DRIVE WEST

SEVENTEEN - I Recommend The Croissant

As she stepped into the cold hospital hallway, the white and dim green squares that dressed the floors listened in to her thoughts and secrets. She knew they whispered about her and gossiped amongst each other. She knew they didn't have to have faces to have ears, like many other things in the universe that listened. Listened.

The blinking, painfully white bulb that lit the hallway felt like a fitting scenery for her thoughts; a diving pool with no water for her to explore and plunge into.

As she slowly walked deeper and deeper into the semi-dark hallway that swallowed her, she wanted to ask Other Monday, "How do I know which to prepare for?"

But this time, there was no echo answering back. Still, she persisted, "How come we're all supposed to be prepared to either be married for forty years or be alone forever and still have to be happy either way?"

Other Monday appeared beside her. There was blood splattered across her face. "You're afraid to be loved and you're afraid of not being loved. That's a lot of fears to have."

She looked at Other, "I'm not ashamed of the fears I developed from trauma."

Other Monday nodded and bit her lip, "Maybe that's why you keep re-living it."

Monday stopped walking and was about to ask her one more question when she realized she had arrived at the counter, where a nice receptionist dressed in teddy bear scrubs asked in an understanding tone, "Can I help you, sweety?"

She looked around for a second looking for Other Monday, who had now disappeared.

She heard a man's voice, "You okay?"

He was standing beside her, wearing a cowboy hat.

She noticed his eyes first, one blue and one dark brown. "Oh, yeah. Thanks. Just a little dizzy."

He shook his head and shared with an obnoxious accent, "There's a nice coffee shop downstairs if ya' need something to eat, lady." He leaned in and whispered, "I recommend the croissant." Monday, intolerant and unamused with the man's advice, looked at him and said nothing.

But that didn't seem to discourage him as he leaned over the counter with the side of his body, "Ya' visiting someone special?" He pried, chewing his gum with an opened mouth.

She hesitated, "Yeah. A couple of special people, actually." She placed her purse on the counter and searched for something inside of it, moving things around.

He shot up his eyebrows, "A couple? Oof. I wish you luck, honey."

"Yeah." She grabbed out her ID and handed it to the receptionist, who promptly began preparing her visitor's pass. She looked at him and noticed he still stared at her, wanting to talk. She sighed and budged, "How about you? Friend? Family?"

The man tilted his head, "This guy's kind of both."

She nodded and let out an understanding, "Ah."

He looked at the receptionist and confidently added, "I'm here to help him escape, actually. We have a secret operation in place, Cinthia."

The nice lady laughed and played along, "I've got my eyes on you, Mr. Otis." She pointed at him and he raised his arms, playfully acting innocent.

"Just where they should be, sugar." He winked.

The lady gave Monday her ID back and a sticker with the word VISITOR in bold and her name in smaller letters.

The boy glanced at it and bit his lip, intrigued. "That's a pretty name for a pretty lady."