Jennifer’s ears are burning. She can feel the throbbing and the heat coming off her. She bets the red is dead obvious too. Oh, dear God, don’t let anyone see. Jennifer’s ear is burning. Left is for love, right is for spite. She tips her head, pulls her hair forward.
Jennifer’s ear is burning. Left used to be for love, but now it’s for lust. The shift caused a national outcry; it was in all the papers, on rolling news. People were in uproar. The previously innocent were outed; the actual innocent affronted. The saying changed and a new word was introduced into our vocabulary.
Jennifer’s ear keeps burning and she can’t tell who’s to blame. Her husband is careful. Her lover wouldn’t be so reckless either. A couple more suspects might be more daring, but it’s unlikely. No, it has to be a secret admirer – a fancier.
The first time I saw her was at the station. She passed me near the arrivals board and I couldn’t stop looking at her. I’ve not been able to stop looking at her since.
She’s tall, taller than me. She’s pretty, she wears pretty clothes. She’s confident – I wish I had the confidence to go up to her and say something. I would never be able to, for so many reasons. I just watch and listen and follow. I know it’s weird but I can’t help myself; I can’t get her out of my head. I have become a fancier.
I watch her get off the 9am train. I listen as she orders an espresso. I follow her to where she works. I sit outside on a bench until she makes her way back through the bustle, sometimes straight to her platform, sometimes to a bar, sometimes to the gym.
I watch, I listen, I follow. I also think, and I know that’s where I should leave it. I know her ears are burning, and it’s all my fault.