Monday, November 9, 2009

Going II

He'd droped by the florist first. After all, women always appreciated flowers, regardless of their condition. And she'd always loved sunflowers. He didn't even know how to get there - he'd never known, never needed to. Knowing your way down there was for the less fortunate, category he had never belonged to - until now.
The starched buttoned white shirt, the black tie, the bouquet and the address given earned him a commiseration look from the cab driver - look from which he shrinked away, painfully conscious of the sentiment he was liable to awaken in others. But it did not matter in the end, so long as he got to see her. So long as she got to see him alive, back. He was positive her pain would instantly fade away once she saw him.
Narcisistic? No. He just knew it. Because it would be the same with him. If he were in the same situation, he was certain the very sight of her would make it all go away.
He handed the money, not really knowing what he was doing, completely hipnotized by the size of the building. He mentioned her name at the reception, and the girl at the counter looked at him with a glimpse of recognition, as if she'd always known whom he was. As if able to read his mind, the girl answered the non-formulated question: Jean had mentioned him time after time. Everyone there knew him by his name.
Unsure of how that made him feel, he followed her through a series of long white overly clean corridors. The girl left, after showing him to a room furnished with some comfortable-looking chairs, a couple of cream-coloured couches and people just as well-dressed as he was.
With somewhat of a hesitant look at his surroundings, he sat down on the chair closest to the door, while the words "letter", "lost in action" and "mental" whirled around his head incessantly.