The Shine Journal

 

Blue Dot

by

R M Glover

 

 

 

A large alabaster vase stood between the two sets of lift doors inside the reception area of Clinic 236. The lift doors on the recently constructed “West Wing” were clean, large, and fitted with an electronic floor indicator. A brass floor indicator with Roman Numerals hung over the smaller lift of the original building.

Outside the morning fog hung thick and gray.

“Do you want a coke?” Natasha asked. She had taken off her scarf and placed it across her arm.

“I like that look,” Peter said nodding toward a tall man who stepped into the small lift with roman numerals. The tall man wore a navy blue suit and gripped a wad of cigars with pink bands. He smiled as the lift door closed.

“I’m going to have a coke,” she said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Either way a coke won’t matter.”

Peter straightened a bill and slid it into the machine. A light flashed and went dead. The coke clunked on delivery. He pulled it through the hinged flap of the slot. It arrived cold and wet.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

He had lifted the coke to his mouth.

Natasha turned and looked out where a group of women waited for the airport limousine. Slender and well dressed they did not speak amongst themselves. Some had overnight bags slung across their shoulders.

“Here, I saved you some,” Peter said, holding the coke in his hand.

She waved him away then walked toward the West Wing lift, the one with the electronic floor indicator.

Peter followed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Here.” He held out the coke.

“Do you think you can buy your way out? Do you think you can just buy toys and call yourself a father?” She asked.

She looked at him and then at the mold on the window sill. The blue dot hit “1” on the electronic floor indicator and the clean, large lift doors opened. A slender lady with a chalky white face and a black overnight bag stepped out. The foxtail of her shawl hung down and bounced off her back as she crossed the reception area.

“Do you always have to belittle me?” Natasha asked.

“I don’t belittle you, in fact just the opposite.” Peter grinned, looking at her mid-section, then added, “We could take a cab and have lunch at Poul’s before you decide.”

Natasha looked outside. A young woman in maternity clothes sat on the bench at the bus stop with her children.

“I’m not hungry. I wanted a coke.”

“There’s some left.” Peter said.

“I don’t want anything you’ve touched,” Natasha said.

 He looked at her then stood aside. An orderly pushed a pregnant woman on a gurney into the small lift. A white sheet covered her from neck down
 and a little girl in yellow pajamas followed.

Natasha glared at Peter. “Moscovite,” she said.

Peter lifted the coke up. “To all those in Moscow who are not represented. And never will be,” Peter said. Then he brought the coke to
his lips and finished it.

A woman with white hair, a cane, and a seeing-eye dog walked through the revolving front door of Clinic 236. She stopped and sniffed as if to
smell her way.

“There are things that matter, Natasha,” Peter said.

“They are not essential,” Natasha said. She looked out the window. “Nothing but Russians in Copenhagen, Russians and Chinese.”
 
 Natasha pushed the lit button on the new lift.

The lift opened. She stepped in and stood next to three female nurses.

“Floor, please?” One of the nurses asked.

“Floor nine,” Natasha said, “Termination,” her eyes fixed on Peter’s as the lift door closed between them.

Peter looked at the floor indicator and watched the blue dot glide up. Then he dropped the coke can into the garbage and walked through the
revolving doors.

---

Motivation: The hospital offered abortion on one wing and deliveries at an opposite wing. It caught my attention. Later I studied a Venn diagram of philosophic systems and made note of the differences between existentialism and nihilism.

Bio: R M Glover is a freelance writer contributing to several Texas newspapers and regularly in the Big Bend Sentinel. His fiction includes the short story, “Chef Menteur,” winner of the 2004 William March Award. His fiction has also been published in the Oracle, Oyster Boy Review, Sinister Tales, Dogzplot, and other print and E-zine reviews. After uprooting from post-Katrina New Orleans, he now lives with his wife Lori and four kids in the mountains of west Texas near Mexico.

Image by: David Lat