She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. I watched her go as I’ve watched others - into that strange light.
I’m still wearing the hospital gown. I feel no shame. I’m hardly the least dressed. Three of the others are completely naked - well one man is wearing a black knee-brace, but that hardly counts. The others are women. One of whom is quite stunningly beautiful. This is something I recognize as a fact - without desire.
The light beyond the door is always the same. Bright, steady, white. No different in color or intensity despite who’s passing through. I suppose that’s a comfort. Or it ought to be.
On tables scattered amongst the gold and maroon colored, wooden-framed chairs are stacks of books. No magazines. Here’s an inventory of my table: Solaris, Lila, The Stranger, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Crime and Punishment, Big Sur. Plus a notepad and pen.
The man sitting across from me just removed his left shoe - he only has the left - and placed it on his right foot. He squeezed into it and extended his leg out before him. He’s wiggling it now.
It’s sin that’s on my mind. I should just admit that. Small things mostly. I hope they’re small. Broken promises. An illicit kiss or two. Youthful violence.
This room is surprisingly modern. Nothing exciting, of course, but modern. The furniture. The overhead fluorescents softened by recessed incandescent lighting. The cheap oil paintings hanging at regular intervals on the beige walls. Above my head a pastel rabbit sits in pastel grass beneath a pastel tree - presumably avoiding a pastel wolf. Somehow I expected - or I would have expected had I expected anything remotely like this - something older. Ancient. Stone and iron. Torches anchored to the walls. Dim. Maybe a few half-naked, brown-skinned people chanting in a corner. But this?
This whole thing is absurd. Completely. Completely.
Another through the door. A short, balding man in a shirt and tie. I’ve been watching him. Watching him hop from chair to chair. He’d start far from the door. Then he’d move closer. One row. Then another. Then when he got very close, he’d double back and start again. This last time though, when he’d reached the front, he stood and headed straight for It. It’s something. Beyond the brilliance of the light - which is stunning - there’s the moment of decision. It’s in the eye and the stride. Can’t place it. Could be faith. Could be resolve. Could be...lots of things.
Maybe I should pick up one of these books. Not really swayed by the selection though. I wonder what’s on the other tables? I’ll take a spin around the room a little later. I think that’s Alice in Wonderland by the one-shoed man. That might be good.
Strange that I’ve thought so little of my family and friends. It’s surely not immodest to assume they’re thinking of me. But I simply feel no worry for them. It’s like they’re in the next room.
I should just walk through the door. I’ll have to eventually. There’s clearly no other way. The door we all come in - the other door - is not an option. I’ve watched several others try. Nothing stands in their way. They walk out and - after a brief while - walk back in again.
That’s odd. The hospital bracelet. Didn’t it have my name on it? I’m sure I have one. it should be... I’m sure I had one.
Several of the others are reading. There really is nothing else to do. Except think. A few chairs from me a woman in her mid-fifties wearing a silver slip with a pink, knit sweater draped over her shoulders is reading The Awakening. I may have read that in high school.
Sin and reading and misplaced names. And people watching. I have a brother. Once when we were kids he fell from a tree. I was watching him. I was supposed to have been. There was a neighbor. So...so cute. A cute neighbor. My brother broke his arm. What kind of punishment do you get for that? Brother neglecting. Or is lust the real crime? I don’t have a rule book.
You know what? I need is an attorney. This isn’t fair. If I get through that door, that’s what I’ll say, straight away. This isn’t fair. I want my attorney. I’m sure no one’s ever pulled that one.
Another one through the door. The woman in the silver slip. She didn’t finish her book. She left it on a chair. One of the pages is dog-eared. Did she think she was coming back? Or, maybe she found some courage in the story.
You know what? I did what I did. I lived the life that I lived. Should I be ashamed?
I can’t say what I expected. Nothing, I guess. Or everything. Or some combination. One and nothing. Some binary...something. I didn’t expect this. All this time. Not that expectations matter much. What is is and what I do I do. That’s all.
The thing is it would be so much easier if someone would just come. Call my name and I’d go. Simple.
But as things are...I... I have no immediate plans.