The Life of M

He spoke the language of shoulders. He understood the nuances of shrugs better than words. He communicated best by lifts and shifts and shimmies of joints and muscle and bone. Strangers standing next to him in line at restaurants or sitting on the bus would feel compelled to lay their heads on his shoulders, if only for a minute. Mothers would sheepishly pass off their squalling babies to him and they would be cooing contentedly the instant he pressed their faces into his shoulder. He spoke to people through their shoulders. The first time he said ‘I love you’ it was by pushing her shirt aside and kissing the top of her shoulder. 

Sometimes, though, his shoulders felt heavy from all of the things his shoulders were saying and hearing. But mostly they felt so heavy because of all of the secrets that people carried on their shoulders, secrets only he could hear because he understood the language of shoulders. Thus, he became complicit in their secrets and their secrets became his, weighing his shoulders down.