His 'Good Morning' is stale.

As usual.

I look into his eyes to show him I'm listening.

My mother always tells me to look into their eyes when they talk. It's rude otherwise.

I do so only out of politeness.

ಌ

Today he doesn't touch me.

He's busy with another girl.

She's new here, I suppose.

All I can see from my tray is her short burnt hair and the white of her feet.

He stands over her and speaks to her as if she's alive.

I slip down from my tray but my feet never touches the floor.

My legs are so numb, I float rather than walk.

ಌ

I peek at the girl from behind his back.

Her eyes are closed. is sealed. But she is pretty.

And I tell him so.

He ignores me but I don't mind much. My mother always tells me to be patient.

So I wait my turn.

He talks to the girl as if she responds to him.

But how could she? She's dead.

He turns to me and asks me how I feel today.

And I tell him. Only the truth.

I feel empty but less so.

How so?

I'm curious. I want to know.

He smiles. And his smile is still empty but less so.

He asks me what it is I'm curious about.

And I tell him. I want to know what happened to the girl.

He tells me she fell off the roof and broke her neck while hanging Christmas lights.

I shake my head and point at the missing thumb on her right hand.

I want to know what happened there.

It surprises him and he laughs.

I find it odd when he laughs.

Is that what laughter sounds like?

ಌ