OTHER KINDS OF COLD

I’ve barely parked my rental car when my phone pings a message. She’ll be late with an apology. I’m not in a rush and I’m early so I look forward to the few minutes I have to relax. Its bitter cold out so sitting in the car isn’t an option. Having never accustomed myself to the winter weather, I once again praise my decision to accept the job transfer to move south.

Shivering, I enter the building and reach the selected room with little effort. Spotting a group of four unoccupied chairs, I hang my coat on the last one and take a seat. The room is comfortable and warm and quiet. No music blasting from ceiling speakers, the two other congregates quietly engaged with a book or magazine.

Pulling my phone from my purse I read the text again. Knowing I have at least twenty minutes I browse my social network page and laugh to myself when I see what my impatient mother has proposed for our evening together. She’s excited. I get it. But I will need to talk to her about posting her life on social media.

After my move two years ago, I rarely have occasion to come back and visit my mom, I send her a quick text to tell her how excited I am and how I’m looking forward to our evening. It’s Friday so I get to spend the weekend and fly back out to my sun life on Sunday.

           Movement and a chair bump disconnect me from my thoughts. Joined with the dense fragrance of lavender, I’m thankful I took my allergy pill that morning. I ponder moving to a different seat then opt to stay put. Moving can appear rude even if I were to explain why. Of course, the same holds true for my new chair mate considering there is an entire cluster of empty chairs in the center of the room. I choose to stay.

           “Good morning.”

           “Good morning,” I reply.

           “This is so exciting. Don’t you think?”

           It isn’t that exciting for me but I suppose I can’t see it from her perspective. The words I might have had years ago are the same as now. Both deficient and inessential for this setting but to appear polite I say, “Yes. It is.”

           She’s young. A fresh degree. The ink still damp. A visual scroll not yet rancid but hanging artfully on a wall only for itself.

           The lavender isn’t unbearable until she suddenly stands and removes her coat. That isn’t enough. She twists as she sits down and leans around the chair to hang her purse over the back. Annoyed, I glance up and our eyes meet.

           She smiles. I force a smile and return to my phone.

           “There,” she says. “Winters can be so bothersome. What with coats and hats. Course I never wear a hat. It messes up my hair.” Did our eye to eye glance open a door I never intended to explore?

“It certainly can be,” I say. Not one to engage in idle chitchat I turn back to my phone.

My mom has yet to reply to my last text. Perhaps she won’t considering I only stated my excitement and failed to ask an actual question. If she were to call, I’d have reason to escape this lavender allergy dilemma.

               “I wonder what she’s doing here.” my chair mate leans in and whispers.

           Glancing up I see her pointing. I immediately admonish my decision to follow that finger as I glimpse in the direction it’s aimed in. Too late. I’ve already drifted my eyes in the ill-fated direction of a woman adorned in a burka, India perhaps. I’m acutely aware of the implication. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” I reply.

           “Well, she couldn’t possibly think it’s appropriate for her to be here.”

           “Excuse me?” I struggle to hold a sudden anger. “Be here?” I ask and again chide myself for acknowledging her inquiry in the first place.

           “Well, you know. She probably doesn’t even speak English,” she continued. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with the world today,” she continued. “Those people have no right to come here and think they can just fit in.”

           I’m having difficulty beyond measure with the lavender. Now, I’ve stumbled onto an occurrence I knew existed and intensely feared I would meet at some point. Nevertheless, I refuse to tolerate it. “Please excuse me,” I say as I reach for my coat, “but I’m extremely allergic to lavender.” I move to one of the empty seats in the center.

           “Oh! Well, how would I know?” she says.

           My patience is on the edge. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”

I’m relieved to be removed from my lavender detention as my eyes are now irritated and begin to tear. My allergy pill obviously isn’t strong enough to ward off both lavender and insolence. There are tissues on the table and I take one to dab at the corners of my eyes. I hear a ‘humph’ from my former chair mate but refuse to give her the benefit of reacting.

           I pick up a magazine and thumb through. Nothing in it interests me enough to draw presence from the existing problem so I place it back on the table. I fail to believe I can reach far enough to obtain where I was before my chair mate encounter. That prospect is impossible to grasp. Needing an outlet, I begin to compose another text to my mom. Before I complete it, my phone pings and I read that Alicia is parked and on her way.

           To assist in a swift getaway, I’ve left my coat lying across my lap. To further ready myself I lift the strap of my purse over my shoulder and brace my weight on the edge of the chair. I stand as soon as I see Alicia enter.

“Hey Shelly girl,” her smile lights the room. “Whatcha’ doing sitting out here?”

           We close the gap and hug tightly. “Good to see you Alicia.” Her coat is nylon and cold. I’m reminded there are many other kinds of cold. I don’t shiver.

           I’m so distracted at seeing my old friend, my purse nudges the lady with the burka. “I’m so sorry,”. I say. “I should be more careful.”

           “No apology. I understand. You are happy to see your friend,” she says with a most enchanting smile.

           “Beautiful burka,” I say in Urdu.

           She responds, “Thank you so much. It is a gift from my mother in Nepal.”

           As I walk arm in arm with Alicia to the office door, she tells me she has arranged ten interviews for us, five for the morning and five for the afternoon. I can’t be sure but if I were to guess, I’d say that with the exception of one, our interviews today should be extraordinary.