You’ll never sit comfortably at that desk. If you stretched them out, your feet would rest beyond the power strip. So you curl your legs up until your knees press into the top of the table sometimes — sitting the way a workman might plie. And then you curl more. Your shoulders hunch forward and your elbows rest on your legs, pulled into your body. A space consciousness — you’re so aware, of the desk made for shorter legs, the chair for a shorter person, the proximity of the seats for economy more than ease. You’re so aware of your long limbs. You're so aware of the span of your back and the desk — that one does not hold the other comfortably.
That’s not the only reason you hunch. Your skin is the telltale pallor of someone who’s spent too much time in Pittsburgh. Your dark eyes unfocused from too many hours huddled at too small desks with too dim lights. But they’re soft eyes, gentle eyes on a face that looks like it comes to anger slowly, thoughtfully. You’re tired.
But when you stand, uninhibited by the desk, you’re strong and sturdy.
No comments:
Post a Comment