A Mouthful Of Air - Softcover

But first she has her yearly at the gyno’s. She had scheduled this check-up so many months ago and now, all of a sudden, the day is here. One year.

Julie pushes open the heavy mahogany door to Dr. Salzman’s office. She is going to get the chance to thank the doctor again and so what? If he wants to talk to her about what happened she’ll talk to him about it. The important thing for her to remember is that "what happened" is precisely that, something that happened. A period of her life that’s behind her. Today is about Teddy’s birthday and a Pap smear.

Julie walks over to the front desk. She is in luck, a new receptionist. This woman doesn’t know Julie, doesn’t even know her name, definitely doesn’t know her history.

"Sure," Julie answers. She is more than happy to review her file and yes all the information is still appropriate, her phone number, her birth date, her Social Security. "Still Oxford?"

"Still Oxford."

Julie takes a seat in the waiting room. Too bad for Oxford. She flips through a few magazines, Parents and Parenting, Baby. She decides on People, never any pressure with People. Every once in a while she looks up from what she’s reading and glances at the other women in the waiting room.

She wonders who’s happily married, where each of them live. She creates worlds for them. The WASP sitting across the room from her, the mother with the blonde-headed girl next to her is from Greenwich. Greenwich or New Canaan. They have a nice house out there, drove into the city for a checkup and to spend the day. Maybe lunch at the Plaza, a little shopping at Bergdorf’s, a haircut.

Julie has pegged the older woman sitting just to her right as a professional. Some big-time lawyer or broker. A successful woman with a career as hearty as her briefcase. But look at her, with all that homework she forgot to have a kid. She’ll get one though, in-vitro’s pretty unproblematic these days. She’ll get one kid, two, maybe three.

The woman who intrigues Julie the most is the gal walking into the office right now. She drops her jacket on an unoccupied chair, sashays over to the receptionist, all put together, wool skirt, tight cashmere sweater, pumps. Julie can’t even imagine, eight, nine months pregnant, look at that belly, the middle of winter and Manolo Blahnik pumps?

Julie looks up at the clock, outside at the bare trees. She waits patiently for the nurse to announce her turn. But when she is announced, when she finally hears the heavyset receptionist call out "Julie Davis," Julie doesn’t move. Instead she looks around the room. First at the woman holding her file, then at the other women in the waiting room. She does this partially for reassurance, for permission to stand and enter. She wants them to give her a signal of some sort, a bit of encouragement.

But mostly she doesn’t move because she’s still surprised. Surprised to find herself here. "Julie Davis. Mrs. Julie Davis." Julie checks her hands, her feet. She looks up and away again. This is who she is, "Mrs. Julie Davis." It’s time, she thinks and stands.