Musings on Resentment

You sit across

me, excitement reflecting

in your eyes—

a sign that

you’re about to

tell us something.

“So there was

that one time,”

you say, but

I cut you

off by asking,

“What date is

it today again?”

I ask the

person to my

left.  She responds

and asks me

something in return.

From the corner

of my eyes,

I see your

jaw clench, but

you remain silent

and sink back

into your seat.

Strike one.

I continue to

speak of different

things and notice

you slowly begin

to relax.  Something

I say catches

your attention and

you ask me,

“What?  You really

drink that? Seriously?”

But I pretend

your words don’t

reach my ears.

My tale resumes

and I notice

you glaring at

the table, frowning.

Strike two.

I shrug, pretending

not to see

you.  So I

talk again to

the person on

my left and

she laughs at

all my jokes.

The clocks ticks

and time skips,

and I see

you rise and

say, “It’s time.

We should better

go and start

now.”  You leave,

but we don’t

follow you out

immediately.  We linger

in the room

for a little

while, enjoying our

conversation.  And when

we’ve exhausted ourselves

of speaking, we

decide to go

after you.  Just

as we leave,

we see you

coming our way

with a frown

on your face.

“If you’re not

up to doing

it, I’m leaving.”

You announce peevishly

And brush past

us.  We watch

you stride off

with bewildered looks.

Strike three.

You’re out.

-Nocturnal Scribe 

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2012