The pulse of real life.

I’m in a waiting room. At a medical clinic. In Carbonia. In Sardinia. Accompanying my true love for an eye exam. She’s in the examining room now. And 4 others are seated with me in the waiting room. Italians/Sardinians, I presume. To the left of me. Two ladies. Chatting. Facing each other. One with a box on her lap. Looks like it may contain clothing apparel. Her arms are braced atop the box. Like leaning on a fence. The other lady is wearing a black cap. With a visor. It’s a proletarian-type cap. The kind that a man might wear. In a factory. Or in a farm field. Across from me I assume are a husband and wife. A middle-aged couple. The man has horn-rimmed glasses. And a moustache. And a balding head. Gray hair on the sides. Almost hairless on the top. The woman is leaning forward, holding an open magazine. With two hands. The husband has clutched his chin with a fist. Now rubbing his nose. No, he’s pinching his nose. Between two fingers. I notice that he’s holding an extra pair of glasses and a folded sheet of paper in one hand. His right. Now he’s looking down. At the floor. As if in prayer. But he isn’t. I wonder what’s really on his mind. If anything. Another man has entered the waiting room. He’s robust. Overweight. He sits on the first chair, straddling the hallway and waiting room. As if he wants to make a fast getaway. I’m gonna try to size him up. But then my true love returns. She motions me to come. We have to go. I have to abandon my vigil in the waiting room. And I was just getting started. On our way out, my true love explains that her eye prescription remains essentially the same. As it was at her last exam. Almost two years ago. She’s pleased. I’m pleased, too. Because I’m observing Italians. The way I should be observing people all of the time. But so often I don’t notice. I’m preoccupied with other things. When really I should be observing the life around me. That’s the nice thing about being in Italy. It awakens me. To the pulse of real life. –Jim Broede