Normally I don't think twice about hitting the alarm once
at 6:15 am.
It's just become automatic, snooze for nine more minutes then roll out of bed and start the daily routine. Normally I arrive at the Cancer Center one or two minutes late, not a big deal. They usually are late dropping of my labels at the lab so i have to wait for the nurses anyways (which is something they don't tell you in school, that the lab has to have printed labels to put on your blood samples but the nurses have a meeting
at 7:30 every morning for 30 minutes. So my
7:40 appointment time is really just a guideline and not fact). As I'm writing this I'm realizing how strange it is to think all this is normal, but as sad or strange as it sounds--it's real. This is my life now; one or two minutes late to the Cancer Center. Anyways, today was normal as always: push button, take ticket, give keys to valet, walk to elevator, stop and wait. This is where I met Howard, but he's never told me his name. There we are, standing in our modern world and waiting for our modern elevator to take us to our modern doctors appointments. Doors open, Howard's obviously been waiting longer than me and most would just walk right into the elevator without hesitation. But 86 year old Howard motions for me to go ahead of him, polite as ever. And my heart melts, and my eyes start to water. I don't know why, maybe I really am a girl after all. But I couldn't help but picture Howard in the war, what are his stories? Has he lived and loved and all the above? Why is he here? Did he drink too much or not enough, is he just getting an annual check up or was that a little worry in those eyes? Am I over thinking everything? Definitely. But Howard waved me in front of him in line 2 more times; at the check in desk and at the blood lab. And thats when i realized thank god, chivalry isn't dead. Not yet.