ABSTRACT
Deirdre again walked the halls. They had become so familiar to her that she could have walked them in her sleep: here the nurses’ station, blocked off from the clean linoleum floors with a barricaded desk, stacked high with files and forms. Upstairs the wide glass rooms, left open to peering passers-by, keeping at bay some of the most severe cases; inside lay bodies, all trussed up, wired to the walls and to mobile machines that flickered and moaned. Behind her the cordoned-off doctors’ offices, safe with their closed doors, their sanctuaries more pristine than anywhere else. She came to the stairwell and elevator bank and, choosing to walk rather than ride, pulled open the heavy door and began to descend. One foot in front of the other. She ignored the handrail, hugging the notebook close, steadying herself with sheer resolve. One foot in front of the other, each step a near-disaster. These were heavy stairs, deep and wise. They had felt the tread of many before her, and would continue their work long after she was gone. One foot in front of the other, she turned slowly at the landing and continued on. Here were posters, all function no design: emergency exit, in case of fire, no exit from level 2. They flashed at the edge of her vision, urging her on, one foot in front of the other. She reached the ground floor.
