Going Up

Last time, J accompanied me for a routine medical test; this time, she had been admitted three weeks earlier. As before, I noticed people (the nice young man who wrote down the complicated directions to J's room, the helpful nurse outside it, the strong young woman moving what appeared to be a surgical bed and who told me she's "halfway through the second week" on the job, one which she enjoys); sour and sweet smells of floor polish and cafeteria food, coffee and sickness, fear and sorrow; overheard laughter and quietly explained medical information; shadows and reflections cast by sunlight and corridor light on the hall mirrors where I was to turn right for corridor D and go up to 9 and on the hallway stone at that elevator.

Only when I came back down and walked out to Parking Level 2 did I realize the city opened up on two sides of the garage, blooming just beyond my car like a promise of renewal. 

No guarantee, of course, but I'll take it.