There are statues in the waiting room. Sitting figures of wax hunched in on themselves and frozen in isolation. Three seats between each stranger. I walk by, eyes shifting, uncomfortable and self conscious. Don't notice me I feel. I am not staring. Don't stare at me. I am not here. I am nothing. I am no one. Generic figures of faceless beings are represented in the silent space. A woman with a chin length bob, slightly dry hair, wearing a blue cardigan has her face down to a Home magazine. A man, beer belly pushing hard against a tucked in pin striped button shirt, looks at his hands. An elderly man in a wheel chair creases a white handkerchief in halves. A hispanic woman reads a book with the cover folded back in navy business attire. I walk past - more forms going undistinguished at the edges of the room. Papers rustle, my feet step quietly on the carpet, general fidgeting and random movement are the only sounds. Beneath the Mental Health sign, I find my place taken.
A woman, thin brown hair that hits her shoulders sits in the corner seat. I sit on the visible side of the hall, near the male/female/handicapped restroom. The woman has a cell phone. It is talking to her in a mechanical female's voice, giving instructions on how to "import books" into some sort of virtual library. I am sitting still. I wonder if she knows how well I can hear the voice. I wonder if she would turn it down if she knew I could hear every word. I wonder, in the back of my mind, at the sort of confidence she has to make such noise in a silent place. Silence demands silence. I would not make such noise in this place. The attention - doesn't she feel the stares of all our minds? Mine - I listen to the words and think vaguely of what sort of books she would put on and that it is new because she has only two books already downloaded and that The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland must be an even more classic book than I'd thought if an instruction thing is using it in a demonstration. Can she really not feel the mental stares of all the wax figures in the waiting room? I feel them - even being half hidden behind the fake plant doesn't make me feel safe and alone and unself-conscious.
I stare at her too, lots of little glances that set together and spun would make a choppy-movement movie like the old cartoons. Her nose is long and strong like the tip of a pyramid supported by the four flat sides of her face - two cheeks, a square chin, and forehead. She has a black v-neck shirt on which must have been pulled funny when she took off her jacket because the tilted neckline reveals a bra strap on one side. The sleeves are three quarter. The brown jacket is set over crossed legs. It makes me feel… bad. Ashamed? Just… not good. Because I want to have on a jacket that I can take off too. I am shivering and sweating in my long sleeve shirt. I realize that just sitting here must look weird. I wonder why she sits beneath the Mental Health sign. I wonder what is wrong with her. What is her family like? What is her job like? How does she feel about herself? She makes such noise with her cell phone - surely she has self confidence enough. What is wrong with her?
I reach into my pocket and pull out my marble. I brought it specifically for the meeting today. For seeing Adam. I almost didn't. I'm not sure why… maybe because it is special. Maybe because it has a significance that me messing up might ruin. If I don't do it Right, I will ruin it. But, I brought it. That's what matters. I hold it in my fingers, and my mind starts the list without prompting. Green for Life. Blue for Truth. Orange for Cutting. Green for Life. Blue for Truth. Orange for Cutting. Green for Life. Blue for Truth. Orange for Cutting. Green for Life - I got it at faerieworlds. I remember the tent - light violet material on twisting branch supports. Children's garlands of fake flowers in bright summer yellow, red, pink, and blues hung up on my left above an array of hair trinkets and fun jewelry. In front of me was a table covered in white cloth upon which was a children's coloring book on pagan festivities and beliefs. The center of the memory is the basket of marbles.
Woven and plain, it was held by a man with a painted green face. He had ivy in his hair like the Green Man and a poets shirt with the cut v-collar strung loose with off-white string. Behind him his pregnant wife held her hand to her round stomach and her painted bird-face radiated happiness. He said to me "Take a faerie bubble" as mom stepped back behind me, her wish bubble in her own hand. I took it - a marble with a strand of color in the middle like a dream already caught and held. He told me "Make a wish" and waved his wand over my head.
I held it in my hand - skeptical because despite the beauty of belief… the gentle feeling of true heart-felt Faith alludes me. But in he is so ernest and his wife is smiling and my mom has a faerie bubble in her hand… just do it. The strings on the wand bounced before my eyes and the rattle sounded by my ear as he bopped his wand down on my shoulder - the thought came with the honesty that only the spontaneous idea can have. I want to tell him everything. The man bopped my other shoulder like a knight, and then tickled my nose for good measure. He said something about my wish now being in the faerie bubble and coming true, but I didn't pay attention. I was shocked Inside. What had I wished? Did I mean it? No, just stupid thoughts. But, I put the wish-bubble in my purse and later on my dresser, and then my wallet and glasses case and pocket… because there is a frighteningly large amount of truth in the spontaneous… and as much as I want to deny such a… scary thought, I can't lie to myself. The gist of it's true.
I turn it in my fingers, the light playing on the scratches on it's surface and make lights dance in it's glass interior like air bubbles under water. Blue for Truth - I don't want to lie. And Orange for Cutting…
I want to say it. I want the words that I write to myself to be more than secret, silent scratches of graphite held close and dear. I want to let it out - let these thoughts be Real. Let the words in my head sit in air like fat flies - present, seen, and acknowledged. I turn the marble over and over and over in my hands because even if I meant it, even if I want to tell… I'm not sure I can. The door opens. Adam says "Hey". I stand up to follow him. The marble is back in my pocket and he makes no comment. I can't feel it. So much for a reminder of courage or symbolic support. The door closes behind us loudly and Adam asks how I am. I nod my head. My voice is gone.
|