The Waiting Room

Steve had to admit a certain nervousness as he approached the nondescript office building on South Central Ave. He usually walked with a self confident swagger, but the charges brought against him for the most recent road rage incident had given him pause. Actually, this court-ordered counseling seemed much better than the alternatives offered by the District Attorney; but Steve didn’t have to be happy about it. Once inside, he reluctantly trudged up the the stairs to the shrink’s office. Taking the elevator would have been easier but using the stairs to delay his arrival was more satisfying. At 25 years, Steve felt he was in shape and had no problem negotiating the three flights. 

Finally arriving at the door marked room 312, Central Associates with a list of doctor’s names, Steve located Dr. Arlene Kidmore, with the note ‘Door #1’ next her name. He was to wait for the light to turn green. Opening the door revealed a waiting room with a half dozen chairs, a few small tables and three doors with a red light above each door. The one occupant, a girl of about 20, sat sullenly as he walked in and looked around. There were no windows and the fluorescent ceiling panels gave everything a flat shadowless look. The one lamp in the corner gave off a pool of warmer light but it failed to overcome the sterility of the waiting room. Steve hung his windbreaker on a coat hook and sat in a chair next to the girl separated from her by a small round table covered with an assortment of magazines. 

Steve selected an old People Magazine from the pile and leafed through it while giving the girl some sidelong glances. She was really quite pretty in a somber sort of way. Long black hair hung over her shoulders and partially concealed her face. Steve could see the cute tilt of her nose, well defined chin and slender neck. The pout, as she pointedly looked at some undefined object in front of her was definitely interesting. Steve was always up to the challenge of attracting the opposite sex and felt he had the looks to succeed. At an even six feet, dark hair, piercing dark eyes and high cheekbones, he could comfortably navigate a room full of women believing to attract his share of come hither looks. But this girl had not even acknowledged his arrival with a glance, appearing to be lost in her own world. “Do you come here often”, Steve said as light hearted banter to break the ice. She shifted her head slightly to glance in his direction but said nothing before again staring at nothing. Encouraged by even the slightest attention, Steve took in the bright blue eyes revealed by that glance and continued “This is my first time, can you give me any pointers?”

Suddenly, there was a click and the sound of the hall door opening. It opened about half way revealing a middle aged man hesitantly standing with one foot in the room. Looking directly at Steve he asked, “Is this room 212?” 

Steve immediately responded “No. This is THREE twelve.” and included a dismissive wave to get the guy on his way. The man murmured “Sorry.” and withdrew as the door clicked shut.

“Now, where were we?” Attempting to draw her into a conversation. She ignored him completely. Steve looked back for a further review. He was slightly taken aback by her withdrawn posture, all gathered up on the chair sitting on her lower legs with arms crossed over her bodice. He would like to get a look at her figure, but could only come away with the impression she was quite thin. That was fine with him, he liked lithe rather than plump anyway.

A voice in his head asked him what was he thinking? This girl is probably crazy as a loon waiting to see her shrink and all you want to do is hit on her. That judge was right, you do need to see a shrink!

“Don’t tell them the truth.” came the quiet voice of the girl. Steve jumped from his own revere and said ‘What?”

“They will use the truth against you”

“So what should I tell them?”

“Whatever you think they want to hear,” she said in a flat unintoned voice as her head turned to look at him. Startlingly, her look from top to bottom was a frank assessment of him. Steve was masking his nervousness by sitting sprawled out in the seat slouching with his legs extended, feet apart in a classic ‘manspreading’ pose. He immediately responded to her look by sitting up and putting both feet on the floor, knees close, but not together. The magazine slipped from his lap and landed with a plop at his feet. He reached down to grab the magazine all the while maintaining eye contact with her. His reaction surprised even himself. 

Once again, she faced forward, falling back into her withdrawn pose as if in dismissal. Steve was confused now. Did her withdrawal mean he failed the test of her appraisal? For all the bravado with women, he harbored a fear of rejection by them. This girl was presenting quite a challenge.

In an effort to re-engage, Steve came back with “What do you tell them?”

Without looking up, she said “I make up stories they love to hear.”

“What story will you tell today?” 

“I don’t know yet,” still distant, looking at nothing.

“Wow, I guess I’m just not prepared for this. I’m glad we met.”

“We haven’t,” she added and fell silent.

With that, Steve stood up, stretched, and walked to examine the payment policy sign posted on the wall next to the entrance. He read for a few seconds without comprehension, his mind swirling. The light above door 1 went from red to green with an electronic chime sound. Steve said “That’s me,” straightened up and turned around to get his jacket from the hook. The room was empty.

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