a bit of creative writing

This is just the beginning of something that needs expanding

 

 

 

 The Waiting

 

 

 Thursday evenings are often peculiarly predictable, particularly in winter months when daylight hours are in short supply. It was on such an evening that Maurice found himself in the waiting room of the newly opened walk in unit conveniently located opposite the cemetery. "Good grief!" he pondered, shaking the water off his roll up umbrella and tucking it, neatly rerolled, into the dedicated compartment in his leather laptop bag, "These whacky Brits sure have a weird way of locating their medical facilities. Maybe the success rate here isn't so good." 

Frowning, he pushed up the sleeves of the sweater mom had bought him last Christmas, admiring the taupe hues. They didn't celebrate Christmas of course, well, not in the religious sense. The building was definitely new, he noted, sustainable materials with solar panels. Nice to see the English were finally catching up with Canadian efforts to combat global warming. He observed how the reinforced wall length windows allowed an unnerving and eerie light from the car park and occasional car headlamp to illuminate the sallow solemn faces of the twenty other patients in waiting at regular intervals.

 How he longed for his neat apartment room with its spectacular views at night time of down town Toronto; the shiny skyscrapers pointing at the stars, glittering beacons of hope 

Maybe Maggie was right when she cynically remarked that his home was located in reality on the 13th floor, not the 14th as his mail and elevator stop indicated. Was he developing triskadecaphobia in his late middle age? Checking his watch for the 12th time (another of Mom's gifts) he moved a step from his place at the rear of the line, behind a rather large man whose jacket smelt vaguely of halibut and eels.

 

 Unexpectedly, a memory of a happy event in Halifax flashed through his mind. In his student days, he had acted the part of young Harrison Macbride, a Newfie apprentice haddock beheader, in a play by a local Nova Scotian, whose name he was unable to recall. Really he ought to have a better memory for names, given his ability to memorise huge swathes of dialogue. Sometimes he exasperated himself, he really did. Happy times- he was the first actor to top and tail a large live fish anywhere onstage in the world.

 It was his moment of glory which, unfortunately led to relative obscurity as far as stage acting was concerned. Which, he pondered, was why he was here in Portsmouth, 35 years later, delivering Shakespeare workshops to reluctant students in inner city schools. Yes it was rather like that quaint saying the Brits had, not quite an aphorism-taking coal to Newcastle. He preferred, if pushed, to sell ice to Inuit. but that was another story. 

The computer was humming; an IBM, he could see the logo even at this distance, through his heavy dark rimmed glasses that clung to the bridge of his angular nose and protruding ears. Someone behind him coughed deeply and loudly, then as everyone in front turned to look accusingly at him, covered his mouth with his sleeve. The croc shod Eastern European nurse pointed to the wall, drawing everyone's gaze to the 3foot by 5 foot swine flu alert poster. it was then that Maurice noticed that everyone in the waiting roon apart from himself, was wearing a large white mask.