"Can you watch this for a sec?"

Marble steps. Railings, sanded to texture of silk by the hands that have stroked them. Thick tables. Hot bulbs. Booked outlets. Paper on paper chills. Hostile keystrokes.

I’m at the library. It’s nice. It smells like wood and there’s just the right amount of light. But I’ve been here for a few hours now. I’m ready to leave. I’m supposed to meet my sister for dinner. And I have to urinate like a marathoner whose race got canceled while the finger was on the trigger.

I would leave right now if I could. This very instant. I would unplug my charger, coil it up—with little precision—shove it in my backpack, along with my laptop, zip up the backpack, and leave. But I can’t. I’m shackled to this armless chair by these abrasive chains of responsibility. I hope they don’t leave a scar.

What an extraordinary imposition. His phone started ringing, and in one motion he took off, asking if I could “watch this for a sec.” Before the vibrations could finish the climb up to my mouth, he was gone—through the double doors and into the safe airs where focus is not the commodity it is here. Now it is just me and this guy’s precious electronics, sharing a table.

What a burden. I can’t get any work done now. It’s impossible. My third eye must always be on this man’s Bose headphones and open laptop. Fuck Steve Jobs. Only one eye, but it’s just enough awareness to leave productivity a dead relative.

That “sec” has officially become 11 minutes. My bladder is now pushing up against my flesh. I can feel its contours if I run my hand along my abdomen with just the slightest bit of pressure. Bernoulli’s having a field day down there, crunching numbers in my stretched out urethra.

But I can’t leave. I was given an assignment. I was given a responsibility, to stand guard over this man’s belongings. What if I left and all his stuff actually got stolen? I wonder whose fault it would be.

But even worse, what if it got stolen while I was sitting here, right now? I would have no idea what to do. What if some woman just walked up to the table, picked up this guy’s headphones, and ran off. Would I run after her? Would I even yell? I doubt it.

Would the guy who told me to “watch this for a sec” expect me to run or yell? He couldn’t really convince himself I was the one responsible, could he? That would be so outrageous. And more than a little rude.

And what if I wanted to steal his stuff myself? It would be easy. There would be little stopping me. He pratically handed me the keys. Why did he trust me? What made me different than everyone else in the library? Was it just proximity? He trusts people who sit close to him? Clearly, he didn’t think everything through. That must have been an important phone call he took.

I hate feeling like a bad person. I hate being thought of as a bad person. If I abandon this guy’s stuff before he gets back, I feel like a bad person. He will think of me as a bad person. That’s a real bummer.

Why did you have to put me in this situation? You don’t realize the responsibility you just passed to me. You don’t realize the pain it is causing me. Please don’t ask me if I can “watch your stuff for a sec.” It’s inconsiderate. Just take your stuff with you. I’ll make sure no one sits in your seat. Actually no I won't. So better yet, don’t say anything at all. Just walk away. Don’t put the responsibility on me. It’s not fair.

16 minutes. My feet are now in a pool of liquid. All I can do is pray I kicked over my water bottle.