I pick up a new bare hanger, and a pad. This one is a bit trickier than the others, since a hole hasn’t been punched through the pad for it to slip over the hook, so I have to make a hole myself, by pushing the fabric hard into the end of the hook. As I do this, I hear a voice, a woman’s, shout to someone, “Can you go get Gideon!” from downstairs, and then the floorboards up here creak. I look up, and Gideon is gone from where he was standing. The whole floor comes alive with his footsteps; even the floorboards underneath my own feet seem to move, as though Gideon’s body is substantially heavier than it looks—as though his influence and power over this institution have a weight too.

The rest of the morning goes by in silence. Although, I feel different from how I normally would, working alone. I feel exposed and anxious. In the past when men have watched me, usually in public places, I’ve wanted to kind of fold my body away. In those moments, I’ve felt more human than I ever usually do, more woman than I usually do, more defined by my shape than what’s inside me. Now, though, I don’t really know how to comprehend what has just happened. It’s unclear to me whether Gideon did anything wrong exactly. Had I made him aware that I could see him, and told him he was making me uncomfortable, perhaps he would have apologized and left. He wasn’t necessarily watching me for any sinister reason; perhaps, in normal jobs, employers watch their employees all the time. Although, I suppose I’m technically not an employee here. I finish the hangers, and pick up the box to take them downstairs. The box isn’t heavy, but it is large. It covers my face when I lift it, so I can’t really see where I’m going. I put the box down on the floor and slide it across instead. Just by the door, there is a bookcase. The books on it are tattered, like they’ve been read a lot. I stop to look at them.