WEIRD & WONKY WORLD WRITING CHALLENGE

Vanity Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

         Katherine felt the vehicle shudder to a halt and the driver announced, "We're here."

         So soon? My breathing has just settled to its normal rate. I had not enjoyed being pulled out to the idling cab. When I'd phoned in my request for a lift I'd emphasized to the dispatcher that I would appreciate an escort. I hated to use it, but I'd played the senior card. This young man had grabbed my arm and hurried me out to his car .He ignored my objections as I stumbled down the front steps. I know for a fact that it's two paces to the first step and then five steps down to the walkway. The moment I cleared my door he pounced. He gave me no time to count.

         Without a word, Katherine unbuckled the seat belt and reached into her voluminous purse to retrieve the cash she'd stashed in its usual pocket.

         "Are you holding out your hand young man?"

         A warm hand brushed hers and the money was gone. She waited.

         With the generous gratuity she'd included with the fare, she expected the driver to open the vehicle's rear door. Did a tip not have to be earned?

         After what seemed an eternity and a sibilant sigh or two, Katherine heard the slamming of the driver's door and the release of her door. Humid air snatched her breath so that she could manage only a hoarse thanks. She stepped out onto a raised sidewalk and almost immediately she was jostled. Straightening her shoulders and gripping her handbag she began counting. If she had been delivered to the correct address her destination lay ten paces ahead, no more and no less. Not once did she acknowledge the mutters and gasps in her wake.

         Rough hands shoved her off kilter and a deep "whoa lady" startled her.

         "Didn't you see me open the door?"

         Katherine smoothed her ruffled sleeve and sniffed. Her extended hand connected with the cool glass of a door ajar and she passed over the threshold.

         Now, how many paces to the waiting room chairs on the right? Fifteen? Ah, there's one behind my right knee.

         Katherine raised her voice as she lowered her body. "Tell Dr. Peters his two o'clock is here."

         What the... Am I falling? How did I miss the chair?

         Katherine felt the air whoosh from her lungs as she connected with the hard surface of the floor in a jolting thud.

         Did anyone witness my most ungraceful tumble? What must they think?

         Blurs tugged at her outstretched arms and hoisted her to her shaky feet. She teetered and tried to assess her predicament.

         A wooden chair was pressed into the back of her wobbly legs and she was gently guided into it. Someone curled her fingers around a paper cup and urged her to take a sip. A hand rubbed her shoulder and a soft voice suggested she breathe.

         To her left, whispers consulted. "Maybe we should call for an ambulance."

         "I've never seen anything like it. She tried to sit on air. What was she aiming for?"

         "She just marched in here and wham, she collapsed. Who is Dr. Peters anyway?"

         Katherine snorted. She shrugged off the cloying hand and gulped tepid water from the fragile vessel clutched to her chest.

         "I demand to see Dr. Peters. When did he rearrange his furniture? A warning would not have been remiss."

         The soft voice stammered as it proffered its own queries.

         "You're seeking a, a doctor? There's no, no doctor here. I've worked here for ten years and this has never been a medical office. This is a ,a travel agency. I don't suppose you're thinking of taking a trip?"

         

         Katherine heard the sharp intake of breath as she glowered.

         Where am I? Where did that idiot driver drop me off at ? I gave explicit directions. I even gifted him with a tip.

         "What's the street address here? Dr. Peters must be nearby."

         "Are you feeling well enough to leave here? Perhaps you should just sit and rest for a spell. There's no hurry, is there?"

         "Don't you have a phone book? Look up the correct address. I have an appointment. I cannot be late."

         A thick, weighty volume was placed in her lap and Katherine batted it away.

         "I've just had a tumble. Someone can do the honours if you don't mind."

         The whispers returned and the rustling of paper indicated an effort to determine a solution.

         "She's not exactly what you'd refer to as a sweet old lady, is she?"

         "Sssshhh, she's just suffered a fall. I know I'd be embarrassed."

         "We'll find her doctor and be rid of her. Easy-peasy."

         "Um, er, Madam? I found a listing for a Dr. Peters, but it's on Fifth Street. We're here at Fifth Boulevard. I notice he's an optometrist. Do you still wish to visit him?"

         Katherine struggled to her full height and swept the room with a steely-eyed glare, not that she actually saw anything.

         "Call me a cab and I shall vacate these premises. Can someone point me towards the exit? I'm a bit discombobulated."

         The soft-voiced woman offered to lead Katherine outside and her male co-worker whistled for a taxi. Upon its arrival, her rescuers were matter of fact in describing she should duck her head and remember to clearly indicate her destination. They sent her on her way with cheery good lucks.

         In the second cab, Katherine closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

         Am I simply a foolish old woman? Would today's fiasco have been avoided if I'd admitted to myself I could no longer see clearly? These yearly eye exams are a sham. Hasn't Dr. Peters ever noticed I've memorized the eye chart? Surely, he's not intimidated by me. Shouldn't he insist I wear eyeglasses? I suppose squinting is no longer an option. Maybe wearing a pair of spectacles wouldn't be so bad. It would be a sight more dignified than today's adventure.

         "Driver see that you deliver me to the correct address. That last young man proved to be short-sighted."

1014 words

PROMPT: Visually Impaired People Day