She walked through the open doorway,
and I perked up
’cause I didn’t think I’d see anyone show up right before lunch
and I had just met her at a meeting a few days ago.
Uh oh, I’ve got to go, I thought to myself –
I told Ma I’d return her car around one o’clock.
Embarrassed, I packed up my bag,
put on my jacket,
and headed for the door –
she stood right there.
I don’t remember
if we made eye contact,
or if I opened my big mouth first,
but I said something about
vacating my seat
before I blushed, mentally and emotionally (still not sure about my face),
and spoke these words aloud:
“I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
She shared her name with me, I shared mine with her,
and we shook hands.
I’m not always one for shaking hands,
but this was an unexpectedly great handshake.
She grasped my hand,
and after what I thought was a professional and decent amount of time,
I moved my hand back a fraction of a millimeter –
and she held on.
She asked if I got a haircut. (I had. Long hippie hair gave way to a short, clean, professional haircut.)
She said it looks good, as she pulled me in a little closer and
put her non-hand-shaking hand on my arm.
I said something silly
about wanting to look more professional
(author’s note: I’ve used the word “professional” four times in this poem thus far),
and she reiterated very excitedly that my hair looks good.
A little after this the handshake ended,
and I was reeling.
I felt valued.
I was listened to.
I was noticed.

Insecurity be gone!


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