The ticking of clock and the tapping of feet invaded the uncomfortable silence. Patrons of the establishment buried their heads in magazines and dog-eared books, looking up to eye the children playing on the large area rug. A man would check his watch, causing a woman watching to check hers also, and a teenager watching her to check his, and so on. Five minutes later, impatience would start the cycle again; I watched, but as I did not wear adornment, I kept a close eye on the wall clock.

The door swung open every few minutes; an almost imperceptible change came over the room when this happened; a hush of expectation fell over all but the children, who did not know anything but the games they played. Men and women wearing white would open files, call a name, and disappear behind the door once more. One person would get up, the envy or relief of all in the room, the center of attention to be sure. The walk to the door would be endless, I knew; all eyes would be following, and it would take forever to turn the handle and disappear. People exited, but they possessed an invisibility that the entrants did not. We only noticed because it meant that, soon, another name would be called, and another entrant chosen. This time, it could be anybody. This time, it could be me.

Ten minutes passed that lasted days. Pages rattled and shuffled; articles were seen but not read. A child began to whimper, and then to wail; he was taken outside by a red-faced mother. Mild interest murmured through the patrons but died down quickly. We tried not to look up as the young lady led the child back in, no longer squalling so. Eyebrows raised in safe places; I, however, saw them all.

A lady in white called my name, and I rose. It was a dream. I walked quickly toward the door to escape the eyes, but the faster I moved, the slower time seemed to elapse. Eyes trained upon me, eyes trained upon me; I can't stand to be the center of attention. My chest threatened to constrict. My breathing became shallow--just a few more steps until I entered my haven. The woman watched me, concerned but only at a distance. At long last I slipped inside the door she held open, and my body relaxed. Normality again.

"Right this way," she told me, and pointed to a chair. I made my way cautiously, mindful of which chair assigned to me. I installed myself in the proper seat, and the lady rushed to me in order to situate me. She lowered my seat until she rendered me helpless, on my back. A tray slid into place over my lap, a light hovered over my face. The lady went away and left me there, looking up at the equipment. To my tired eyes, the lamp on its stand resembled a praying mantis, leaning over to examine me. I blinked, and the illusion happily went away, for I did not care to dwell on the insect metaphors.

How long did I wait? I do not know. Eons or minutes; the cessation of time lasted forever to me. The light above me illumined my face; I felt I was onstage, and heavily resented the sensation. I felt that, being lighted, others watched me, scrutinized me, and I do hate being the center of attention. My muddled mind, numbed by the situation, faded out the rest of the world briefly except that light. The onstage experience intensified, and I closed my eyes and willed it away. People in white bustled around me, but nobody paid me any mind. I looked for a clock, to occupy my mind, but I found none. Nothing could keep my interest; I had been isolated in this small cubicle to be guarded by archaic equipment. I wondered briefly why I did not find a better establishment for my patronage.

Finally, a man, much like a drone in a hive, hastened over to my chair. He asked me to open, close, open, close, bite down, open. Gloved rubber fingers prodded my mouth, probing, feeling around. Fingertips scraped over my teeth; his silence unnerved me, and I hate being the center of attention. Wiping my saliva on his white overcoat, he scribbled a note or two and scurried off. Left to wait again, I contemplated many activities that could expire my time more quickly; all seemed inappropriate, as most of them contained undue amounts of firearms. I tapped my fingernails, but no sound emerged, and I stopped. The cubicle had been scrubbed to the point of stark sterility. Not a pleasant waiting environment, to be sure, but having no choice, I further examined my surroundings to find something more positive. The chair upon which I sat had a plushy constitution, and I had easily comforted myself in it. The pallid chair, however, stuck to my flesh whenever I adjusted myself. Intolerable, that.

A small woman entered my area. She drilled me such as the man had done: open, close, open, close. She, too, probed my mouth with her impersonal fingers. She scrawled a note or two, and conferred with the whitecoat that had worked over my teeth previously. He nodded, she nodded, and the light was switched off above my head. Relief flooded me, and I rose from my seat as the equipment was moved away. The lady shoved the file bearing my name into my hands and disappeared into another cubicle. I exited into the waiting room once more, unburdened, as I now had been released from my willing captivity. Eyes passed over me with disinterest, as I had lost my appeal; I liked it this way. I do not like to be the center of attention.

As I leaned over the counter to discuss the next session, I vaguely noticed that another person had been called into my chair. Slowly they stood and walked, vanishing into the hive of whitecoats. I hoped my fear would not imprint the poor young man, as I had discarded it just as I had the chair. The receptionist handed me a bit of paper, and I stared at it as I walked out the door. August tenth. I slipped the bit of paper into my purse as I dug out my keys.