I’m sitting at the public library trying to work but mostly listening to Good Ol’ Country Boy talk Librarian’s ear off. She responds to his long trivial sentences with one word, sometimes no word at all but only a hmmm of acknowledgement. She sounds beyond bored. I myself have looked over at him at least four times, as if to say this is a library and you’re speaking too loudly. He doesn’t catch on. Did you hear about all the trees down after the storm out on Henderson road? Did you know that he and Jimmy can never act serious together, that it’s just not possible? Did you hear that Bertie has cancer again, this time worse than the first? I cringe at Librarian’s disinterest, ashamed at my own annoyance. I feel her pain, her inability to hand this unwelcome conversationalist off to another person. I, too, am Librarian.
I write out a text supposing that perhaps stronger friendships may relieve some of my ongoing feelings of anxiety.
I see you Good Ol’ Country Boy. I am you too.