Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,24
and tick off those behaviors with something less intrusive, like audio recording? Couldn’t you get the gist of what’s going on without the whole Big Brother vibe?”
“Verbal communication—what’s said out loud—is only half the picture. Less, even. The stuff we say only accounts for about ten percent of what we communicate. The other ninety percent? Transmitted nonverbally.”
I studied her still-crossed arms, pointedly lifting a brow at the way she’d positioned herself as far away from me as possible on the other side of the examining table. “You don’t say.”
She ignored this. “Nonverbal communication gives us a window into more subtly expressed attitudes. Shows us what’s happening on the conscious and unconscious levels and helps us to study things like implicit racial bias, weight bias, and synchrony.”
“Synchrony? I think I read about this in a men’s health magazine. They claimed matching nonverbal behavior with a new date could increase the odds of—” Seeing her expression darken I hastily amended, “A happy ever after.”
She shook her head at me, with that same disapproving scowl she’d used since we were kids. “When two people are in sync communicatively, mirroring each other, moving in tandem, it’s like watching Ginger and Fred dancing. It’s an unconscious thing. People are often unaware it’s happening. But that’s where the magic is. We’re more likely to synchronize with others that we’re in a positive relationship with, who we want to be in a positive relationship with or who we trust.” Something flickered in her eyes, then disappeared. “That matters in a clinical setting like this because we know that synchrony between a patient and clinician is associated with more collaborative decision-making and better recall of information. Studying nonverbal communication tells us the story of that process.”
I took a moment to take in our placement. Me, sitting. Her, standing, far away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in obvious discomfort. Abruptly, she turned away from me, as if the diagram of IUD placement on the opposite wall required all her attention.
Who we trust.
An old memory slammed into me. A younger us. One of the million times she sat in the V of my legs, head tucked against my chest. She leaned back to smile at me, eyes full of trust, as she offered me a bite of her sandwich.
Today, the look in her eyes had been far from warm.
There was no point in prolonging this. Whatever magic we’d once had was gone. My being here only further destroyed what I’d ruined all those years ago.
“It’s okay,” I said, studying my hands. “I think I’ve got what I came for. If you wouldn’t mind showing me the capture station—because I am interested in how this is transmitted—I’d appreciate it. I won’t bother you anymore, Zora. Not any more than I have to after this.”
There was no mistaking the obvious relief that flitted across her features, the way her shoulders relaxed from their hunched position.
“If you’re fine with that,” she said, but she was already moving, limping, toward the door. “I’ll just show you into the closet—”
“I can’t say I hear that all that often around here,” a new voice said.
I turned to see a tiny, dark haired woman in a lab coat in the doorway, arms folded. Something about her was familiar.
“Hey, Zora,” she said, taking a few steps into the room once Zora backed up. She studied me. “Who’s this?”
“This is—”
“Nick,” I said, before Zora claimed I was a stranger who just wandered in off the street. “Zora and I are old friends. She’s been nice enough to show me around, explain her work.”
“This is Dr. Adesola Rojas.” Zora watched me with narrowed eyes.
It clicked. “You’re the gynecologist from the video?”
Adesola gave me an alert glance. “What video? You saw one of our videos?”
I gave Zora a quick glance. “Uh, you know. The educational one. For the young adults . . .”
Adesola frowned, her head tilted. “Yeah, all the videos are for our young adults. What was the topic?”
I looked to Zora and realized she’d be no help. She seemed lost in thought, staring into the empty doorway. “It was, uh, about young women making sure they, uh, took care of themselves, uh, empowered themselves—” I broke off, seeing Adesola’s gaze now wide and fixed on my hands. Looking down, I watched as my hands nervously twitched at my waist. More than that, the pointer and middle fingers of my right hand were stuck together and drawing small, tight circles in the air.