“Next, please!”
She’s passive-aggressive this morning. But of course she is. She has to deal with us everyday. Our dour expressions, lifeless eyes – the soles of our shoes barely leave the linoleum floor as we shuffle up in the queue.
“Next, please!”
Little more than poorly presented parasites – vacuums of enthusiasm. And we have the audacity to actually want something from her – money.
“Next, please!”
I recall the harsh winter winds from the shipyard. I recall its violent indifference as it dried and split the skin of our hands and lips, how it dulled sensation and compromised our vision, and how the swelling sea forged, with force, more than a century of strong stomachs and even stronger backs. I recall how easy it all was.
“Next!…”
…She’s dropped the please. But of course she has. She has to deal with me today. My dulled edges. The shameful boldness of my request – something for nothing in a world where everything has a price, and a reflection in the glass partition clarifies any mistaken sense of worth on my part.
Please… now that I’ve heard it, I need it. She can keep the cheque – I can go without food. She can pan the remnants of my dignity and despise me again thereafter. I don’t mind. I would make that deal, here, now, all for one passable consideration of my existence in this moment. All for one brief acknowledgement.
She dropped a note covered in illegible scribblings – nothing important. It landed by my feet. I picked it up and handed it back before signing the usual form.
“Ta”, she said.
And then she was confused, I think? Just for a moment. Almost as if she didn’t expect my gratitude in return.
# # #
Trevor Moran currently resides in the quiet fishing village of Crosshaven on the south coast of Ireland. His time is typically spent working with the ultimate hope of creating something worthy of appreciation and publication.
Previous publications include this fictional short story for The Anti-Languorous Project. This candid article on the subject of mental health and depression in the regional newspaper. And this farewell obituary for a musical hero of mine.
Photo: Markus Spiske
