I saw her drag her hand through her hair for the 4th time in the last 5 minutes. The laptop on her table lay untouched and her hands shook often and hit the edges of the table like they had forgotten how to function. She’d suck in a noisy gasp of air, till she was tired of the very conscious and tedious exercise. Her exhausted beady eye watered and a tear appeared on the edge, threatening to spill.
Every 10 minutes, she’d step out of her own world and look around at the others seated around her. She’d stare almost rudely, at their mouths and chests. Their healthy chests and and the beauty of the rhythm in them. The look in her watery eyes couldn’t have been mistaken for any other. It was longing.
A man approached her, smile on his face and concerned twinkly eyes. Whatever little conversation happened between the two, the girl seemed to find it tiresome. He left. A bit put off.
She resumed her very important ritual of confused hand hovering and rude air-sucking. What a marvel she appeared from where I sat. This pile of confusion and desperation, waiting to spill all over the place. Very willingly perhaps, in exchange for a good healthy breath of fresh air. Yet there she sat, minding her own business. Fighting her little battle.
What a perfect example of breathless.
