surveillance systems

they swept us from room to room. a grandiose turn-of-the-century Ikea showroom and at its centre, amid all the fussy furniture, was a table laid out buffet style. all of your family was there at that table, sitting amongst the rest of our restless tour group. you and I hardly spoke and didn't sit next to each other. at one point everyone started exchanging gifts. so I lowered my eyes and did my best to sink deep into my seat. your father was talking about anything but. and then I thought I saw your mom squeeze something into the crumpled brown paper bag that was closest to me without saying a word. I crumpled with it and felt even more terrible for not having gotten her something back. I held my breath for any gossip that might have cut the tension. nothing. we finally left to meet up with our respective high school friends in some flashy hotel for some kind of graduation ceremony. except we were older than we should have been. a twenty-year reunion seemed the furthest thing from perfect sense. on my way down the subway stairs I complained loudly about how the place I was about to see had been built only to impress. whoever it was that had chosen to accompany me that night agreed but then said nothing more. it felt empty without Puji. we reached the reception and I was wearing my sunglasses. why I had anticipated everyone mistaking the unmistakable glow for a tan I'll never know. the forgotten faces came fast and furious. and the biggest hugs came from the most random of them. and still I could feel your eyes on me the entire time. watching me through a one-way mirror during those perfectly drab encounters. misreading my sadness.