I apologized for falling down the stairs.
We’ve never met before, but I’ve seen him everywhere. I’m comparatively a nobody, but I know exactly who he is. I’ve pointed him out to crowds and I’ve held my breath when he’s walked by. He’s a man of reputation.
The problem is that somehow, every time I do something embarrassing, it’s been in the presence of this apparition that I’m still yet to meet. He was the one that gave me the bewildered face when he overheard me talk to myself in war cries. He was there when his kin shamed me, and I ran away in flustered confusion. So I’ve known him for half a year without ever actually knowing him.
Today, we spoke for the first time.
I was walking up the stairs, when he turned the corner and we made eye contact. Recognizing him, I made attempts to be pleasant and smile. But the eye contact maintained, as if by trance, which in turn stole my gaze away from watching my step.
I face planted.
He helped me up, and picked up my things from the floor for me, and I was just apologizing excessively, with every apologetic word in my apology word bank. I was the one with the abrasions on my hands, yet my reflex reaction was to apologize for submitting him to the sight of my embarrassing nature yet again.
He awkwardly laughed, taken aback by my apologies, “It’s okay! But are you okay?”
I reassured him, “Yes, I’m okay!”
He handed me my water bottle that fell out of my backpack, and said, “Okay, good.”
Then I continued my venture up, and he continued his venture down.
And so ended our first conversation, and so continued his unfortunate proximity to my spaztic tendencies. 