the bathroom at the parent office

someone's leaving as i'm walking in. 'excuse me' i mutter. he nods and continues on. the bathroom looks empty now. i approach the closest urinal.
after a moment, an alarm goes off. like someone's watch.
two beeps. and then silence.
and then two beeps again. and again silence.
and then two more beeps.
when i go to wash my hands, i think, i'll see a watch left by a sink. i can picture it. gold, hands, no numbers (instead solitary dashes), the expanding wristband (the kind that pinched my skin when i'd try on my dad's. that was some time ago).
i walk away from the urinal, which automatically flushes. naturally.
no watch on the counter.
empty counters. clean, empty counters. not really even counters; shelves above individual sinks. the better to leave watches on.
no watches.
only one stall closed. it's from here the beeps come. two more.
i wash my hands, my back to the stall, eyeing it in the mirror. two more beeps. silence. beeps.
i wonder why he doesn't turn it off.
i wonder if he hears it.
i wonder who he is.
how he is.
if he is.
i wave my hand in front of the paper towel dispenser and dry my hands with the proferred piece, leaving my hands half-wet.
the alarm again.
i start to look under the stall door for feet, but don't. i just leave.


the watch, alone in the stall, is relieved to hear me go. it thought i would never leave. it sits in its locked stall and beeps twice. then considers the echo on the tiles. and beeps again.