• early that morning
• Just now after awakening from that dream again
• On my way home from work
• I don’t remember how I got there
The thought crosses my mind that perhaps this is merely a dream, one from which I cannot escape.
Nevertheless, there we are this man and I. He sits quietly in one of the chairs second from the corner. He’s reading, & has glasses on. His pants are the old corduroy type, a comfy soft cotton plaid shirt, and tossled brown hair, of medium length for a man, but that would be considered short for a woman. He looks to be about 27 years old, weathered working hands, strong nose and chin, and the physique of a runner or cyclist: lean, with loose skin, and an adams apple so pronounced I wondered if I even had one myself. He makes no move to acknowledge me, those somehow I don’t feel rejected nor unwelcome, either. He’s just there, as I am, in that room.
The walls are hospital yellow, semi-gloss, no windows, except the one the reception sits on the other side of, but she’s not there.
The chairs are the armless type, with vinyl upholstery, a sort of greenish beige colour, comfortable enough, though. The floor is a tight weave indoor/outdoor type, charcoal gray, and recently vacuumed. The air is fresh with just the right humidity. I look up to see the vent in one of the upper corners of the room, a piece of yarn tied to the grating blows whisperingly, indicating that there’s air, fresh n clean, blowing into the room. I’m calm but suddenly feel silly standing in the middle of the room staring around.
There’s a book on the receptionist’s window desk on this side of the glass and a pen stand. I realize that I am to sign in and have a seat. There are many other names on over a dozen pages in a fairly new book, dates and times with all but one crossed out. His name I presumed. I filled out my information and turned to have a seat.
Just at that very moment the receptionist entered from an adjacent room with a cat following her and looking up at the dish in her hand, it gave out a barely audible meow that was 1/2 “thank you”, and 1/2 “what took you so long”.
The nurse was in her 40s, with a white dress uniform on, buttoned to the neck, and an old fashion nurses cap on her head. Her blonde hair was tied up, and neatly held above her ears and neck. She had no earrings, and if she was wearing make up I really couldn’t tell. Her disposition was calm as she attended to the cat. She stroked its back saying sweet things in a low soft tone. She rose to reveal that she was about 5’4” tall, 140 pounds. Her form was sleight, and her female character traits were all of the delicate kind. There was nothing provocative about her. She had a calming kind of presence. She looked at me and smiled and placed her finger on her lips, tipping her head toward the waiting room, and the other man waiting there.
My eyebrows raised slightly, feeling once again awkwardly silly, and I turned to sit in a chair opposite the man in corduroys.
The air from the cushion squeezed out as it received my weight. I grimaced, but had no audience to see it.
I was wearing a T-shirt with a pocket and over that my favourite old Jean shirt, underwear for a change, and oversized lumberjack socks. My favourite warm cloth belt tightened up by two metal rings, held up my jeans. My shoes were loose fitting runners which I slipped off and placed to to one side, cautiously looking toward the other occupant, hoping my feet didn’t emit any offensive odor.
I flinched as he just then turned a page of his book without looking up, and reached over to his coffee cup for a sip. Placing it down again, he leaned back, ask crossed his leg to make a sort of desk. He removed a kerchief from his pants pocket, and wiped the corner of his mouth before returning it to its place – evidently I’d gotten away with the shoe removal it seemed!
I looked down at his feet, and that’s when I noticed he had not been wearing his shoes either. Leather slip on’s over gray cotton socks. He wiggled his toes and massaged them, then, absentmindedly, he lifted his fingers to his nose! I just barely averted my eyes as he shot a nervous glance toward me, in a sort of sudden realization that he wasn’t alone.
He sighed a kind of chuckling, self deprecating laugh and adjusted his glasses, as though to indicate he’d raised his hand for that purpose rather.
Beside me was a plant, that had moss over the soil and healthy leaves, just what type of plant I have no idea, but it’s typical to doctor’s offices. The little table beside the plant, held the usual offerings of magazines, and finally beside that dwelled a water-cooler, which stood by the door that led out.
“SURE IS QUIET IN HERE!!!”
I shouted at the top of my lungs leaning in towards the stranger.
A SWAT team burst into the room!!!
Lights went out and streams of light flowed from the rifles that were pointed at me…
GET
DOWN
ON
THE
FLOOR!!!
NOW!!!
Four of them surrounded me nervously holding their rifles —-
Of course I did not shout, but I did wonder how my silent companion would handle such a disturbance.
“I’d probably hit the carpet myself, I suppose!” he said quietly as though I’d asked him out loud!
But then catching himself he looked up at me, raising the book from his lap to show the dust cover, ‘Guns of Chesapeake Scree’.
“… Sorry about the sudden outburst“ he said with a grin, “but I do get quite wrapped up in these mysteries“
I smiled back, and nodded, wondering if I should divulge the coincidence of what he’d just said.
I pulled out my own book from my Messenger to bag and held it up for him to see, “Guns of Navarone”
A big Smile fully breached his face as he obviously recognized the title.
“Alastair McLean’s best ever, some say, where on earth did you find a copy of that?” He blustered.
“My wife found it at value Village”, I replied, “it’s long been one of my favourite movies. Cary Grant is so good as the lead part! I love it when he says to Marty Feldman “take it!”
“You mean Gregory Peck and Anthony Quinn, surely”, he interrupted, looking at me closely from over his glasses.
“My gosh”, I exclaimed, catching my breath with a giggle, “good catch”, I gasped, “I guess you’ve seen the movie too!”.
He grimaced a bit to reveal his confusion, giving me the impression that he some what disapproved of my undue familiarity.
Inserting a bookmark into his current page he closed his novel and laid it on the chair beside him. “You’d have had me if you’d only gotten one of those names wrong”, he chuckled.
“My name is Phil Grove“, he said stretching out his hand – the one that had recently rubbed his toes – towards me in a greeting gesture, I grabbed a hold of it, and received a firm handshake. It felt like a skeleton of steel beneath a leather glove.
I made a mental note not to touch my eyes, ears, nose or mouth, before I could give my hands a dose of hand sanitizer, and smiled back at him in reply.
“Laurence here, pleased to meet you”, I said rather officially, so much distracted by the fact the name he’d just offered me wasn’t the one in the register on the receptionist’s ledge.
Tipping my head towards the nurse, “been waiting here long?”
He lifted himself slightly off his chair and, craning his neck to get a glimpse of her at the desk, “I have been indeed” he said in a whisper.
I casually pulled out my appointment book and glanced at the time on the clock that stood above the water cooler, then at my own watch, involuntarily raising my eyebrows, all the while trying desperately not to give away that I had just read the name of the doctor my wife had made the appointment with earlier that week: Dr. Phil grove PHD”, it said.
“Where did you get that coffee?” I said in a ‘by the way’ voice in the hope of further distracting him.
At which point he leapt up and approached the window, “nurse Gretchen? Can I get a cup of coffee for my fellow inmate here, he’ll take it with…” turning toward me, mouth agape and his eyes widening,
“Oh! I’ll have it black” I spluttered in surprise.
The nurse, shaking her head as she looked up, “it’s Alice, actually”, and then as she stood up to head for the other room, she looked over at me, “I’ll be right with you there Laurence! And don’t mind Randy here, he thinks he’s amusing.”
I suddenly felt nervous and sweaty about being in the presence of a man so clearly my equal in verbal sparring and jests.
Randy Marchinko was the name of the register that had not been crossed out. He was squinting down through his glasses at the book on the ledge, “Laurence Brand, you have a unique spelling of your name there Bob!” He said playfully.
“Well now that we’re getting to know one another so well”, I sighed, taking out my little unmarked bottle of hand sanitizer and giving my hands a generous dose, and rubbing them together vigorously, I returned the bottle to its place in my left leg pocket.
“Ha ha ha”, he laughed out loud, “yes, sorry about that HaHaHa” wait’ll the doc hears about that!
“I’ll never tell”, a smirked, “so you’re a movie buff as well I see” thinking of the ‘Nurse Gretchen’ remark he’d just made.
“Jack Nicholson is genius“ he said authoritatively, and yes, you and I also have that in common.”
That’s when I noticed he was squeezing a drop or two of his own hand sanitizer into his palm. We both laughed.
“I’m not a scholar” suddenly diverting our conversation without a segue, “but I’ve never heard of ‘Guns of Chesapeake Scree’
He looked around as though we were being watched and removed the dust cover briefly from his book to show me the true title,
“Moms House: Dad’s House”
Then replaced it’s concealing cover. I’m a bit self-conscious about it maybe, but really, I just don’t feel like discussing my divorce with every person I chance to meet. No offense.”
Once again I gave visual proof that I was continually being amazed. Not only had I read that book when going through my own divorce, and subsequent custody battle, but I had also covered the book with plain newsprint and drawn some innocuous name on it to keep others out of my business.
“Married?” He interjected into my silent musing.
“Yes, once, and now twice” looking down at my stocking feet, just them realizing I had risen to retrieve the coffee from Alice, so wrapped up with his curious fellow that I seemed to have so much in common with.
Alice placed the coffee cup on the ledge along with a napkin.
“You?” I asked as I fell back into my chair.
“well, obviously I was”, he replied nervously.
Running Down Vimy 