The Italian Beast

Chapter 11:Another Day At Work

I sighed in relief when I made it just in time to work.

Although I could afford to be a few minutes late since I always arrived on time.

The morning like any other weekday morning was as old as the coffee on my desk.

I tapped its murky surface to break the thickening skin and watched the new gap grow.

The brown drink dripped from my finger, the ripples spreading toward the edges of the cup in ever larger circles.

I know I'm spoilt, so used to the finest beans, always freshly brewed and served with half-and-half.

I still crave a subtle undertone of hazelnut and my cup to be a festive color with cardboard around it to protect my fingers from the heat.

Instead, it is this instant muck, served warm in foamed- depression served without a smile.

It suits this place though, it matches the beige walls and the melamine desks, and it's as welcoming as the unguarded strip lights and the worn blue carpet.

The only thing alive in here is the ticking clock, I think the rest of us died some time ago.

But even though the job was not exciting, it still paid well which I did not mind.

Especially in the current state of the economy, I was grateful to even have a job.

While I was keeping myself busy, someone walked up to my desk and spoke.

I looked up and saw that it was a woman who looked to be forty with an elderly woman.

I assumed they were mother and daughter.

I gaze at the old woman before me. At her age, she should have one foot in the grave.

Her eyesight was failing faster than my school grades.

Were it not for the lines in her face I'd think her seventy at the most, but they are so deep and saggy - like the skin no longer has a connection to the skull underneath.

In a photograph, you'd clock her as ninety or more, and I think that's where she is.

"Hello good morning?" The younger woman smiled.

"Good morning," I returned the smile.

Elizabeth Sawyer was a lady of--her age does not matter.

She was tall and very slight, her hair was gray, and her eyes were the bulging.

Her eyes were the staring kind that seemed about to jump from their sockets, but the black-rimmed eye-glasses secured by a heavy cord she wore.

"I'm Elizabeth Swayer and this here is my mother, Mary Swayer. She has an appointment with Dr. Anderson at 9:30 am,"

"Okay, do you have the needed documents for registration?" I asked.

"Yes," She replied and handed me the documents.

"Okay you guys can have a seat and Dr. Anderson will be with your mother right away," I responded as I entered elderly woman information, notifying the doctor that his patient had arrived.

After a short while, Dr. Anderson stepped out and attended to the elderly woman.

"Good morning Mrs. Swayer, how you are doing?" He asked, shaking the women hands.

"Oh good," Her smile extends to her eyes, twinkling like she's greeting a beloved son.

"How was your sleep last night?" Dr. Anderson asked, leading them towards his office.