Under My Breath — Heavyweight Tee

You are being perfectly civil. You have asked about the journey, admired the new arrangement of the room, and listened to an account of a parking space that appears to have required considerable courage. Nobody could reasonably accuse you of failing to participate.

Then the person beside you leans closer and says something intended only for you.

You continue looking at the person discussing the parking space. This requires an unexpected amount of discipline. Your companion takes a sip of their drink with the composure of someone who has done absolutely nothing. You make a private note to retaliate when the conversation reaches a less demanding stretch of pavement.

It is one of the pleasures of knowing someone this well: the other conversation you can have inside the one everybody hears. A small reference. A word used in a very particular way. A remark whose perfectly ordinary beginning acquires an unsuitable ending halfway across the gap between you.

You wait until they are answering a question, then return the favor. Their answer takes longer than expected. The person who asked looks concerned and repeats a detail. You offer a helpful nod.

Later, outside, they tell you that you are a menace. You like hearing it in that voice. The tee has been under a jacket all evening; you take the jacket off and let the air reach you while they finish describing the consequences. You are willing to hear the full proposal.

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