Thursday, June 9, 2011

Whispers

The nurse and the receptionist
spoke in hushed tones behind the desk.
I stood there for a few moments,
waiting to be acknowledged for
the appointment, but they continued
to whisper, their eyes flickering over
me several times.
I patiently sat down,
suppressing the urge to rudely lash out at them
for their behavior triggering old
memories of children in grade school,
whispering, pointing, mocking, bullying,
disdain clear in their eyes and stances.
Even now, when people stand to one side
murmuring, the hyper-vigilance rises high and
sharp in my mind, constantly surveying the
scene for potential threats and violence,
while my little girl shivers with fear of
being rejected and criticized.
Later, at the cell phone store, when an
obnoxious man cut in front of me in the
two hour long line, my fists quivered with
retribution, but he wasn't whispering - this
bully was shouting at the uneasy employees.
I couldn't decide if I wanted to thump him for
his overbearing creepiness or growl at the
grunts for making me wait ten more minutes
while he vented his rage at being
disregarded.

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