The first thing Sophia noticed when she arrived for her appointment was the soothing soft rock that lulled her into an opioid-like state of nostalgia––back to a time when she didn’t have to do anything but make a best friend in each class and collect the best array of oily stickers in her sticker book.

The second thing she noticed was Derek tearing out the pages of a waterlogged magazine. And the third thing she noticed was a stranger who was watching everything without looking at anything.

As she was being led into a back room by one of the nurse’s assistants––or whatever the people are called who herd folks around medical facilities but never introduce themselves––

Sophia thought she heard the stranger say, “Just wait. You’re going to remember me forever.”

Which didn’t help the situation at all. I looked directly at her after that supposed comment, right into her eyes. Her only two eyes. They don’t grow back, you know.

Sophia startled at the presence of the medical professional, the very one who was beside her this whole time (this whole time being a few seconds, but still), the very one leading her where she was supposed to go.

Derek finished his Sudoku puzzle and whooped in victory
to a nearly empty room as the door to the hallway slow-released
into a closed position.

Now in this small city, as you understand if you’ve been here,
practically every building has a checkered past. I make it my
business to keep tabs on both the commercial and residential 2 properties.

I’ve got my secret motives just like everyone else.

The house directly beside Sophia’s was torn down this week,
and detritus kept blowing into her yard. Old love letters
and out-of-focus photographs positioned themselves in the
thicket of privacy screen between the two homes.

A diary page that listed coordinates of buried jewels
and sacks of cash flapped beneath one of Sophia’s garbage
bin wheels. Somebody’s actual treasure turned trash.

Then it was Derek’s turn to move from the waiting
room to a smaller room that might as well be called a waiting room.

At 5’7”, he ducked his head through every doorway,
and today was no exception. I’d seen him do it a dozen
times. He walked around with earbuds in.

Most people thought he’d taken an interest in audiobooks or podcasts,
as was customary in this small city. But in fact he listened to a laugh track on repeat.


Call it an invented method of improving his self-confidence, of tampering with his own psyche at last.

This method only halfway worked. For example, he was able to pull himself together after telling a rotten joke.

However, his insecurities closed in on him when he tripped up the stairs or dislodged himself from what used to be a comfortable position only to hear a hearty uproar of mockery from the ever-present crowd in his eardrums. I often forget you can trip up the stairs and not just down them, so maybe he does too.