Don’t Look by

Santiago Cubillos

Those were the first words that popped into my head when I woke up two and a half weeks ago. I knew where it was too, the x-y-z coordinates plotted in my head. The windows were closed in my small ten-byten foot bedroom. I always closed my windows when I went to sleep, and I thanked myself for it because I know I would’ve seen it from my apartment on the eleventh floor.

As I’m walking to work I can feel it at seven o’ clock, blotting out the blue of the sky. I’m sure it’s staring at me, I think as I swipe my card to buy myself a coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar and one of honey. The barista hands it to me and smiles. She knows. They all know, everyone in the shop, standing in line, talking to their friends, hastily leaving to make it to their nine-to-fives. Don’t look.

But a lot of them looked. How could they not? I almost did, three days ago when I spilled my papers on the floor of my office. I bent down to pick them up, and my head turned as if by reflex. I snapped back to my papers, but I swear, I swear it knows, I didn’t even see what it was but it knows, I know it knows, I knew it when I woke up at six fifty-three, seven minutes before my alarm rang, I knew it as I walked to the coffee shop, I know it now as I’m in the elevator with three other people, all staring down at their phones because they refuse, even in these four walls, to look.

But I’m being paranoid.

My heels click on the linoleum as I walk to my cubicle. My heels are one and a half inches tall. My cubicle is about ten feet from the exit. My boss is here, asking me, “Can ya come in tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday but we’re not meeting our quotas ‘cuz of, uh, bein’ understaffed and all.”

“Understaffed?”

“Well, it’s, well, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk about it in the workplace yet, due to the, um, extenuating circumstances of the situation, but yeah, we’re pretty understaffed, and the boss knows ya to be pretty hardworking.”

“I don’t know, I kind of need my weekends.”

“Listen, please, the boss doesn’t know what to do ‘round here, and frankly, neither do I, but we can’t let this affect our productivity. We all need to work together, as a team.”

“We all just need to pull a little extra weight around here.”

“Yeah yeah, exactly. Thanks for understandin’ Liz, I knew I could count on ya.”

“You always can.”

It’s six fifty-three when I clock out. I ride the elevator down by myself this time. People usually leave by five, probably to get back home to their families. Kids. I wonder how they’re stopping their kids from looking? I would blindfold them. I laughed to myself at the idea. The door opens with a ding. Six fifty-five.

The walk home feels longer than usual. I don’t like going this way because it’s right above my head. I need to bend my neck down the entire time. It reminds me of something, but I can’t remember it right now. Remembering…I can’t remember much actually. What was it like three weeks ago? Who was I when I wasn’t being watched?

I stop in my tracks. I am being watched, aren’t I? I have no proof of it. I’m not a criminal. I'm not a celebrity. I’m not something important. Six fifty-eight.

I'm at the door of my apartment building. I feel it at eight o’ clock, seventy-two degrees in the sky if the ground was the x-axis. Was I always thinking about numbers? My hands shake as I put the keys in the lock. Six fiftynine.

I think I wanted children at one point.

Fifty seconds.

I think I wanted, at one point.

Thirty-five seconds.

I’m going to wake up tomorrow at six fifty-three and do this again.

Twenty-one seconds.

I’m going to go buy my coffee.

Fourteen seconds.

I’m going to ride the elevator.

Eleven seconds.

I’m going to work overtime, pull a little extra weight.

Seven seconds.

I’m going to clock out.

Five seconds.

I’m going to go back to my bed.

Four seconds.

I’m going to go to sleep.

Three seconds.

And I’m going to do this again.

Two seconds.

I take my keys out of the door. I turn around and walk into the center of the empty street, my arms gently swinging by my side. My hands have stopped shaking. The moon is illuminating the streets, gently, making the shadows soft. I used to keep my drapes open as I slept, and let the moon lull me to sleep. It’s seven o’ clock. I take a deep, deep breath.

And I look.