Silence reigned when a coworker stepped to the urinal. As unspoken custom demanded, he chose the one farthest from the one I was at, and we did not acknowledge the other’s presence.
Moments later we both turned to the row of sinks and greeted one another, as if we had just spontaneously appeared in the room.
He began to walk to the door.
I bent to turn on the faucets.
He turned, nonchalantly, as if of course he was going to rinse his hands, how could I think otherwise, he just liked to stroll around the bathroom first, as people do.
I rinsed my hands.
He rinsed his hands.
He reached to turn off the water at the same time I reached up and got some soap.
He nearly hit his hand adjusting his movement to match, and he made sure to pump the dispenser the same number of times I did.
I washed my hands. Carefully.
He washed his with just as much thoroughness.
I rinsed.
He rinsed, matching me in every way.
I made eye contact with him, smiled, and pulled out my wire brush…