Epiphanies

Waiting

Imprint by Koyamori

Imprint by Koyamori

She waits beside the red brick wall outside her office, beside her window, japanese cherry blossoms beside a 27-inch computer screen, with her colleagues wailing, “When is it too early to have scotch?” at 4.30 on a wednesday afternoon, sitting at the edge of her seat, eyes widening left to right, fingers drumming on top of a glass tabletop, listening to mainstream 90’s music from the office beside her, Pink Floyd from below, high notes of Uncomfortably Numb climbing up the carpeted floor, glancing at the memo (once, twice, three times) before clicking back, staring at a white empty space waiting to be filled with experience, to be woken from the deep slumber of an average life, to be showered by rainbow spices from a distant land, from the fields in Ohio to the the bees of Holland, Argentina in the blink of an eye, back to snow in December, walking in sky blue boots, holding a purse stolen from her mother, clad in someone else’s winter jacket that they had thrown away, holding back a smile while riding the subway, thinking this is it, this is it, now my life is about to change – and back to the office chair, to the tweedling keyboard, to the smell of espressos and cappucinos amidst the staleness of a room that housed the silhouttes of Dai Vernon, and the dreams of a young child trapped in the body of a wasted, old woman.

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