Mirror, mirror

Absently picking at my navel, I shouted down the stairs to Matthew in the living room. “Hey! Did you know Tracey went to Chicago this summer?”

“No.”

“For a conference. For several days.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Anyway, he has friends over at the newspaper where I used to archive. He said he got to go visit them at work and take a tour of the building.”

Silence. I pulled a spec of crust from my belly button.

“We talked about how beautiful it was, and how it looked so perfect, like a cake, and was right on the Chicago River.”

“So how was he?”

“He just said fine.”

Silence.

“We didn’t really talk about him much. We sorta talked about me.”

Silence.

“Am I selfish?” I dug in my navel a little harder, looking to get my fingernail on an elusive bit. “Am I so selfish that my conversations are all about me?”

Silence.

“Or do I just have a lot to talk about?” I pulled the skin flake free from my belly button and went in to see if there were more.

Silence.

“I guess since you’re not answering, you think I’m selfish.”

More silence, so I turned to walk away. Matthew stopped me, “If you really want an answer, what you’re talking about is self-absorbed.”

I walked back to the top of the stairs. “Am I self absorbed?” I could feel more navel crust, but poking at it was starting to hurt.

“Well, yeah, you kind of are.”

I stopped picking my navel.