Enders gave me the
creeps. The doorman flashed a practiced
smile as he let me into
the body bank. He wasn’t that old,
maybe 110, but he still
made me shudder. Like most Enders,
he sported silver hair,
some phony badge of honor of his age.
Inside, the ultramodern
space with its high ceilings dwarfed
me. I walked through
the lobby as if gliding through a dream,
my feet barely touching
the marble floor.
He directed me to the
receptionist, who had white hair
and matte red lipstick
that transferred to her front teeth
bank. But if they saw
me on the street, I’d be invisible. Forget
that I had been top of
my class—back when there was school.
I was sixteen. A baby
to them.
The receptionist’s
heels clicked and echoed in this stark
space as she took me to
a small waiting room, empty except
for silver brocade
chairs in the corners. They looked like antiques,
but the chemical scent
in the air belonged to new paint…..
