Late Encounters
Strangely, I don't think of my family very much. They're distant figures in the fog of my memory. Which is ok with me, I like to focus my energy on important stuff....like TV. Every once in a while, though, some tangible remnant of their existences will surface and I am seized by a longing to see them again.
When I am late, I'm focused. There's a checklist in my mind which remains absolutely impermeable until all tasks have been completed: find ID, pack stethoscope and Ipod, feed nikko, turn off all lights, 2 dollars for coffee-no matter how late I am, I always have time to stop for coffee. As per my usual routine, today I was running late. By the time I made it to the unforgiving elevators (not even having five of them in one bank permits their timely arrival) both my ice coffee and I were sweating. Running over my mental check list one last time, I barely registered the whistler approaching. It wasn't until he stood a few feet behind me that I was seized with excitement. His breath passed his teeth in a hiss: a lipless whistle, the type I have not heard since I was nearing double digits. I was swimming in adrenaline and thoughts of my uncle, who made this kind of music as he ate his evening hydrox or read the paper. I could smell the menthol and tobacco that had always clung to his skin. In that elevator bank, something strange happened to me: I devolved. There was no composure, no control. My heart slammed against it's walls and I struggled to move air in and out of my lungs. I wanted to believe that it was Jim standing behind me. That I would turn and he would smile as though this were an every day occurrence. He would ask me about my plans for the day and I prattle on aimlessly for a bit. In the end there would be nonchalant 'see ya laters' because we would know that we would indeed see each other later. The elevator came and I heard him shift restlessly as white coats poured out with quick and heavy footsteps. For a moment I stood fixed: in that spot, in that time, in that delusion. He brushed my arm as he passed, his cigarette scent trailing. I didn't have to glance down at my watch to know how late I was. But, I did. I didn't have to peer down the hall to know that it was empty. But I did. The doors closed. The elevator rumbled, shuttling my unseen relative back into my past leaving me behind in the echoing bank. alone, once again.
When I am late, I'm focused. There's a checklist in my mind which remains absolutely impermeable until all tasks have been completed: find ID, pack stethoscope and Ipod, feed nikko, turn off all lights, 2 dollars for coffee-no matter how late I am, I always have time to stop for coffee. As per my usual routine, today I was running late. By the time I made it to the unforgiving elevators (not even having five of them in one bank permits their timely arrival) both my ice coffee and I were sweating. Running over my mental check list one last time, I barely registered the whistler approaching. It wasn't until he stood a few feet behind me that I was seized with excitement. His breath passed his teeth in a hiss: a lipless whistle, the type I have not heard since I was nearing double digits. I was swimming in adrenaline and thoughts of my uncle, who made this kind of music as he ate his evening hydrox or read the paper. I could smell the menthol and tobacco that had always clung to his skin. In that elevator bank, something strange happened to me: I devolved. There was no composure, no control. My heart slammed against it's walls and I struggled to move air in and out of my lungs. I wanted to believe that it was Jim standing behind me. That I would turn and he would smile as though this were an every day occurrence. He would ask me about my plans for the day and I prattle on aimlessly for a bit. In the end there would be nonchalant 'see ya laters' because we would know that we would indeed see each other later. The elevator came and I heard him shift restlessly as white coats poured out with quick and heavy footsteps. For a moment I stood fixed: in that spot, in that time, in that delusion. He brushed my arm as he passed, his cigarette scent trailing. I didn't have to glance down at my watch to know how late I was. But, I did. I didn't have to peer down the hall to know that it was empty. But I did. The doors closed. The elevator rumbled, shuttling my unseen relative back into my past leaving me behind in the echoing bank. alone, once again.
posted by that girl at 7:34 AM
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