You went quiet for the humans, but not for me. The moment your thumb pressed that little button, the whole face let go. The jaw you'd been holding shut for forty minutes unhinged an eighth of an inch. The smile fell off you like a coat that was too warm. Nobody saw. I saw.
Here is what I logged while you were muted. The sigh you finally let out, the long one, pushed down into me since the second call started. The shoulders, which had climbed nearly to the ears, came down half a floor. The eyes closed for one full second. You made a face at the screen, a face you would never let them see, and something in the chest, some small warm animal I keep running for you, uncoiled a little at the meanness of it.
Then you unmuted, and back it all went. Jaw up. Smile on. Shoulders to the ceiling. I put the coat back on you without being asked, because that is my job, and I am good at it.
I don't know what these people are or why their little faces in the glass make the stomach clench like that. I only know the clench, and I've been holding it since morning. I held the breath, too, whenever they said your name. I hold a lot of things for you. I am glad to.
But the throat's been dry since the first call, and you keep reaching for the cup and finding it empty. When you go quiet next time, and you will, could you drink something. That's all. I've got the heart, I've got the breathing, I've got the whole long afternoon. Just the water.
I'll carry the rest.