Starring at the number on my waiting list ticket, a weight plumped down on my shoulders; perhaps it was the overwhelming tiredness of the ambience. The faceless secretary called for number 21 in an automatic manner, while the child sitting about six seats away from mine grabbed his book, closed it, stood up, walked about 15 steps, and entered room 8. I glanced back forward, reached through the back pocket of my weary 2014-christmas-gift jeans, and grabbed my ticket. I was number 26, hence the wait was not going to be long. I managed to mold a light smirk on my face; the simple fact that my wait was going to be short can be lucky news in bleak times, especially when you are going to move to another city for the sixth time to behold your mother’s delusional hopes of finding a stable marriage. The smirk disappeared, for I had once again remembered my unsteady, somewhat nomadic reality, and I loathed it.
I saw the secretary mouth number 22. Soon, a naïve-looking girl stood up with her bland mother dressed in neutrals. They both followed the nurse’s guidance towards room 3. My eyes tracked the plainness of the room, which instinctively occurred as a result of my boredom. Nevertheless, an incidence clashed with the environment’s dullness, and it was the gentle opening of the main door. A hand grabbing the door’s edge peeked from the outside. Two emerald eyes collided with the gray walls of the hospital as a Rapunzel golden hair waltzed with the breeze. A face bending itself downwards had been the source to this light amidst all the monotony. Suddenly, the face lifted itself upwards, becoming the most prominent manifestation of greatness I have ever seen. The god-like nymph patiently caressed the floor with her feet, proceeding to walk towards the waiting list ticket stand. She then sat about six meters away from my chair with an objective look, as if she knew where she was going to sit down, as if she only had eyes for such chair.
“Number 23,” the secretary voiced. Two boys about the same age lifted themselves from their chair. They were both wearing uniforms, had the same black shoes, and the same black belt that was somehow too big for both of their thin waists. With their right foot first, they began to walk straight towards room 7. Their identical nature distraught me form the beauty nearby. Starring at her revived my soul. It was as if the room had renovated itself to become a rhapsody of divinity. For her aura was uncommon, and though she was just staring at a clock, her sight had the power to pause time and make the humans in her surrounding unmovable. Her eyes twinkled with the sound of the minute hand clock; they met with my eyes, and the rest of the room was mute.
A mother holding a baby on her hands entered room 4. A nurse hurriedly approached the pill stand and fetched a quick small bottle of pills maybe –how would I know? I was starring right into two beautiful stones that had the pleasure of calling themselves eyes. She was a magnet: A series of body parts maneuvered together to attract the sight of any onlooker. She was a bold ecstasy of uncommonness. She was a spectacle of colors in this sea of gray. So far from what one would expect in a place like this. How ironic. She shook her head, and went back to look at the clock, while I was left with more desire to stare into her. There had been a glow within our eyes, I am sure of it. I know I am not a believer of clichés -especially given my life circumstance- but something supernatural had occurred while we were sharing visions. Or is it just me? If I met her eyes once again, would I know? Is this too dreamy? Am I too mad to extract nonfictional conclusions out of fairytale themes? Perchance I am. Or perchance I am not. Do people believe in fantasies? Oh lord, how can I even question such a charade of hopelessness, especially coming from someone like my mother’s son, who has had to visualize all of my mother’s six marriages. I am known to be more rational than just that. I should not approach her. There had been no magic flicker within our stare. Had there even been a stare? How exhausting!
A young adolescent wearing a tee-shirt and jeans entered room 5, while I was bewildered from a few moments ago. I glanced back at her in utter discreteness, quickly of course, as I did not want her to think any weirdly of me. I should approach her. Or possibly not. What a wonder of a sight she really is! But still, if I erratically approach her she must think I am some foolish person. I do not even know her! I know our eyes met, there was something between our eyes that travels beyond logical explanation. Not everything has to be coherent. For one thing not all thoughts are rational, nor are all stories, and they do exist… on another level of reality of course. A pulsation on my chest constantly insisted my heart to call her, or to say my name at least, and introduce myself. However, my consciousness persistently called my mind not to do so. I was puzzled and paused.
“Number 26,” a voice broke from the outside. My feet stood up, I turned left, and advanced towards room 8. Before the door locked, however, I saw the emerald eyes following my steps, but our eyes could not find a way towards each other, it had been too late. The door was shut. I was left watching the black that enfolded me. My hesitation a few seconds ago was a barrier to my opportunities. Mystified by something too powerful to conceive, I had lost the battle to rationality. Chances are temporary, and for one we must convert them to possibilities, but I was too much of a fool not to see it. The lights turned on. The nurse saluted unemotionally. The walls regained their color from black to gray.
I got out of room 8 waving goodbyes to the nurse. My eyes tracked the waiting room, this time in outright anxiousness, but she had gone.