Her crocs had the precise fitting of Mickey Mouse boots, she seemed to drag them rather than walk as her gait wobbled from left to right.
Without having to look, she knew those feet belonged to the pregnant nurse she'd met earlier at their station. Pink scrubs over such large white crocs was a hilarious sight as she walked by.
Next were the grand ma shoes, black and loose fitting block heels, the kind only to make an appearance once each week, on Sunday mornings. The usually went with hats over suits and three quarter length baggy skirts so you could see the skinny legs underneath as one foot went before the other.
Whoever wore them was being accompanied by a man as black suede male shoes walked beside them.
She loved how she could tell who passed by their feet. Male or female, old or young, tall or short.
It was even clearer when legs were added to the picture. Good looking people had certain leg features or so she thought letting her mind stray.
She was not sure how long her head had been down, just staring at the floor and only see people's feet as they walked the hallway on their way to one room, office or the other.
Her body felt listless with a hint of nausea and she had no idea why.
It had been an odd morning since waking up.
Some days it was anaemia, other days because she had slightly exceeded her Iron supplement by some milligrams.
Either way the listlessness was just another symptom on a vague list. Perhaps the longest standing one that kept her seated there, long after her doctor's appointment had concluded minutes ago.
Was it not true that sometimes people felt everything and nothing at the same time. That some days life was like a circle with no beginning nor end, no interval or break just continuous.
She could get up now and leave, walking to the bus stop under the biting sun to take a ride home.
But nothing about that was attractive, what she would find there was not much different from her current contemplations.
Sitting there with both elbows on her knees and her eyes to the floor gave a kind of meaning that was profound.
A posture of both immense weight on her shoulders and lightness on her mind.
Sensible and senseless all at once.
She grunted in frustration and peeked a glance to see if anyone had heard.
Wasn't it a total drag that sometimes when people just needed to be, they had to be bothered about people's perception of them?. She questioned.
Absent from the world around, cut off from what was outside her view wasn't too much to ask.
In fact on a scale of wants that was pretty basic.
Not a mansion or cars, not affection or companionship. None of that.
There was a certain calmness to isolation. Inclusion into the tanglements can be hardwork, she discovered.
One could get lost in all that business and not find any meaning or relevance.
And meaning was important. It fed the soul.
Meaning was value to the mundaneness of life.
Like when she went to work in the bank each day. Sitting there in skirt suits at her cubicle, she would like to believe that other than just crediting or debiting enterprises, she was helping to build, ambitions, legacies that elevated the lives of low income families.
If no such meaning was attached to her job then it all amounted to an aggregate of zero and one was better off unemployed.
Somehow she had become a big picture type of gal. Perhaps an old soul and that was quite rich.
The thought made her laugh inside.
Thinking about a book she read, "The Story of An African Farm" by Olive Schreiner. There was this metaphorical description of truth and different people going in search of it like a priced gem and still not finding it.
Yet she felt she had somehow.
That in a way she had unraveled the mystery of existence by having an answer many would never find in their lifetime.
She thought this not as a thing of pride but fact.
It made her smirk realising the philosophical nature of her thought and it was had to believe. Little lessons on philosophy and logic had meant that was not a word to be attributed to her.
It would be uncharacteristic to have anything to do with such jumbling mess of confusion.
Yet like observers at a game, she had been bestowed some privilege of an outside view to life.
She felt she could hold all the pieces and judge their worth or the lack there off.
The door beside her opened to let someone out. She caught whiff of a scent, very doctor-like.
"Would you like some company?", He inquired calmly.
There was the hint of a plea in his voice, like a parent lending a hand to a child or a spouse offering support to their partner.
It showed genuine care and solidarity, not pity or sympathy, which she respected.
In his tone he managed to convey that he would give or do anything to be of help. It was not about him but her and what she might need. Like it ought to be.
But she wasn't dieing, he knew. He was her doctor, in fact her condition was mild and manageable, Thank God. But why had he shown such concern for her.
Maybe it was her somber demeanor. Her posture was retreating, detached.
And isn't it human to want to reach out, link again with people who appear to be adrift?.
Noble of him, she truly appreciated such instincts in others but she was fine so she thanked him, politely declining his offer.
Satisfied that she had done enough decluttering, her mind and body now ready to take on the world, she stood up to leave and walk into the sun.
As she did she heard over the intercom.
"Have a nice day".
Or so she thought.
