. It comes from 1984.”
“What does the year has to do with the urgency to watch it?”
“I don’t know. You like old stuffs in young settings, don’t you?”
I see him leans on the chair, giving me a slight more of his body, right from this angle, all he needs is to turn his face a little bit to the left to see me. I dare to hope him to look at me, giving me a signal that the words he has spoken was meant not only literally but also figuratively.
In all of sudden, the door on the right side of me creaks open.
There, I see my significant other stands still. With his perplexed, sorrowful face, he stares at me. We haven’t met for days after the quarrels we had back then. I stare back at him, I see some kind of question right from his face: is it really over?
Oh, was he, the man who sits three meters away in front of me cast a sight to me just know?
I’m not really sure.
Word count: 550.
#Scribere2018, #Class C, #FlashFiction