She has not said a word. He sits across. Talking. Big. Big talking. He is “Big Talking” at her. His achievements, his trophies.
Big statements, Big numbers.Big words that he would like to think take up all of the space in the room. Huge, life-size letters as they move from his never ending mouth. More like belching than speaking.
His eyes down at his phone, not on her face. Constant articulation of the mouth. Constant movement of jaw and tongue and teeth.
I mean it hasn’t stopped! He spews. Spits out bits and pieces of language, lingering on letters that matter to him, vomiting vowels, namely “I”.’
He has to be tired. Isn’t he tired yet?
She, looks out of the window. She has the look, girls. You know what I am talking about. The look. The look of itchy ambivalence.
Is he attractive enough to sit here and pretend I am listening? Why did I wake up early and put on make-up to listen to this? What would happen if I told him to shut up?
Her eyes glaze. Involuntary nodding. Semi-sweet smile. Truth be told–she is bored beyond the belief that here she is again, head bobbing up and down while another man yaps at her incessantly.
To avoid nodding off or succumbing to the growing desire to stab herself in the eye with a Starbucks straw, she silently counts how often the word “I” flies out of the mouth of the man sitting across from her blathering. 23, 24, 25, 26, 27…
Her phone rings! With all of the words piling up in a momentarily closed mouth, his panic sets in. He stares at her boobs while she takes the call.
She is talking.
Her words, her own big words, the telling of herself…
“Now’s your chance girl! Save yourself!” I scream silently to her from the other side of Starbucks. Go, girl…run for your life. Literally.
It’s not merely that he will never shut up.
He will never listen to you.