I could tell by the way she was standing that she didn’t want to be here.
It’ll all be over soon, I told myself. She’ll be gone in less than an hour.
Her name was Jennifer. It was typed, plainly, in black ink across the center of her driver’s license; Jennifer Green.
A common name, I tried convincing myself. She’s just like the rest.
But she wasn’t. I had seen girls enter the clinic before, girls just like her; quiet, conserved things who spent most of their time staring at the tiled flooring we had installed in the building. They didn’t talk much, the rest of them, never really took the time to look me in the eye.
But this one was different.
“I am here for an abortion.” There, she said it. Plainly, fearlessly. It was the first time I had heard those words spoken so easily, without restraint. I was used to hearing the usual mumbling, the typical excuses that I had heard a thousand times before.
She looked at me directly. “When’s the next available appointment?”
I noticed her eyes. One was blue, the other green.
“We have an opening at one o’clock today, if that is convenient.”
Her eyes darted to the clock nailed crookedly on the west wall. Twelve noon.
“I can wait,” she said bluntly. I watched as she turned on her heel and sat into one of the blue couches we had pushed against the wall. Her white-wash jeans were frayed at the bottom. Her wind-breaker was zipped all the way up to the base her neck.
“For a whole hour?” I blurted without hesitation. Immediately, I scolded myself. Receptionists weren’t supposed to ask questions. I racked my brain for something suitable to discuss. “We have magazines in the back room,” I added. Other than the two of us, the lobby was empty.
“I’m fine,” she replied. I nodded.
Tick tick. The hands on the clock. They spun slowly, endlessly, around and around, only to repeat the same circle, the same pattern as they had before. I wondered when time would ever stop.
Furtively, I directed my eyes toward her. She sat on the cushions; calm, collected. She kept her eyes locked to the wall in front of her. She looked together, so carefully kept. What was going on inside, I would never know.
The clock struck one. I busied myself by pretending to file leftover paperwork.
“It’s one o’clock,” she said. I glanced up. She had appeared at the front desk. Nodding, I handed her a blank form.
“Once you're inside, please fill this out.” I watched as she picked up the sheet of paper. She did it with such ease. No pain, no hesitation.
“Which way is it?” I pointed down the dimly-lit hallway leading out of the lobby.
“Just around the corner,” I explained. She nodded, folded the paperwork into her back pocket, and headed down the corridor. I only caught a glimpse of her heel as she disappeared around the bend.
It was rush-hour. I could hear the traffic bustling noisily outside the entranceway: taxis, buses, motorcycles.
After a while, the noise settled down, until all I could hear was the steady pedaling of a bicyclist speeding down the drive.
The clock kept ticking.
