She'd been through this a thousand times before. Dealing with stupid people--
people who don't follow the rules--annoyed her. I annoyed her. My neglect of the instructions sent her on the defensive. Glaring over her bifocals, she caught me in the act.
"Did you forget to sign in, Ma'am?" she said.
"How do we know you're here if you don't sign in?"
I took the pencil she thrust at me and signed my name on the patient register. Through a deluge of tears I realized my signature was illegible, so I erased my scribbles, then carefully printed my name. My hand was trembling as I handed back the pencil. The small glass partition between us slammed shut, and I was alone in the waiting room to think about the error of my ways.
The room was bare except for an old church pew with the varnish warn off the arms. Constructed of cement blocks, the walls were painted white, and the floor was black and white linoleum squares that, by my guess, had not seen soap and water since its ice cream parlor days. Above the pew hung one bare light bulb that soaked the room in a yellow haze. Nearby a tiny spider was busy weaving an elaborate web, stopping long enough to contemplate a fly that was sitting motionless on the wall only inches away.
Eleven forty-seven. I was early. The only sounds were the clickety clack of Ms. Congeniality's typewriter and an occasional buzz as the fly took to flight, always careful to avoid the spider's trap. There were no magazines to distract me, so I watched the fly to pass the time. I wondered what he was thinking.
"Oh, here's another poor soul," I imagined him saying.
"Look at her. Full of doubt and self pity. If she only knew what I know. I see so much from my view on the wall." I wondered what he knew.
"Riddlely Riddlely Re. I see something you don't see and the color is... ."
Suddenly I felt sick. I found a wastebasket with a plastic grocery bag tucked inside to protect it from the unexpected. Kneeling down I wrapped my arms around the basket and gagged. Sweat from my forehead dripped onto the used tissues left by some other poor soul who didn't have the knowledge of a fly.
Twelve thirty and I was still alone in the room.
Clickety clack, clack, clack. Every molecule in my body cried out,
"Don't do this! Leave now before it's too late." I laid my head back against the wall, closed my eyes and thought about
him. God, how I loved that man.
Another hour passed. I didn't care. I had no place to go. No one was waiting for me. No one cared that I was desperate and sitting on a church pew with no varnish on the arms in a stark black and white room hidden in an obscure building in a seedy part of town while Ms. Compassion was busy typing behind a glass partition, and a fly was hovering over me knowing things I didn't know.
The one person I wanted to care wasn't certain he loved me anymore--said he needed time to think. What I didn't understand--and probably the fly could have explained it to me--was why he suddenly questioned his love for me. Just three weeks before, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But that was before I told him the news.
The fly buzzed me again, then landed in my hair, pulling me out of my daze. He knew I was safe territory while the spider's web was a hazard to avoid.
"HEY!" DO THAT AGAIN," I yelled,
"AND I'LL SMASH YOUR GUTS ON THE HARD, COLD, LINOLEUM FLOOR!" The glass partition inquisitively slid open.
"Excuse me?" Clickety Clack said, annoyed at the interruption.
"Nothing," I said. "
Just talking to myself...and the fly." The partition closed and he buzzed me again.
I sat motionless on the church pew with no varnish on the arms. Alone in a stark black and white room. There were no magazines to distract me, so I stared at the dead fly on the hard, cold linoleum and wondered what the spider knew.
"Riddley Riddley Re. I see something you don't see."
12/1997
