The Writing-Practice Journal

Glimpse exercise - June 9, 2010

From: Fiction Writer’s Workshop by Josip Novakovich

Write a scene of a story from a glimpse you have had of a group of people. Sketch the characters in their setting and let them interact. Write one full page.
Objective: To find out if you can make much out of little.

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The woman who brought a note sent by another doctor glimpsed at the people in the waiting room of the urologist. She handed the note to the receptionist, smiled at Margie, raised her eyes to the flat TV high on the wall, then left the room.

As she exited, “So much energy in this century-old house,” the man on the screen announced. The program about ghost hunting had lured the seven pairs eyes in the room.

Ghosts! We’re all ghosts with blood oozing from every hole and crevice, while we’re here only for a short time, Margie thought as she suddenly felt self-conscious in her red golf shirt and white shorts. After the woman who brought the note, another youngish woman had entered the waiting room. She had on black flare pants and a finely tailored ecru shirt. Her beige shoes matching her Coach bag screamed of finesse and money.

Margie peeked at her own sneakers. She hadn’t even worn socks with them. What the heck, looking casual and sporty fit her. It suited her purse and her self image. But if so, why did she feel uncomfortable when a better-dressed woman showed up in the same place with her and probably for the same thing?

The others in the waiting room were men. After all, this was the urologist’s office, and at an advanced age, men had more trouble than women, where urologists were concerned. Margie looked at the gentle Latino, in his forties, with the short stature and rounded facial features who was filling out forms. What had brought him here?

The chic woman in black and beige walked up to the receptionist’s window and jotted down her name. Right then, receptionist’s glass window slid open.

“Senor Morales, sus tarjetas, por favor.”

The chic woman stepped aside, as the Latino arose from his seat up front. Holding the forms he hadn't finished filling yet under his arm, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed his insurance cards to the receptionist

Margie turned her gaze to the two men sitting by the adjacent wall. Their interest ebbed away from the ghosts, they talked in a low voice about something, about a PSA test. Cancer? Poor guys, Margie thought. If her doctor hadn’t make her come here, if they hadn’t found the blood in her urine, Margie would never set her step in a urologist’s office. Not after she had lost her husband to prostate cancer.

A couple entered the room, the man much older than the woman, but it was the woman who checked in at the reception window.

“Why do we have to listen to this crap? I can’t believe they put that on TV,” the man with the metal-rimmed eyeglasses said.

“Better than nothing.” The old man who had just entered with the much younger wife scanned the room as he lowered himself down on a chair. “Quite a few waiting here.”

“Yeah, and they haven’t called anyone in, yet. At least since we’ve been here,” one of the men talking about the PSA test said.

“We should be the one sending him the bill,” Margie said under her breath, causing everyone to grin. Maybe she shouldn’t talk out loud and attract attention to herself.

She had been feeling the urgency to use the bathroom for a while now. No bathroom was available in the waiting room; she had to ask to use it and she was embarrassed to do so with all those men here. Plus, she was sure she’d be asked for a urine sample, if and when they called her inside.

She started tapping her foot to divert her own attention. Lucky, she had the sneakers on and they didn’t make any noise.

Just then, the door to the examination area opened and the nurse, looking at the file in her hand, announced Margie’s name.

Margie arose straightening her shorts. She froze abruptly. The backside of her shorts were soaking wet.