Plastic-covered Chairs

There are pamphlets scattered on the shoddy coffee tables that are disproportionately low compared to the high armrests. Diagrams of uteruses are fixed to cork boards, and other pieces of shiny paper shout ‘IT’S YOUR CHOICE’.

A girl, on the edges of adolescence, chews gum with her mouth ajar and her shoulders slumped. Her hand is idly scrolling down the screen of her phone while her face shows a lack of interest in whatever product, or life, is being advertised.

The other – no more than 18 months older – sits with a back as straight as her ironed hair. Her hands reveal all of her internal anguish as she picks at her nailbeds, and taps, and fidgets.

The sloucher looks up now. Nothing moving but her eyeballs which hone in on the tapping to her right. She stares until the tapper feels eyes on her. The tapper glances, meeting the sloucher's glare momentarily but looking away just as quickly. She ceases the tapping.

Now that the tapping has stopped, all that can be heard is the whir of the air conditioner and the tutting of the clock, which is five minutes fast.

The tapper’s attention is fixated on a pamphlet with a baby’s smiling, up-close face – all gums and wide-eyed awe. It is a stark contrast to the girl’s; whose mouth remains downturned. The light in her eyes dimmed like a bulb under an old lampshade. Her fingers go to her mouth now, beginning to chew on her thumbnail.

Gum-chewer heaves herself into a more upright position before deciding to throw away her once-minty sugar stick. Walking back from the bin, she looks at her downcast companion. They catch eyes and she lets out a long sigh, looking over to the clock in mock indignation. The nail-biter returns a polite smile that does not meet her eyes and goes back to looking vacantly into space.

Sitting herself back down, the chair groans loudly at being used again. The chairs are covered in a plastic coating that hugs the cushion beneath and creates a sort of slide for the girl's tights as she struggles to stay upright. She again looks over to straight-back for signs of the same struggle, but the girl is perched in such a way that she reminds her of a bird with a perfect centre of gravity. She is balanced effortlessly with her knees closed together and her fidgety hands in her lap.

There is recognition then. She has seen this girl before. Not enough to know who she is, but she has seen her around the area and reckons that she attends one of the rival schools.

The girl's eyes begin to dart around, and it is obvious that she knows she is being studied by the other. She doesn’t return the look and instead shifts slightly in her seat. The chair doesn’t groan for her, it’s as though she is weightless.

The weightless bird raises her hand to stroke her iron hair and it is then that the other girl sees that she is shaking. The fidgeting must have been masking the tremors. She toys with striking up a conversation but decides that this girl doesn’t seem like she wants to talk.

She looks to the pamphlet the girl had been looking at – the one with the baby’s face, and her active imagination starts to connect some imaginary dots of why the girl might be here.

Straight-back, to her surprise, stands and walks towards the water fountain. She is tall, much taller than she, and has to curve her back uncomfortably to fit the paper cup under the nozzle. The gurgling of the large, water bubbles electrify the silence and drown out the murmurs of the clock and the air conditioner for a few seconds of respite.

They lock eyes again.

No-longer-gum-chewer has more kindness in her eyes this time, in an effort to convey some sympathy over the hypothetical situation she has conjured for the other. The water-drinker, to the others’ surprise, smiles back, and this time she gets a slight crinkle around her eyes. There is still sadness where the light should be, but enough is communicated, and a moment is shared.

She sits back down with her paper cup in hand. The shaking has subsided slightly.

The other adjusts herself in the chair and sits up higher – her back straight and her feet planted on the ground. She finds this stops her from sliding down.

Then they both wait for the people with the clipboards to come, hearing only the whir of the air conditioner and the tutting of the clock.