Every new experience seemed to be defined by a certain feeling of helplessness— I was a fawn, enclosed and injured by the angry metal of the bear trap, blood slowly seeping onto the grass surrounding where I lay. All I can do is hope that the boots approaching are here to free and aid me. My life rests inside their intention.
Within the first few weeks I had met him, I searched for his intention in everything— the way he said bye -or the way he didn't- when I left, the way he watched me while I wiped the tables or swept the floors in the front, the way he half-heartedly attempted to include me in the conversation after I had been listening from the side...
By this point, I was well-acquainted with the job, to the point I could do most things without help on my own. Still, though, a part of me wished he could teach me all over again. Even when I embarrassed myself, even when it seemed like he was looking down on me, it was better than him not looking at me at all.
He always seemed to have a certain consideration for me that the others didn't, and maybe that, above all, was the reason behind my admiration. Maybe though, it was also his hair- carefree and golden, falling to his shoulders. Maybe his eyes, blue and slightly upturned, with curled and long eyelashes, like mine. Maybe, his lips...maybe his voice, which was not yet affected by his incessant cigarette use, but maybe one day would be. For now, though, his voice was soft and kind, the sound of a smile always lingering in the back. His voice
