He wonders if she can see him. Perhaps if he showed up to the restaurant she was at with her lover, she would just look right past him and not see him at all. Then he’d have to walk right up to her and say something, and what would he say? And what if she still didn’t see him? What if she just kept staring through him? Right through his midsection to the back of the woman’s head at the other booth?
Of course that couldn’t happen. He knows he’s not invisible. It’s just his own doubt and anxiety playing tricks on him. But what if he were?
Just to one person. Just invisible to her. What if he could walk up beside her and listen to what she talked about, to know how things were going. To find out what was bothering her, what was going well, where she was selling her work.
Or perhaps it was she who had become invisible. The power of his thoughts, projecting a version of her out into the world; a version that only he could see. He could only see her out of the corners of his eyes. Walking in the street downtown, wearing the brown wool coat that reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. When he looked directly at her, clenched up enough courage to be determined to say hello, he would realize it wasn’t her at all. A similar coat, a similar gait, but not her.