Shadows

a windowless room. a clock on the wall. a fluorescent light flickers and buzzes. the breeze from an oscillating fan sweeps across my clammy skin. i wait seated with other shadows while outside an open door shoppers move about the store. a shadow speaks nervously to the room to no one in particular. about the job. about the weather. about how hard it was to find this place. i retreat into the hum of the fan. waiting through each metallic tick of the clock for the Fully-Formed People i know will come. a Man walks into the room. and Another with a folder. “this is shadow work,” He says to the room as He closes the door behind Him, “and it will always be shadow work.” which i already know from the ad. He begins the interview. asking transparent questions of each shadow in turn. as the second Man makes notes. and when the questions come to me i no longer shake at my name and say with dispassion all the right things but fail again to show enthusiasm. it is too late for me. shadow work will not do. but the others, much younger, stutter and smile with the hope of credulity. the Fully-Formed Men finish and quickly leave the room. i gather up my jacket to leave and glance outside the open door. a young shadow slaps her misbehaving child. “not here,” she scolds. and i am unmoved.