Here is my submission for #193

Tom

As he sat at a far table, the middle-aged man lifted the corner of the bread.  Underneath the slice of rye bread was the sticky white mayo, a wilting leaf of iceberg lettuce, a slice of bologna, one piece of salami, and American cheese.  It was the same combo he made every day, five days a week, fifty weeks a year. 

The annoying lilt of laughter interrupted his attention.

Three women were sitting together at a table in the middle of the room.  They were commenting on some other coworker’s choice of sweater.  Their jocularity grated on Tom’s nerves.

He carefully placed the corner of the bread back down on the sandwich and picked it up.  He took a measured bite, chewed slowly, and fingered his bottle of water.  Nearby, a container of canned fruit sat forlornly next to his insulated lunch pail.  The sad smile of a peach slice greeted him.  

The door opened, and two men came into the break room.  Behind them a pair of women followed, one his boss and the other another coworker.  They were chatting excitedly, a pair of matching fast food bags in hand.  The room was filling with people having lively conversation.

Tom felt himself shrink a bit more, taking another, slightly smaller bite of his sandwich.

“Tom, wanna join us?” one of the men asked, plopping a container and a can of soda on a nearby table.

Tom barely looked up, certainly not at the man asking him a question.  He shook his head, unscrewed his water, and laid the cap on the tabletop.  “I’m having a little quiet time,” he muttered.

“Suit yourself,” the man said, and he straddled the chair and began talking with his cohorts. 

Tom felt the usual burn of shame along his neckline.  There was the tickle of hollowness in his gut, and it was expanding rapidly.  The ache of loneliness, even amongst others, creeped across his chest, filling the hollow sense with even more emptiness.  A bubble filled his insides, and pressed upon his heart, compressing it, making it pound harder trying to get blood to his brain, to no avail.

The sting of a salty tear prickled the corner of his eye.

He took another bite of his sandwich, and chewed.

The others no longer could see him, a lone man, sitting alone, at a table, by himself.