For just a moment, time seemed to halt, to breathe in the changing of the seasons with appreciation. It was short and fleeting—a failed attempt, really.
She willed her feet, one in front of the other, across town for her appointment, just like she had for the past six months. Avoiding the crunchy leaves and people’s gazes as they passed, she took her natural pace, not too fast, and not at all too slow. She wouldn’t be late.
The route she took was longer than it needed to be, winding through town, adding minutes and parts of miles to avoid the hospitals and graveyards on the way. In the fall, which it was now, she walked the loop around Chestnut Street to avoid the college campus, swerving the annual drop-off of students and, more importantly, the sobs of parents watching their ‘little babies’ go off to college. Her stomach turned sour at the thought.
A nearby car horn jolted her. The man blared his frustration with the other who’d overstayed at the red light. It made her cringe. She hated rush hour—even the name felt personal—the gridlock of cars, every driver impatient with offensive fingers flying around. Each one selfish and malicious, afraid to be late, mad at any delay, watching the minutes tick by on their dashboards—as if their schedule was the only one that mattered, and they were entitled to keep it. A familiar pain rang through her chest. She continued on, gaze locked on her shoes, leaving them to their aggressions and fleeting illusions, but still the ache within her remained.
People hardly noticed her presence but they always noted when she was gone. Especially when they felt cheated by her. People wanted more or wanted less and they never seemed content to just be with her, to accept her as she was. At least, that’s what it felt like.
Her hollow steps brought her to the office park, the big directory sign marking Suite 239 as Dr. G’s.
With a deep breath, she attempted to soak in any optimism the vicinity provided. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. Like a ghost stuck in a vacant home, she plodded up the cement steps.
