Waiting Time

The man behind me shuffles forward, brushing uncomfortably against my back. I shift away from him, wary of the teenage girl in front of me. She’s lost in her phone call, so she’s unaware of the gap between her and the person in front of her. I’m annoyed because, if she’d just focus and scoot up, then I could have more elbow room. Of course, there’s no saying whether this guy behind me would give me that room anyway. He’s so anxious to get to the front of the line that his personal space boundaries have pretty much disappeared.
I sigh and lean slightly to one side checking the length of the line ahead of me. A mother with a screaming baby promises the child food as soon as she’s taken care of her business. Poor woman…surely she knows that the child won’t understand. He’ll scream until he gets what he wants regardless of his mother’s pleading. Another child tugs on the mother’s skirt. She begs for attention the mother can’t give. She’s cute. I squat to her level and pull a toy out of my pocket. I know it’s weird to have toys in my pocket, but I get bored easily, so I like to have something on hand to entertain me. I show the girl how it works, and then hand it to her. She takes the toy then shyly hides behind her mother to play with it. The mother barely seems to notice that the irritating tug on her skirt is gone.
A business man checks his watch and harrumphs his irritation as he anticipates his tardiness to something I’m sure is very important to him, but means nothing to nobodies like me. I feel sorry for him, though. I used to be that kind of person, rushing from place to place, but getting nowhere fast enough. It’s not a life I would wish on anyone. Unfortunately, I know that’s something he’ll have to figure out on his own.
A young couple stands together, his arms around her. He whispers something in her ear. She giggles and glows, obviously enjoying his affection, oblivious to the scornful looks of anti-PDA-activists. I silently root for the couple and wonder why so many people are embarrassed by affection. Is it jealousy, disgust, or just a meaningless response they’ve been taught by society?
Another girl, about my age, fidgets in line. Her eyes dart around like she’s trying to take in all her surroundings without catching anyone’s eye. She fails, though. She catches mine, just for a moment. I don’t know why, but I smile at her. I’m shooting for a reassuring smile, just to let her know she’s not alone. She smiles back briefly…then the moment is gone and her eyes move on to another target.
I can’t see much farther down the line. I’m kind of short, so my view is easily blocked. I’d look behind me to see how much the line has stretched beyond, but the impatient man breathing down my neck makes me too uncomfortable to turn around. Instead I study my toes. The man inches forward again. Seriously guy! Give people space. I clear my throat and step aside. “Go ahead” I say, “I’m not in a hurry.” He pushes past me silently, but with a look of annoyance on his face as if he were entitled to my spot instead of being given it as a gift. I try not to be offended by his lack of gratitude, but it’s hard. I go back to studying my toes.
I pass my time avoiding eyes. I can feel their judging gaze. I let my fingers sway, only so slightly, to the beat of the song in my head. It’s a lonely tune, of dreams un-realized and adventures never taken. My ears burn with the hum of hushed tones; though none are directed at me, I still feel they’re talking about me, weighing my many faults against my few virtues. I want to hide from them all, retreat into my mind, but the waiting seems to lengthen the minutes and hours and spotlight all my insecurities leaving my faults exposed to this relentless crowd of strangers. I recoil, but there’s nowhere to go. I cannot leave the line.
Heart pounding, I close my eyes. I try to imagine I am nothing. I am nothing. Nothing. A giant eraser starts at my toes and erases me out of existence. Now no one can see me. No one can judge me. No one can hurt me.
“Next!” the man at the counter calls. My eyes snap open and I’m back. To my surprise, I’m at the front of the line. The girl on her cell phone is walking away. She must have conducted her business with the man at the counter mid-conversation. She could have at least shown the man enough respect to hang up her phone. Whoever was on the other end would have survived a few minutes until she was able to call back. Whatever. I hope I’m never that rude. The man who took my place in line is gone, too. I can’t see where he went, but wherever it was, he sure went fast.
“Next!” The man calls again. I’m embarrassed that he had to call twice. I look at my shoes again as I step up to the counter. I mutter “sorry” as I approach.
“Look at me” the man says. My hands shake as I try to comply. My eyes rise, but just to the counter. “Look at me” he says again. Oh man, I made him repeat himself again. I’m so stupid. My eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill out as I force them to lift to the man’s face. I’m afraid of what he’ll say…terrified, actually, of how he’ll judge me.
When my eyes meet his, though, they don’t look angry. They’re soft and happy, wrinkled in the corners as if he’d smiled a lot, like he is now. Now that my eyes are on his face, I can’t tear them away. The tears stop threatening to fall as I forget my fears in the overwhelming feeling of safety and peace this face gives me. For the first time since I got in the line, time stops mattering. I stare into his face and drink in that feeling…letting it fill me up until all the bad feelings I’ve been having overflow out the top and onto the ground. Then, I smile back.
“I have just one question for you.” The man says.
“Only one?” I ask, surprised. “How can you determine everything about me with just one question?”
The man laughs. The sound clears my doubts and I say “Ask your question. I will answer.”
He looks at me hard, deep into my soul. When the question comes, it’s barely a whisper.
“How did you spend your waiting time?”