If he is walking in the door and I am walking out, we will make eye contact. Maybe flash a half-hearted smile. I know he wears glasses and he has brown hair but I couldn't pick him out of a lineup if my life depended on it. I never really see his face.
If he's already sitting in the waiting area I avert my eyes, looking straight at the heavy wooden barrier between here and everywhere else and the heavy metal doorknob. Sometimes the door sticks and I fumble for a second before sweeping through and away, leaving five to ten pounds of my burden behind.
Usually I stare at the owl on the bookshelf. Yesterday it was the flower shaped design in the middle of the oriental style rug that floods the huge library. It has green and black alternating petals, both lined with white.
He sits with his feet propped up on the leather ottoman. The soles of his shoes are well worn. He always wears a tie. He would say there is a reason the flower held my attention today. I have no idea what it is. Other than that I am desperate for spring, obviously. Only when I ever I say obviously about anything, he challenges me to explain what the less obvious explanation is. I try not to say that anymore.
5:20 drives a silver Honda. So do I. They are paralleled parked next to each other across the busy street. I run past here a lot so I know the traffic will eventually slow and my window will appear when I can run, my big green bag bouncing on my shoulder to the other side.
Love how this is both so simple and so complex.
Posted by: mayberry | April 24, 2011 at 08:58 PM