I nervously drummed my fingers on my glass of cold water. The television blared at an annoying loudness while the weight of the heavy silence hung between us.
I realized I had started shaking my left foot. Out of nervousness perhaps? Then I noticed that his left foot was also wagging like a dog's tail. Was I subconciously immitating him or is it the other way around?
Such is the conundrum.
Anything I might venture to say will be infected by the awkwardness that this silence has become. There is no possible way to assume an air of normalcy once the period of awkward silence has imposed itself on our nervous presence.
I should not have let it begun in the first place, this awkward silence. The trick is to keep up an exchange, however banal or pointless, prosaic or preposterous.
I was going to comment on the way the great angasana tree in the yard was listing abnormally towards the house but I decided not to. I thought I might sound desperate for a conversation.
What a mistake that was. Now I really AM desperate to chat.