Sitting in the waiting room, she felt alone, disconnected. Sounds of a distant infant crying pierced the thick, sickness filled,air. The room smelled like band-aids and disinfectant. A lady close to middle age, was seated on an old, plaid sofa, consumed by the news story that was emerging from the flat-screen tv, located in the waiting room. The volume was entirely too loud, drowning out most of the thoughts forming inside her head. How can people stand loud noise? Overhead, the sound of a woman’s voice broke the silence, as her name was finally called. As she stood, her legs felt questionably shaky, had she eaten this morning? She could not remember. She snapped out of it long enough to follow the short black woman, dressed in pink scrubs, that stood holding her chart. The woman looked friendly enough, smile on her face, glasses, hair long and in braids. She followed her to the desk where another woman was waiting. As she sat down, the new woman, a blonde, sat up straight, shoulders back, as she looked straight into the computer screen. She began asking questions, her eyes never leaving the screen. She found herself beginning to think the woman resembled a giraffe. She was tall, not fat, but big, as she dominated the area in which she sat. The blonde woman leaned towards the computer as she spoke, as if to suggest the girl sitting in the chair, could not hear well. If the giraffe would have lifted her eyes, she would have seen a young woman, different from the usual patients that clutter the small, antiseptic smelling room. She wondered what they cleaned the place with, and decided they must use the same disinfectant on everything in the building. She came back to reality when the giraffe asked for her insurance card and identification. She noticed the giraffe was now intently starring at her. She avoided eye contact at first, then considered it rude and shifted her eyes to meet the giraffe. The giraffe looked away. Too much? Maybe she thought. Beneath the neck of the girl, many scars are visible, all in the shape of a perfect circle. The girl looked down briefly, but then raised her eyes to meet the giraffe who again, looked away. She tried to read her thoughts, but disregarded the thought as useless, what did it matter anyway. They were all the same.

The thoughts came again, from different directions the girl could hear the tv, the intercom, keys tapping violently on the keyboard, people greeting each other, putting on their fake smiles, shuffling about through their day. Closing out the world had become an easy task. Wondering why was no longer an option, it just was. She subtly ran a finger over her scars, wondering if they would ever disappear, not only from her neck but from her memory as well. Probably not. As she walked away, she glanced over at the chair where she had been sitting. As reality struck she realized, she was still just and empty chair, used and discarded, waiting, and alone.

a+Life
a+Reality

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