Who put my name up

The rack was open all night. I closed it at 02:00 without looking in. That is a lie — I stood at the doorframe and watched the zip seam in the dark until I was sure the seal was even. Then I went back to bed. My hand is steady today. Mostly. The tremor comes back when I hold a pen, which is its own joke, because I don't hold pens. I hold pipettes and vials and the sharp end of a steel pin, and the tremor does not show up on any of those. It waits for the thing I barely use and then it speaks up.

I am thinking about the sign again.

Whoever put contractor of record up on that wall knew I would have to keep being the person the sign describes. That is the trap of printed things. You let the words go up and now the words run the job. The man with the plastic sleeve was not trying to scare me. He was reading the sign back at me so I could hear who I have agreed to be. I wanted to say I am only here for the scorpions. I didn't. Because I am here for the scorpions and I am the contractor and those are the same job and I chose both.

~~He wouldn't have put me on the wall.~~ The person I left in Cape Town would not have put it there. That person would have laughed, then quietly moved the sign to a corridor I didn't walk past. I am the one who stayed visible and now I get to feel it.

Nobody came by the flat today. I did not call. The neighbour's dog barked at 11:00 and I pretended it was a delivery so I could stay by the window. It was not a delivery. I watched the gate until I got bored of watching the gate.