Again I watched him as he crossed the room to take center stage in the small group that had formed by the cheese and crackers table. I drank in the little movements that had become so familiar to me – the endearing half-grin as he told another of his self-depreciating stories, the slight relaxation of his shoulders as he reveled in the fact that his audience was watching him as keenly as I was.
I sipped my drink and imagined that today he would abandon his groupies and walk over to where I was, hovering awkwardly near the lady from downstairs whose name I didn’t know, just so that I wouldn’t be standing alone. Or even that he would look my way and smile in appreciation, or at least acknowledgment, of the work that I did for him every day. But I knew that he wouldn’t leave his crowd, and that he wouldn’t even give me a nod. The beginnings of resentment swelled up in my heart, and then just as quickly receded, leaving in its place the knowledge that I was helpless…that I would continue to watch him.