I dont know you. I dont know who you are. Except that I do. I know that you sit right there, in that same spot each time we meet at this same time every week. You sit there, and you are always late, and I like that I know you are late because of that small white paper bag that you swing by your thighs as you stroll in. You are late because you buy that, and I know this. You sit down, and sometimes you glance apologetically at the Professor, but usually you dont. You wait until you are sitting down to take off your coat. Do you know you do that? I do.
Next the lights dim, the lecture begins, and we all take notes. You do, sometimes. Only a few words, when the screen lists whole paragraphs, that I scramble to
copy word for word, then stop as I see you nonchalantly watching others, so frantic. You are amused. This is when I lean back, relax, and write only a few words too.
It is something we do together, we take short-hand notes. It is because of you that i take short-hand notes. There is only one thing that I cannot predict, out of
all the things that you do during the entire class. It makes me nervous, anxious, fanatical, fearful. Will you do this thing? Or wont you? If you do will I notice? Oh yes. I always notice. I always notice when you stop your note-taking, look up,
and sneak a quick glance at me.
Guess what? I saw.