Wife's Appointment

I sat alone in the waiting room, staring blankly at the clock. 9:07. I had arrived at 8:59 sharp, in anticipation of my 9:00 appointment time. Early is on time, right? I guess the doctor didn’t get that memo. I say “doctor” as if I know that is who I am seeing; in fact, I had no clue why I was even here. My calendar had an appointment, created by my wife, to be at this office for an appointment at 8:00, so what did I do? I showed up. Why else would I be here? Like many offices these days, the building was a plain beige rectangle with no distinct markings or signage. For all I know, I was sitting waiting in the lobby of a small accounting firm or insurance office. Luckily, the woman at the desk knew what I was here for, and instructed me to take a seat. I really should have asked what the office was before sitting down, but the awkwardness that would cause after sitting for eight whole minutes, twiddling my thumbs and acting like I knew what I was doing, would be too much to bear. 9:09.

           I stood up and made my way to the coffee machine across the room, hoping the receptionist had put on a new brew before the office had opened this morning. I grabbed a cup, poured my half and half into the bottom, and grabbed for the coffee pot. Sure enough, the pot was full and ready to go. As I filled my cup, I wondered what made me follow the instructions to make my way here. Had I really blindly followed the directions provided by this calendar appointment without first checking with anyone? I definitely had forgotten that I had the appointment until I had gone to bed the night before, and was reminded a second time upon waking up to my alarm in the morning. But had I never even thought twice about what it was I had going on? My life was little more than a schedule of events set up by my wife, my coworkers, and my managers, all in the name of structure and organization. If I had my way, I would be floating along until someone pulled me down out of the clouds last minute. As it stands now, I dread every minute leading up to the next meeting, which leads me to a constant dread until the day is over. Though these meetings are nothing more than procedural, if not casual conversations, the idea of needing something to say in these meetings paralyzes my brain to the point my day is in a standstill until the meeting has come and passed. I rehearse the words in my head over and over until I can no longer remember what the meeting is supposed to be, just that I need to say these words and hope everyone else lets me get through them without stopping me or asking for clarification. It’s all I can do to not cancel every single one of them.

           Was my wife supposed to meet me here? She had not even mentioned the appointment to me other than placing it on my calendar. With how busy we were these days, really the both of us, it was not unlike us to set a time on our calendars in the event we needed to show up in the same place. It really worked more easily for us that way. In many ways, we were more like coworkers than anything else. The kitchen table was the cafeteria, our home office held our cubicles, the kitchen counter was the break room. And who wants to spend their entire evening around their coworkers after sitting just ten feet away from their workspace for nine hours during the day? Ate where they ate, pissed where they pissed, bitched where they bitched. Knowing what I needed, a little space and privacy, I left my wife to her own peace and quiet in the evening. I could just tell I was getting on her last nerve by the time 5 o’ clock rolled around, as she was on mine. It was a miracle dinner was made without us losing our minds. 9:13.

           I hoped my appointment had been marked down as the right time. I knew I had work waiting for me on my desk at home, and there was no doubt the emails were piling up and cluttering my inbox. Then again, why was I in a rush to return? No one was hanging over my shoulder, dictating my every move and time management. If I have to work a little late tonight, there was nothing stopping me from carrying my work into the darker hours of the evening. In fact, I tend to be a bit more alert the later in the day I am working. Maybe it was time to shift my schedule to better fit my needs and desires, instead of the traditional requirements of the working world. All it did was get the men out the door after breakfast and back home in time for dinner, and I was getting breakfast a solid five minutes before I stepped into my office, still in my night clothes. Dinner was not much of a hassle either, as frozen meals and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were easy to prep before a slow walk down to the den, where my personal computer was awaiting me. No time constraints, no greater needs hanging over my head, just a simple life at home. 9:15.

           I sat up straighter as I heard the door that led to the back of the office open. There stood a rather well dressed woman, suit and all, standing in the doorway. I stood and faced her, assuming that she would be addressing the only body in the room, and nervously extended my hand in greeting. The woman, offering a rather hesitant smile, spoke in a calm voice: “Good morning, my name is Esmeralda Vazquez. I hope you brought the paperwork to begin your side of the divorce proceedings.”