from the void

Feet first

June 13th, 2007

Here is one of the exercises I did at last week’s writers’ group: You are in a waiting room (doctor’s office, job interview, etc.). People are sitting more or less in a circle. Describe several of them — focussing only on their feet! Type of shoes, cleanliness and condition of shoes, toes if they show, how they let their feet rest. Are they quiet or do the feet move? What can you tell about the person from the feet?

Below is what I wrote, but please bear in mind that the writing is spontaneous and unedited and I think I was jumping from one tense to another at one stage:

I dreaded coming here today. Even as I stood outside in front of the entrance, I hesitated and almost walked away four times before adjusting my cap on my head and pushing my sunglasses back to make sure they really covered as much of my face as possible. I pulled my oversized man’s jacket closed and readjusted my thick woollen scarf around my neck. All the while knowing just how ridiculous I looked, but I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to take the chance of someone I knew being here and recognising me. Finally I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly as I opened the door, and walked in summoning up false courage from god knows where.

I scan the room quickly to find the reception desk, lower my head and move towards it to present my medicare card. The secretary is extremely discreet, she can sense my discomfort. She must see this a lot. She zaps my card and softly tells me to take a seat in the waiting room, someone will call me when it’s my turn.

With my head still lowered I move towards the closest empty seat. White and shiny Ikea bucket seats line the walls and almost all of them are taken. I still don’t dare to look up. I am curious to know if anyone else is as embarrassed as me to be here, if anyone else is as scared. My eyes scan over the feet of the people sitting here in this sterile, quiet room with me. There must be about fifteen people here and I see only two pairs of men’s shoes.

The first, scuffed, worn and dirty Converse with one of the shoelaces undone and the other loosely tied. Careless and clumsy, I guess that’s why he’s here. He looks like he’s ready to spring forward and run away as fast as he can. His left foot is resting on the floor, flat but tensed, while his right foot is held back, bent and just as tensed. He looks like a sprinter waiting for the gun to go off before the start of the race. Young and scared.

The other pair is of carefully crafted black polished leather. You could see your reflection in them if you looked down from above them, I’m sure. They look barely worn and I think this guy’s got money. Lots of it. I wonder why he doesn’t take his lady-friend to one of those private clinics. Surely he knows someone who could take care of this little problem. The feet are unmoving, calm and relaxed. I’m guessing he’s done this before, probably many times. I can’t help but dislike him intensely and I’m glad I can’t see the rest of him. I bet he’s really arrogant. And just as I start to think that, I remind myself that at least he made the effort to be here with her.

And here is a word association exercise we also did. I started with the word ‘garage’ and ended up with ‘fire’ and ’seawater’. We were limited for time so I didn’t get to write much and never actually got to the seawater, but here is what came out anyway:

The fire crackled and danced on, wild and uncontrolled. It spat and hissed, swirled and whooshed. I watched it, transfixed, unable to move an inch, uncomprehending. Suddenly my throat was thick with smoke and when I felt ash on my tongue I knew I’d been standing with my mouth agape. Was it awe or shock? I don’t know, but my need to breathe brings me back to earth and I become conscious of the deafening noise that surrounds me - beams crashing, small explosions, glass shattering from the insane heat which is stifling, and the parts of my body that are bare feel like they are roasting.

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Entry Filed under: The Written Word