Ever since I first brought them together on that train platform, George and Meg had become quite the promising little match. Commuting to work together, chatting it up in the coffee shop, walking in the rain, holding hands…
Aaaaah. Life was good. Everything was just how it was meant to be.
As a matter of fact, that's where they were now. At the coffee shop, that is. Their favorite, as a matter of fact, as they gave George's latte extra whipped cream and there were absolutely no rats in the kitchen. … Yeaaaah. Life was -
"George? Snap out of it. George?"
George blinked and I was yanked out of my reverie as well. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and loosened his collar. "Yeah?"
"Why are you staring at the wall? Is everything alright?"
"Oh yeah. No, yeah. Everything's fine."
"Well, what do you think?"
"About… ?"
Meg could beat him at a staring contest, hands down. Her huge eyes bore holes into him: a question. One that George had totally missed. "Sorry, it's kinda loud in here."
She grinned, shaking her head. That's what I liked about Meg; she was kind and good-natured and didn't roll her eyes when you asked her to repeat herself. All in all, she wanted to know what George thought about her new promotion she received not twenty minutes ago. The one where her boss - you know, the short stout mole-looking fellow - had promoted her to chief-of-staff of the company, which essentially would relocate her to Mars within a week. No I'm just kidding, not Mars. But China might as well have been that far.
(Hey, I'm a paper airplane! I have no concept of distance - the farthest I've been is to the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge.)
"George." Meg's eyebrows furrowed again as she waved in her just-friend's face; George was intensely studying the tiles on the wall again. That next wall tile exam was 60% of his grade, you know…
"Yes."
"Please. I need to know what you think."
"What do you mean? About whether I think you should take it?"
"Oh I'm going to take it," she said, like she had never been more certain of anything in the world. "I've been dreaming about this position ever since I moved to New York. I just need to know if you support me on this. You know, in case … "
Meg trailed off then, her eyes wandering over to the cluster of people singing Happy Birthday to a little boy who was sinking in his seat and trying to die. How o-old are you? How o-old are you? How old are you, Juliuuuuus…
Shut up! he finally yelled, and the whole café went really still. Leaving just the right amount of dead air for George to speak his mind. Any century now…
He threw up his hands. "Meg, I think this will be absolutely great for you. You know I do. I truly think you can do no wrong."
Meg's perfect smile sliced into her cheeks. "And I truly think you can say no wrong."
Well, this felt wrong. But George smiled back anyway.
Do you ever look at somebody and wonder: What is going on inside their head?
I DO! Except for the fact that I happen to actually know, as I'm the omniscient origami aircraft of this story and anything is possible.