Thursday, March 24, 2011

Untitled And Unfinished...

Glancing out the window of her bedroom, the woman noticed changes in the sky. The gradual progression from  blue to shadowy gray signaled the beginning of her favourite time of day, dusk. Pulling away from her desk, she shut down her computer, temporarily freeing the room and herself from its almost omnipresent fan, a noise she had grown so accustomed to that it barely dented her consciousness anymore, furthering her belief that the world had become one large cacophony of overbearing sound.

As much as she used and saw the benefit of computers and other forms of technology, this barely fiftysomething often found herself longing for silence, for life beyond the screen, a symphony of cicadas and frogs found at the heart of Spring, beyond the walls of small flats, shops and businesses now dominating almost every suburban landscape.

Adjusting her grip on the rims of her chair, she rolled out of the room, pausing to turn  so she could see beyond the flats' open screen door. A faint breeze, punctuated by alternating frogsong, swept into her thoughts  as she noted the lone car in front of her building. Making her way to the building's backside, she entered its carefully tended courtyard, a haven of trees and pruned hedges that temporarily kept the din rising from the adjacent  rodeway at bay.

In this spot, as the sun set, it was easy to forget the cares of the day. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she concentrated on slowly inhaling and exhaling, an exercise practised daily in her former life as a student of hatha yoga. She was soon still and almost asleep when the blaring claxons of an ambulance broke her calm...

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Dreamgirl: Moments In An Afternoon

The whoosh of rubber against the hospital floor was uncharacteristically the only sound in the corridor as the woman propelled forward, her gloved hands resting lightly over battered rims, slowing her descent down the deserted hallway. Hitting the carpeted surface of the lobby entrance provided an automatic break. She stopped just long to roll neck and shoulders, adjusting her grip for the more powerful pushes needed to get to the waiting bank of lifts.

Rumbling, and a series of clicks announced a lifts' arrival, its opening releasing a woman with an infant on her hip, another with a gangly teen following behind and a man of indeterminate age, clutching two large envelopes in one hand and the top of a cane in the other. No-one said anything as the woman rolled into the newly-emptied gaping maw beyond the lift doors, turning herself around to face the row of buttons within and pressing the one which would get her quickly to the floor below.

Shooting through the hospital's automatic doors, the woman felt a slight rush of air as the mid afternoon heat hit her face. Brilliant blue sky and a slight breeze greeted her exit, just before her eyes fell upon the image of a bird. Woven wool, black strands accented its wings and beak, causing the woman to recall similar images from her Central American childhood. Looking up, she caught the profile of a young girl. Lithe and long limbed, dark hair held in a pony tail, the girl turned, and smiling, said, "My grandmother got this for me on one of her trips."

A slight conversation ensued before the girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, introduced herself and proper greetings were exchanged.

Regarding this girl silently for a moment, the woman flashed back to a memory of herself as a preteen. All legs and arms and awkward reserve, she too had been tentatively curious about many of the adults she encountered. It did not startle her when this girl ventured beyond polite bounds and asked why she used a wheelchair. Carefully choosing her words and abbreviating the answer, the woman stopped, surprised by an enthusiastic high five against her hand. This was followed by a hasty, "goodbye, Miss," as the girl spotted her mother, and disappeared inside their car.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Life Is About Choices...Or So I've Heard...

Scanning the thin list of jobs over a cup of tea, I realise that I am either out of the running because I can't climb ladders or lift 50 pounds, I'm without the required experience, I have too much experience and a degree which means to an employer that I will cost them more in salary and benefits, the town in which a single, but otherwise perfect position exists is small, lacks a hospital and has no discernible public transport beyond a snow plow...

Here are my choices...
~Laugh...Tomorrow is another day!
~Cry...Tomorrow is another day...
~Talk to an immigration attorney and really learn why other countries don't want people who literally roll through life as I must these days...
~Resume my former career despite the fact that most of my clients have either gone bankrupt, moved on or died...(I was not a call girl, a thief or a disaffected mortuary attendant)...
~Marry someone from another country...The odds of this are nil since I do not engage in Internet dating, most of my friends are happily divorced, gay or determined to remain single.
~Find a job in Canada or Israel, learn both French and Hebrew, adjust to snow or the sounds of gunfire or rockets in the distance, and hope for the best...
~Reprise my former status as a pundit, a situation likely to lead to raucous comments, fits of pique or uncontrolled laughter...

Until Next Time...