Both Sides of the Counter
Token Tales — Reflections on invisibility, presence, kindness, and what it means to be noticed through small handmade notes.
Yesterday, while my husband lay still under imaging machines, I sat in the waiting room and painted.
Partly to pass time, partly to quiet the part of me that couldn’t stop running through what the scan might find.
But also because I kept watching the reception desk. People arriving worried, frustrated, impatient. And behind the counter, receptionists holding space for all of it — grievances, anger, the particular brusqueness of people who are frightened and don’t know where else to put it. Hour after hour.
I opened my small watercolor kit and started making.
Ten minutes later I walked over and handed one of the small painted pieces to the receptionist. Her name was Delena.
“I noticed you had a book picked out for your break,” I said. “I thought you could use this as a bookmark.”
Her eyes welled up.
“Really?” she said. “Thank you. You’ve really made my day. Thank you for noticing me.”
She did not thank me for the painting or for the time. She thanked me for noticing.
I went back to my seat. And something in my own chest loosened too — the part of me that had been holding its breath since we walked in.
Delena may never know this, but she gave me something that day too.
માનસી
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