There's A Bad Reason, She Just Can't Stay Home Anymore, Expectations Rising, Life's Too Short, It's Too Cliche
--"The Disco Song", Au Revoir Simone
sketched in the waiting room of my dermatologist many years ago...
She had forgotten her hat. Her messy brown hair could attest to that. She had been so eager to leave her home that morning that she had neglected to bring it along. She had grabbed little Michael and been out the door before she had time to change her mind. No time for hair. No time for breaking down a plan of action. No time to really pack much. All she had with her was five hundred dollars she had kept lying around the house and the clothes with her.
She watched the only other individual in the waiting room with suspicious eyes. Did he know? Would he tell? Those are the questions she asked. She knew she was being ridiculous, but so much of her life had been spent being blind to what was going around her. So much of her life was spent ignoring what everyone had been telling her. Her escape was long overdue. She would say good-bye to her sister, the doctor, and then she would be gone into the wind. She began to bounce little Michael on her knee. She hadn't even bothered calling ahead to warn her sister she was coming. She was afraid if she did that her sister would try talking her out of it. She couldn't have that. She needed to stay sure about her decision.
Michael started fussing with her hair, causing the stranger in the seat opposite her to laugh.
"He sure is a handful," the stranger said.
"Yes," she politely answered.
The less she said the less she'd be remembered. She needed to be a ghost. That way when the police came asking about her, no one could definitively say he had seen her. With her husband beaten to a bloody pulp, there would be questions. She didn't want the answers to lead back to her. She just needed to talk to her sister. Then she needed to be gone.
He had never even seen what had hit him. She had surprised him in his bed as he laid asleep. She should have given some thought to what she was going to use, but she hadn't planned it at all. In the end she had grabbed the first thing that she thought she could handle. The frying pan had been awkward, but effective. The first swing she had taken at his face had completely horrified even her. Yet it had kept him down. She took another couple of swings to make sure the job had been done. She needed him inoperative, but still alive. It wouldn't do to kill him. It also wouldn't do for him to get a clear picture of who had attacked him. That was the reason for drawing the shades. She hoped he would think it had been someone who had planned to rob him while she had been out of the house with little Michael. She hoped by the time he figured it out, they'd have at least a state on him.
It had all happened so fast. She'd run and hadn't stopped running till now.
She heard the receptionist call the stranger into the office. Unfortunately, her sister never came to the door into the waiting room. She watched as the stranger opened the door himself. He walked inside with the receptionist letting him know to just have a seat inside one of the rooms.
"She'll be right with you," the receptionist assured her immediately after. "She's just now finishing up with her previous patient. She should be walking out here any minute."
She nodded her head, her son still bouncing along on her knee. Something is wrong, she thought. She had told her sister explicitly that she needed to see her as soon as possible. It wasn't like her sister to put her off. Not this long, at any rate.
They know, she thought. Somebody tipped her off and told her to keep me here for as long as possible.
She grabbed her son off her lap, gathered her bag, and started to make her way to the waiting room door to exit. The receptionist shot her a perplexed look. The woman could only shrug her shoulders. She pointed to her watch. If anyone asked the receptionist, she would merely say that some woman had wanted to talk to the doctor, but had to be somewhere else. No mention of sisters or what the conversation had been about. Sure, she had seen the woman's face and could see that she had a son, but she figured that this office so many mothers with their sons. That would have to be enough.
She opened the door in one swift motion and exited. Like that she was gone.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
sketched in the waiting room of my dermatologist many years ago... She had forgotten her hat. Her messy brown hair could attest to that. She had been so eager to leave her home that morning that she had neglected to bring it along. She had grabbed little Michael and been out the door before she had time to change her mind. No time for hair. No time for breaking down a plan of action. No time to really pack much. All she had with her was five hundred dollars she had kept lying around the house and the clothes with her.
She watched the only other individual in the waiting room with suspicious eyes. Did he know? Would he tell? Those are the questions she asked. She knew she was being ridiculous, but so much of her life had been spent being blind to what was going around her. So much of her life was spent ignoring what everyone had been telling her. Her escape was long overdue. She would say good-bye to her sister, the doctor, and then she would be gone into the wind. She began to bounce little Michael on her knee. She hadn't even bothered calling ahead to warn her sister she was coming. She was afraid if she did that her sister would try talking her out of it. She couldn't have that. She needed to stay sure about her decision.
Michael started fussing with her hair, causing the stranger in the seat opposite her to laugh.
"He sure is a handful," the stranger said.
"Yes," she politely answered.
The less she said the less she'd be remembered. She needed to be a ghost. That way when the police came asking about her, no one could definitively say he had seen her. With her husband beaten to a bloody pulp, there would be questions. She didn't want the answers to lead back to her. She just needed to talk to her sister. Then she needed to be gone.
He had never even seen what had hit him. She had surprised him in his bed as he laid asleep. She should have given some thought to what she was going to use, but she hadn't planned it at all. In the end she had grabbed the first thing that she thought she could handle. The frying pan had been awkward, but effective. The first swing she had taken at his face had completely horrified even her. Yet it had kept him down. She took another couple of swings to make sure the job had been done. She needed him inoperative, but still alive. It wouldn't do to kill him. It also wouldn't do for him to get a clear picture of who had attacked him. That was the reason for drawing the shades. She hoped he would think it had been someone who had planned to rob him while she had been out of the house with little Michael. She hoped by the time he figured it out, they'd have at least a state on him.
It had all happened so fast. She'd run and hadn't stopped running till now.
She heard the receptionist call the stranger into the office. Unfortunately, her sister never came to the door into the waiting room. She watched as the stranger opened the door himself. He walked inside with the receptionist letting him know to just have a seat inside one of the rooms.
"She'll be right with you," the receptionist assured her immediately after. "She's just now finishing up with her previous patient. She should be walking out here any minute."
She nodded her head, her son still bouncing along on her knee. Something is wrong, she thought. She had told her sister explicitly that she needed to see her as soon as possible. It wasn't like her sister to put her off. Not this long, at any rate.
They know, she thought. Somebody tipped her off and told her to keep me here for as long as possible.
She grabbed her son off her lap, gathered her bag, and started to make her way to the waiting room door to exit. The receptionist shot her a perplexed look. The woman could only shrug her shoulders. She pointed to her watch. If anyone asked the receptionist, she would merely say that some woman had wanted to talk to the doctor, but had to be somewhere else. No mention of sisters or what the conversation had been about. Sure, she had seen the woman's face and could see that she had a son, but she figured that this office so many mothers with their sons. That would have to be enough.
She opened the door in one swift motion and exited. Like that she was gone.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: Au Revoir Simone, doctor's office, imagination, stories, waiting
posted by mojo shivers @ 8:57 PM
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