Dream girl: 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
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
2 comments:
That was a lovely story! I enjoyed reading it. :)
Beautifully told.
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