Admittedly, it is because I am getting worse at hiding it.
He watches molted skin fall from under my shirt’s cuffs
and notices my eyes look a bit yellow in some light.
He thinks he saw my darting tongue smelling the air
when I sat down for lunch. He got another cup of coffee
after spying green scales peeking above my socks in the morning.
Okay, so perhaps he most certainly knows, but I should be alright.
He must understand if he has not revealed my reptilian nature, right?
My hands always shake when I read his emails.
I watch him hold his office door open for my coworkers,
and I imagine it is me. After stepping through the metal door frame,
I would sit on the chair in front of my boss’s desk. He would sit too,
and look at me for a rather long and uncomfortable amount of time.
Until he’d say something like, “We need to talk about the past few weeks.”
My claws would dig into my shoes’ padding, and my eyes would blink
one at a time. He will then slam his fist onto the table and scream,
“I know what you are, you cold-blooded gecko freak,”
and a multitude of other things I don’t feel like coming up with right now.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I’d say,
shifting in my seat, trying to hide my tail better.
I always wished I were a chameleon who could disappear,
or, even better, blend in with everyone else. After he finishes yelling,
he will have me put in a zoo or give me to ethically ambiguous scientists,
just relieved that I am no longer a problem in his office.
The glunk of the water cooler brings my mind back to my desk.
I do whatever I can to appear busy, as I am hoping
that just maybe my boss is a lizard, too.
Wrendolyn Klotzko loves Black-Capped Chickadees in Eastern Red Cedars and the elderly Adirondack Mountains that cradle her hometown. She misses them while studying Creative Writing, English, and Education at SUNY Oswego. Still, she thinks it is worth it for the opportunities of having her work appear in the Gandy Dancer, Deep Wild Journal, the Nature State of Mind anthology, and more, while also serving as the Editor-in-Chief of the Great Lake Review. Wrendolyn, when she isn’t writing, loves listening to snow fall, interpreting the patterns of her chipped nail polish, and thinking of all the cats she’ll have one day.