feet (february '14)

i see her boots shuffling underneath the toilet door. they're greenish, suede-like, wet with splotches of salt. she's heard me enter and click the doors open and closed as i check the stalls, which is all i can do. i don't want to call out loud to her. so we just breathe silently on opposite sides of the door and she shuffles a little more. she has a bunch of bags with her in there, on the floor. as i get out i hear a hiss, like the burble of an unstoppered bottle.

so i call Control: "listen, there's someone in the bathroom who's been here for almost an hour. yes, she was here at 4.30 when i checked. i don't want to say anything to her. maybe she's just old and slow, but i thought maybe she had a bottle with her in there." they'll send someone in and i wait on the window sill in the corridor, and i think, not for the first time: there are 10 cubicles in the women's toilet, why can't someone just sit inside for a while, especially if they're silent and don't smell? as for the drinking, too: if you get alcohol from somewhere and you're alone and you don't go home and drink it, your life is not rosy enough for me to be giving you trouble. if you were raving, kicking and screaming, cutting your veins on the bathroom floor, maybe i`d see a reason to stop you - but otherwise, why? just doing my job?

so Jeff comes, and i say "don't kick her out, please. maybe i heard wrong." he's like, no problem, we can't kick her out anyway. he knocks, calls "security!", then steps into the empty toilet, doesn't even go in front of the stalls. "ma'am, are you ok?" he says loudly. "we're informed that you've been here for an hour." there's something more, whispered, that i don't hear, then Jeff gets out shrugging. "i'll just wait here til she comes out, you can go do your stuff." and i go, because i'm sort of behind with checking the terrasse, and the floors need mopping what with the weather, but i sort of wanted to stay and see her.

i wanted to see her because i empathize. what i've been doing for the past 2 weeks is avoiding to write an e-mail asking for a recommendation letter for an application. i think about it every day and i compose parts of it (oh, how embarrassing it would be) as i ride up in the staff elevator, wipe terrasse tables with the green disinfectant and the escalator frame with the stainless steel solution. and i don't write it because i can't bear to say to my former professor that i'm working as a cleaning woman now. of course i could avoid it at first, i could be imploring in a sort-of official kind of way, but then she'd reply and say hey, how are you? what have you been doing? because i was a brilliant student, actually. that is what would happen. so it doesn't. 

so i circle the center ice and i meet Jeff again, this is maybe 20 minutes later. i ask, "so?" - "so what?" he asks, the thought of the incident completely forgotten by now. - "so, the woman!" - "oh, it was ok. she got out, there seemed nothing wrong." and i don't know if i'm glad about it or not. somebody hiding in a small space, in a pocket of time, till the light is out, the dangers are out. somebody still managing to look ok. 

and i go back. not because i'm a pushy creeper, maybe that too, but i go because one more hour has gone and i need to check the toilets regularly. on the corridor seats near the bathroom entrance there's an oldish lady, in a grey coat with a warm black hat, with her big handbag all spread out on the floor, the contents spilling in front of her. she's going through them, then when she hears my steps she scrambles a bit. she looks frail and kindly, a little awkward in her old age trying to manage this. "oh, dear, do you know what the time is, please?" she asks. and before she continues with "i can't seem to find my..." , i do know. i know about her.

i've seen the spread of pills beading on the concrete from the folds of her bag, unassorted, lively and shameless. i've seen a bunch of dented mini yogurts on the bottom, staining the dogeared papers. i've felt the smoke and alcohol on her breath, and i've seen the boots, the greenish suedey salty boots. 

"it's 10 to 7," i say.

"are you serious?" she exclaims. "oh lord, it's just that i had to be somewhere around 7, and i didn't think, it slipped my..." but then she stops, because i`ve moved away.

i don`t know how i`d like the world to treat me, but it`s not up to the world to pull me together.