07-27-2009

Start Fiction:


     Stanley opened the door to the clinic trying not to bring any attention to himself as he entered. He eased the door open, took one more survey of the street for anyone he knew, and stepped in to the foyer. Another door; Stanley made mental note. As he moved to grab the second door's handle, the first door slammed shut behind him.
     Great, he thought. So much for keeping a low profile.
     Passing through the second door Stanley saw the young, attractive, auburn haired receptionist to his right. She smiled as he walked up to her window. His stomach twitched. "Hi, I am Stanley," he whispered; he was afraid to give his last name. "I have an appointment with Frank." She, Jasmine according to her I.D. badge, clicked around on her computer for what felt like ten minutes to Stanley.
     "Welcome," she said. "I see you are new to us here at the Clinic." Jasmine pushed her chair back and reached for a clipboard behind her; her long legs glistened in the sunlight. Stanley coughed and looked down the hall to his left; he didn't want Jasmine to think he was there because he was some kind of pervert. She walked her seat back to the window as she sat in the chair. "Yeah, I am kind of like that," said said, not that she was embarrassed.
     Stanley found that peculiar, yet intriguing. "Have wheels will roll," he replied. What the hell was that? he thought; his face began get hot, burn a little. Jasmine giggled; yes, giggled.
     "Frank will be with you shortly, if you'd like to have a seat, Stanley," Jasmine said, her green eyes smiling as wide as her mouth.
     Stanley walked to the waiting area where there were three other clients sitting. His chest tightened slightly, his abdomen churned; his face was still hot and he could feel perspiration accumulating on his forehead.
     He looked for a safe seat, not too close, but not too far from anyone. He spotted a chair next to the magazine rack, laid in a course and engaged. He didn't make eye contact with anyone as e crossed the room; head down, focused on the chair. Once he arrived, he sat quickly and began to peruse the magazines, thus avoiding eye contact once again.
     As Stanley "read" his magazine, he wondered if there was anyone who would recognize him. Peeking to get glimpses of the other clients, Stanley noted one female client who had her head leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed, possibly sleeping. There was alo two other female clients who where staring at him. Each time he looked at them, they tightened their grips on their purses. He felt bad; he was making these women uncomfortable, scared.
     The silence was sliced with every turn the page. The staring women adjusted their grips on their purses, wiggling in their seats.



End Fiction.