Monday, December 14, 2009

Passing Through

A very small lobby, with a single pew occupied by two men talking quietly. They’re in their seventies, both are dressed in winter clothes, and they have on scarves and hats. There are bundles and papers on either side of them. On one end there’s just room enough for me to sit. When I do, I notice a narrow table under a grimy window across the room, hardly more than arm’s length away. There are papers on the counter. They look like forms or documents of some kind. Through another little window to my left, I see a wall of ornate metal boxes, each with a number on the door above a copper keyhole. I think of pennies. I decide I’m in a post office or a train station.


Nazia Mallick said...

I was passing through "October 11, 2003", entry and I loved this passage:
"I belong in a corner…There is the physical kind, where two walls meet to form a right angle, and there is the mental kind, where multiple walls of exaggerated proportions collide and form a sanity-challenging maze. Like most mortals, I am familiar with both. I have also written in both, am presently writing in both, and will no doubt continue to do so..."

I could relate to it and immediately wanted to tell you this, though it comes under another post heading.
How I have always loved and feared corners!

William Michaelian said...

Nazia, I’m glad you popped in with this. Six years have passed since that One Hand Clapping entry, and, wouldn’t you know it, the situation is still the same. Sometimes I think the purpose of my life is to write myself out of a self-imposed corner. And you’re right — there’s a kind of terrifying and holy glee in finding oneself there.