Life's Second Chances

Twenty-Eight

Anu

Angst and nervousness form knots in my stomach. I can't seem to sit still, constantly shaking my leg as I wait in the quiet waiting room. A single tick from the mahogany wall-clock causes me to twitch every second. Swallowing, I look up to the ceiling, weary of the two other women sitting across from me reading their respective lifestyle magazines.

Clutching the base of my neck, I pace my breathing by biting down on my lips. Distraction! Find a distraction. Shakily my hand moves for the thick vogue issue on the coffee table. Flipping through the glossy pages, the images and articles just blur, and I'm engulfed in a despairing feeling. I can't focus, I can't speak.

Breathe. I have to remind myself why I'm here. This is for me and no one else.

"Anuksha Arora," the receptionist, a frail girl with thick blonde hair tied in a ponytail, calls out from behind her desk. "Dr. Crawford is ready for you," Rising to my feet, slowly so I don't faint, I slide the magazine back onto the table. Taking cautious steps to the hardwood door, I grip the cold silver handle feeling hopeful yet distraught at what I'm going to hear in that office.

"Please have a seat Anuksha," soft yet so dignified, Dr. Crawford a slim woman with short brown hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind simple black-framed glasses, invites me into a brightly lit room.

White curtains are parted to let generous light in from the tall bay windows. Small succulent plants in quirkily painted pots of abstract shapes and lines, comical faces and glitter designs are sporadically placed around the room.

Smoothing out the front of my dress, I place my palms against the smooth velvety sofa cushions tapping my fingers against the thickly bound threads holding the fabric of the seat together. Licking my dry lips, I swallow trying to rid the dry parchedness of my throat.

"Can I offer you some water? Coffee or tea perhaps?" she asks kindly from her place at a mini bar while stirring an aromatic tea.

"Water is fine, thank you," hoarsely mumbling, I smile tight-lipped shifting my attention back to the tiny plant pot painted in a dark forest green with gold glitter designs around the sides. Despite speaking to Dr. Crawford over the phone and the sense of familiarity between us, I still find it difficult to open up in person.

"My daughter, she paints any and everything. I have these and a million other art projects around my house," smiling fondly she spins the pot against the table causing flakes of gold dust to fall onto the polished wooden surface.

I find myself smiling thinking of a home filled with ceramic works of art in every shape and form one can think of and the child-like imagination behind each delicate piece of art. "They're too precious," I whisper unable to find my voice despite the burning in my throat being gone.

"Do you have children?" cautious but with intent she leans back in her chair, resting her elbows on the armrest and sipping her tea. The blue of her eyes darkening over the rim of the yellow cup as she assesses me keenly.

"No, I don't. Maybe in the future though,"

"We always think there's a rush to do everything before our thirties that we spend the best years of our lives rushing to get fixed that we forget we're still growing and changing and that we can still make mistakes and not know what we want to do with our lives yet,"

"It's a lot of pressure for sure. I thought I had my whole life figured out and now I'm just so unhappy...with everything," I catch a glimpse of the tall tree outside the window watching as a bird flies through the branches.