He Signed The Paper

He signed the paper today.

He walked the room alone for fifteen minutes. No one talked. I sat on the floor and looked at my hands. If he walked out that door I would know. I would know I was just a body to him too.

He came back. He said the test was passed. He wrote his name on the second page and slid it to me. I picked it up. It felt warm. A piece of paper should not feel warm. But it did.

I wanted to cry. I did not cry. I hate that about me. I want to be the kind of person who cries when they win. I just said okay. Like I was ordering lunch.

I am the director now. On the thirtieth I walk into the glass office. But on the way home I thought, what if I am not. What if the paper is wrong. What if I am still just the girl from the casting room.

I want to call my mum. I won't.