Sellwood. Hipster man is two cars in front of me, crossing the road with a girlfriend on his arm. A truck charges him, breaks their invisible safety bubble and the man gesticulates wildly and angrily with his fist. Don’t you see me here? I saw him but the truck didn’t until it was already too late. I saw him but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t driving the truck.
I am waiting in line to buy books. The blonde woman in front of me has a kitten calendar. The clerk at the counter finishes his sale and turns away, stacking books on the hold shelf. The woman steps forward and slams her kitten calendar down on the counter. Don’t you see me here? I saw her but the clerk didn’t until she was already irate. I saw her but it didn’t matter because I don’t work there.
Our favorite dinner spot is almost deserted, perfect for drinks and conversation. I study the warmth in your eyes, recording the exact expression on your face for use in a future daydream. You fill my water glass and tell me your latest dating story, another cold woman who doesn’t share your interests. I think of the things we have in common, smiling until I realize you’re still talking about her. You like this horrible woman. I look away. I want to disappear into my water glass. Don’t you see me here? I see you but it’ll never matter. I fade into the seat in front of you, a nodding smiling ghost.