Thursday at Locker 60

6 am alarmed; it was time to get up.

Today was going to be a beautiful day. I had called it.

First thing before anything, fling the window open, breathe in the new day. Let your cells know you are alive.

Looking out into the dark, snow was falling? I had not seen snow since January. It was just as pretty as I remembered. Oddly, quite fitting. Even a tiny bit special that snow decided to fall on the day worth 1000 words.

One bus, two tubes and a nosy uber ride later, we arrived – early. I would have much rather preferred early than late. To arrive late was a robbery of time, on both parts, and neither of us could afford that ordeal.

The Uber driver had not heard of our destination, but sure enough, had the capacity to turn a nose up. Strange thing, humans. I had said, it is small near the building you mentioned earlier, it is relatively new? I did not know exactly as it was my first time visiting.

30 minutes later, we arrived. I thanked the driver, and sure enough, mum remembered the entrance.

The weather had switched, the sun was beaming and I was quietly excited. But it ran short. On the passing, at the entrance, leaving, was a boy, no more than 20. He moved slow, as he lowered his head, hood up. I saw him wipe away a tear with his right hand. His left hand was occupied holding one strap of a red Sainsbury's bag. My attention was fixed on him for the 30 seconds we crossed paths. Relief and confusion crept in. Was this his first day out? Did he just say goodbye? I don't know.

As we entered the reception, one final turn to see if he was okay. I pushed the door, lowered my gaze and remembered where I was. Reminded myself that you never ever truly know what is going on in anyone's mind. Be kind, be patient.

ID's and evidence were all in check, the receptionist was friendly. She reads my name and compliments the spelling. A first for me. I show her my ID. She presses my name into her keyboard, looks at the screen before catching up. Say's we're too early.

'Take a seat, and I will call you around 10am."

We sit on blue chairs, directly in view of the sun. I turn to mum and ask her if she noticed the boy leave as we entered? She had not paid attention. I could not forget the image of him. Upon folding my legs, blood smeared over my left hand, 'dammit', the small cut on the back of my right leg had bled through my jeans. Mum wet a tissue so I could clean myself up. I tell her to not make a fuss; i'm okay. Thank god I wore black. I tried to pat the wound down when the receptionist stands and says "you can come over now."

I fumbled and try to hide the dry blood on my finger. She says, "quick look up at the camera, perfect. Now place both index fingers here and here. You are ready to go."

Whew, what a silent drama that was.

We place our things in locker 60 and wait. There is a lady that cannot get her locker to close. She resorted to slamming each locker, shouting that "nothing works!" Her son was standing near, touching each locker with curiosity. He was incredibly sweet and did not need to see this. After I tried to help her out, she finally managed to get a locker to work with her. The boy turned and waved us goodbye as she marched her way to the receptionist. This was her third visit, but she'd been told to provide 'different' evidence on each occasion. Unfortunately, on this visit, she'd forgotten everything. No ID, no bank statement, no COVID test, nothing. It was the show she'd made that was unforgettable.

The next phase involved another building and a series of more fingerprints. Ten of us stood there waiting for our names and prints to be taken. Mum leaned over and said, "there are men here today. This is new." Usually, it is only women that come to visit. Once that phase was over, the door sounded like a vault was being opened by a guard on the other side.

"Take your boots off, Klaud," mum says. I take them off, place them on the conveyor belt, and watch them enter before I do. I walk through a detection machine and am patted down, front,back,front and back. I pray she does not notice the bit of my leg with blood on it. It could not have picked a more inconvenient time to bleed.

Tongue out, heels up. I am cleared and given my boots back.

In the line, there was a mother, shivering. Her arms folded, protecting her organs. You are not allowed to wear your coats, they stay in the lockers at the reception area. We meet eyes.  She says, "Hot, cold, hot,cold– what is this?! ... I say something like "taking hot and cold plunges is actually beneficial for longevity." We both laugh as she says, "yeah, and it's free!" An agreed silver lining.    

The ten of us wait as one of the workers gets to the front and buzzes the door open. One more set of fingerprints. A total of four sets of prints were taken and registered for a 60 minute visit.

The hall was huge, and the artwork was the first thing I noticed. Several paintings filled the top of the left wall. To the right was a giant version of the floating balloon girl. On the ground were sets of four chairs, separated by a small table. Three were purple and one was lime green. All visibly nailed into the ground with no room to move.

"You are table 41," the lady says. We look left,right,left,right. There is no order to the seating. It just is. Keep on going and we arrived. It was the last table, tucked into the right corner of the room.

Although you are not allowed to lower your masks due to covid restrictions, it did not matter. I turn and see you enter the hall and in that moment nothing needed saying —

A hug spoke 1000 words.