For 6 Perfect Minutes

I'm suspicious of people that won't let me email them the job. That insist on meeting, face to face. That insist. I'm suspicious of people that insist.

He took the folder from me and motioned for me to sit, which I did, which I welcomed, after that long walk up Columbus Avenue, after writing and driving and parking and walking instead of emailing.

He opened the folder and looked at the page, his hands showing he would flip through quickly, but hesitated. Hesitated. Waiting. Reading. He sat back. Then back a little farther. Then relaxing. I looked at my manicure, and my shoes, and my watch. I looked at his desk, and his tie, and his wedding ring. His eyes were locked. He was really reading. Not thumbing though it. Not checking it over. He was really reading it. Each Word.

I watched him turn to the second page.

"Are you going to read the whole thing now?"

He shrugged without looking up. I don't think he knew. I don't think he could break concentration enough to articulate an answer.

"I could come back in an a little while and..."

"Shh."

He shushed me. He cut me off with a "shhhh." I was so surprised I could do nothing but sit there. I thought about leaving. Slipping out quietly. I thought about going. I thought.

We were silent.

He ran his hand over the page and prepared to turn it, going on to page three. The left side of his mouth curled up in a partial grin. I knew right where he was on the page as I saw that. I knew what was coming on page three, and sat at the edge of my seat, as I realized I would see the reaction to it on his face.

And I did. And the next. A blink. A subtle wince. A squint. A smile. Page 4. Page 6. I was on the edge of my seat watching. Watching him read my Words.

His phone rang. It wasn't answered. I could see it on his face. He couldn't put it down.

He wet his lips. He raised his eyebrows. He dropped his shoulders. He tilted his head slightly. He was completely in it. Completely immersed. Not lifting his vision from the pages. Not looking at me. Not anything but reading.

I've watched people reading before. I've seen people react to my writing. But not like this. Never before like this. From beginning to end. Without any hesitation, or distraction. From the first Word, through the last. And I saw every nuance. Every little indication. The concentration. The focus.

He exhaled as he finished.
He closed the folder and looked up at me.
I could see it in his face.
The captivation.
And which was sweeter?
His unwavering attention to it, or his letting me watch.

"It's remarkable," he said. He wiped his face, and flared his eyes to regain reality and perspective. As if it had taken him some where. As if he was coming back now. "But I need you to make a few changes."

My mouth had dried. I swallowed. "Thank you."

"For what?"