DIDN’T MEAN TO STIR YOU

I popped into Asher’s office yesterday afternoon. It's not out of the way. We chatted for about ten minutes and everything seemed “normal” until the conversation started to wind down. When our words became scarce his eyes grew teary. I suddenly felt yoked with guilt and the air around us became stiff with awkwardness. I had to evacuate, for his sake and mine. I gave him an empathetic smile, touched his hand, said goodbye, and turned around to walk away. After about three foot steps, I heard him punch/kick/strike his file cabinet. Those were his last words for me. And while he spoke them, I was on a conveyer belt moving in the other direction by forces stronger than our combined wills.