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By @Madison
The first thing I notice when I walk through the door of the clinic
Is just how cold it is inside.
The entire waiting room is lined with fans
Causing chill bumps to rise on my arms.
I hug myself for warmth
As I walk to the reception desk.
The woman behind the desk looks up at me.
In an odd way
She reminds me of the librarian who gave me permission to use the computer a few weeks ago.
She’s middle aged
With short black curls
And purple cat eye glasses.
When she opens her mouth to speak
Her voice reminds me of Snow White.
“Name?” she requests.
“Candace Noble,” I reply.
She hums in response
Turning toward her computer
And tapping at the keys.
Finally, she nods
Motioning towards the row of plastic chairs lining the wall.
“Have a seat,” she says.
“They’ll call you in a moment.”
I obey without a word
Taking a seat between a girl about my age
Who, despite the tan of the rest of her skin
Has gone completely white in the face
And a blonde twenty-something
Who hardly looks bothered
As she flips the pages of a Cosmopolitan magazine.
Knowing that any attempt to distract myself would be futile
I sit with my arms crossed
And my purse in my lap
As I watched people file in and out of the waiting room.
The blonde woman next to me gets called
Only to return about ten minutes later
With a confident gait
And a paper bag in her hand.
Watching her leave
I know that she isn’t here for the same reason I am.
Apparently
People still pay attention to the part of the name
That talks about planning.
I envy her
As the door shuts behind her.
The ghostly pale girl goes next
Just as another girl comes out
Leaning into her boyfriend for support.
I send silent well wishes to both of them
As two more doors close.
A few more minutes pass
Before I’m reminded of who I am
And why I’m here.
“Noble, Candace?”
I stand up
And make my way toward the door.
I hope that someone wishes me good luck.
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