The Still-Water Keeper

Annual party, 150 people, speakers turned up too loud. Old Zhang from marketing gets worked up about a client and at minute twelve claps your shoulder, and you smile and say I get it, while knowing clearly inside that you don't get him, you've only confirmed he needs to be heard. At nine the host calls everyone up to dance. Six people go. You don't, and you don't make an excuse; you've greeted everyone and toasted who you should, and your being-here is already complete. On the subway home, earbuds in with no music playing, you let the whole night run off you like water until you're yourself again at the exit, not the one who toasted the room. You don't fear the crowd and you don't dodge it. It simply can't come in. A deep pool can be crinkled all across its face and never reach the moon at the bottom. Fomalhaut hangs alone in the autumn sky and never mixes into another constellation. Neither do you.