I watched as she glanced up and stared at herself in the lunchroom mirror,a brief realization
of self, and then she looked away downward, biting into her sandwich. She becoming one with the rest of the humans passing life away eating their lunch, lost somewhere in thought. Maybe they know that their fellow comrades in this endeavor are suffering loss,disillusionment,want,heartbreak or loneliness, and they have not one ounce of concern left to give to them, for their own plate at this meal of the spirit is full of fear and regret and a mounting heap of unpaid bills. Who has nourishment to share when ones own cupboard has only a morsel of dried bread?
The occasional sounds of shifting waxed paper or the crushing of a paper bag are the only interruptions that bring a brief respite from all this gloom. I feel like an interloper as I scan the room looking for interaction of any kind...an opportunity to break into their solitary worlds..to ask if there is a Mr. Cronin in the room. No one looks up,and I am glad that he is not here...or if he is...I won't be the one to tell him that his wife has passed away. As I ask one more time...the woman that I saw look into the mirror for a brief second... looks up another brief second at me..then looks back down. I think she knows something, but she prefers the world she was in.