Their Days of Nights

25 : Drag

March 2011

Kimberly

Monday

"Kim," Randy catches my attention, and everyone around turns their heads toward me. "You look like you drag yourself to work today."

I give him a blank stare in return and disregard the faces of my teammates. Then I shrug at him.

Randy checks the time on his watch and tells us we have to get to work.

I turn around, subtly rolling my eyes, and sit down on my assigned chair. I see my reflection on the monitor before I wake up the computer. He's right, I look like I need extra hours of sleep.

Last weekend was stupid. And I spent the majority of the hours that followed mentally consulting the ceiling and repeatedly regretting what I did, what I said, and how I said them.

Benjie was texting and calling. I ignored them and him. I said I wanted to be alone, for goodness sake! I'm sure he gets the message by now.

Aya came back this morning, and I was only able to tell her a portion of what happened before she fell asleep. I, of course, was hit with insomnia.

I listen to the umpteenth caller as she rants by repeating what she already said seconds ago. I pretend to catch up when I already solved her problem and updated her account. I sip coffee from my tumbler while I do so.

She finally stops and thanks me. Then she ends the call, just in time for my lunch break.

*

"I need to talk to you," I whisper to Goofy, who's sitting to my right at the table we occupy in the pantry.

"Okay," he casually says.

"I mean... Well, after we eat. And privately."

"Suuure. Okay."

He looks unsure, though, and somewhat nervous. His chin trembles before he drinks his water.

We're outside now, by the side of the building facing the parking lot.

Goofy is like his usual self tonight. He's wearing a white t-shirt, dark green hoodie, dark blue skinny jeans, and his beaten-up classic Adidas shoes. His hair sticks out from all sides. Either he thinks fixing it is overrated or he's not fond of combs. It has become his trademark look, I think. And I can't imagine him not having that messy hair.

I raise my right foot and press it against the wall. There are three other employees on the opposite corner, but I'm pretty sure we're out of their earshot.

"What's, um, what's up?" he asks.

I drop my foot back on the ground, cross my arms, and lean my body on the concrete instead.

Ian is five-foot-ten, so I have to angle my head up to see the expression on his face when I talk to him.

"I, um... I know that you like me...like me."

He furrows his brows and attempts to look confused.

"You don't have to deny it. I know you do."

He sighs and runs his hands back and forth at the nape of his neck.

"But I don't," I blatantly say. "I just thought to let you know...so you won't get your hopes up or something."

I look down. One, because I don't want to see the look of obvious resignation in his face. And two, I'm afraid I'll have a stiff neck if I don't look away.

"I'm sorry," I quietly add.

"It's okay," he says with a nervous laugh. "Don't worry about it."

Of course, I can sense from his voice that it's far from okay.