By Meghan Tennison
She and I are sitting at a public coffee table. There are no bugs on this table, but I imagine there once being a whole school of beautifully-coloured chewing gum under its surface. It is covered by a fishy cloth cut into the shape of a big square. How many times has this table cloth been washed today? Maybe once, and maybe more than once a child has used their little, mucus-ridden finger tips to touch these forks. I do not like forks. I would rather suck on a spoon to pass the time.
â€œI feel so invisible,â€ she says. â€œEven though weâ€™re just a foot away from the people on that table, itâ€™s like theyâ€™re not even there. I canâ€™t hear what theyâ€™re saying at all! I wonder if they even hear me right now.â€
Nope, they didnâ€™t. They didnâ€™t even make a movement directed toward us, so we started making faces in their general direction. Still, nothing is bounced back our way, at all.
â€œMaybe weâ€™re in a bubble,â€ I suggest. â€œMaybe this table is forming a massive, sticky bubble to contain anybody who marches inside of it. Nobody looks inside of a bubble, do they? They just pop it when they see one.â€
Sheâ€™s still sucking on her spoon. â€œWhat are you babbling on about? That little boy over there sees us perfectly. Donâ€™t try to stare back!â€
â€œI am not!â€ I say. Little children see everything.