A Better Version of Me

One: Monday

Amrita glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had passed since she last looked, an hour and forty-five minutes in total since she'd arrived. The waiting room had seen three groups of people move into the consultation room beyond in that time: one young mother with her baby daughter; a slightly older couple with two boys that Amrita assumed to be twins; and a boy of about her own age accompanied by his father. It wasn't lost on her that she was here alone. She was unaccompanied, without support. Now, she was the only one waiting; the other clients had offered some entertainment. She liked to watch others, to be a spectator on the outside of things looking in. With all the clientele for the day checked in, even the receptionist had long since left.

The silence bore into her and intensified her thoughts of her mum being at home, who would by now be worrying about her and where she was. She was going to be late. And she was never late home. Still, Amrita wasn't leaving without her consultation. It was too important to her. She resisted the temptation to pull out her phone to contact her mum and let her know where she was. If she did that, it was likely that she would succumb to her mum's anxieties and leave without seeing the specialist. And she had to see the specialist. She had come this far, and she wasn't going to turn back.

To try and distract herself, she let her eyes wander around the benign waiting room. But there was nothing of interest to look at. There were only the large armchairs that hugged the outside of the room, the receptionist's desk and generic artwork adorning the walls. It was clean and clinical but the room could not be described as exciting or stimulating. And Amrita thought that it was a purposeful decision to have the room in such a fashion. After all, given the business that the clinic was in, too much stimulation might lead to wild and fanciful ideas.

"Amrita Kaur," the voice over the announcement system startled her. She hadn't been expecting it. She'd been waiting long enough. But she still hadn't expected it.

When she stood, she realised how nervous she was. She trembled. There was nobody else there to see it, but she trembled all the same. And then came the knots in her stomach. Nausea. She managed to fight it back. It was challenging though. Her mouth was dry and each swallow was an effort.

She took a few moments to calm herself as best she could. Eyes closed. Deep breaths. A good five or six of them. Then Amrita followed the instructions given to her by the receptionist almost two hours before.

As she opened the door next to the receptionist's desk, she was faced with a fairly short corridor. It was illuminated by bright strip lighting, which was an affront to Amrita's eyes, especially in contrast to the dull glow of the waiting room. She had to squint her eyes to cope with the onslaught of light and even then, it stung her eyes.

She moved down the corridor towards the only door and when she reached it, she paused once more. Again, she shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. Then Amrita saw her hand extending to the door and knocking. She hadn't consciously undertaken this act; her body had known to do it. Her arm had bypassed her brain so that she really couldn't turn around and head out of the door, back into the anonymity of the streets outside.

"Come in," came the same female voice that had called her name over the speaker system.

Amrita did just that.

The room was warmly lit and well decorated. Books, wooden panels and fine art filled the walls. An antique globe, two tiffany style lamps, plants and a marble piece chess set were all thoughtfully placed around the room. The opulence was lost on Amrita. She didn't have the inclination or the desire to consider that these ornaments were only for display. They had been carefully selected and then strategically placed to give off the impression of grandeur. And to that end, they worked. They were there to give the patient confidence in the doctor's abilities. They were meant to stand in stark contrast to the bleak waiting room that Amrita had just left behind. The large solid wooden desk, one of the only functional pieces of furniture in view, had two large leather seats on either side. One was empty and one was taken by the doctor.