There’s footsteps in the hall. Not really footsteps but more of a shuffle. It’s like he’s too tired after all these years to pick up his feet. He probably figures he can conserve energy by simply sliding his feet across the carpet. I cringe, hoping he’s not headed toward me.

Then there’s Dr. Knap. I can tell by the flap, flap, flap noise of her sandals against her plantar surfaces as she comes down the hall. She retreats to the office across from mine, where my old friend Dr. Malaki used to work. Dr. Malaki’s subtle “huuhh, okaayy” sigh to herself was an echo of my inner feelings.  Before her, it was Lisa. And before her it was Dr. Eli. I know Dr. Knap is here. If I listen close enough I can hear the flaps of her white coat against sides as she shifts weight from one heel to the next down the hall. Never mind that open-toed shoes are a violation of dress code policy.

Lisa and I connected via our eyeballs. Her blue-green wide eyes, very round, like the large marbles from childhood, would say it all as they met my smaller, slightly squinty and downward sloped brown eyes as we passed each other in the hall. And Dr. Eli, though small-framed, didn’t need to say a thing. Her hunched shoulders, short frizzy gray hair, and hurried pace said it all. Her glasses hung from her neck, attached to a string of beads, because everyone knew she’d misplace them instantly if they weren’t attached to her body somehow. So they stayed close, almost like an elephant’s trunk, always there when needed. I didn’t dare stop her to ask a question. Back when I was a student, I couldn’t tell if she meant to come off like that or if that’s just the way it worked out. Now I see that she was a mirror of me, too.

I heard Dr. Freeman tell the office manager that I’m like a mouse that scurries by every once and a while. Dr. Freeman’s nurse (who walks with a modest waddle) said one afternoon that she didn’t know I was even at work. “You’re so quiet,” said Dr. Knap’s nurse. Yeah, I’ve been here nearly four years,” I say. The office is still new to them – Dr. Freeman and his nurse and Dr. Knap and her nurse. But they’re experienced. Tess is the kindest soul. She has a straight walk. Her scrub pants rustle together as she walks and her feet land softly. But not as softly as mine. And her voice isn’t as soft either. In fact, I think most of the time I’m not even heard by them.

I’ve learned the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Sure, plenty have soft landings. Val, my nurse, does. She usually announces her arrival with the inadvertent crinkling of a paper she’s holding or with a slight knock on the door or a low “good morning.” She’s my favorite. She understands the holiness of the early morning, that silence is a prized commodity. This wasn’t the case with Autumn, the former phlebotomist, who has now been replaced times two. I used to dread coming in touch with her first thing in the morning. Her “Goooodd moourrrning” in her New York accent, accompanied by her mile-wide smile was enough to unsettle the morning sun in July. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The small talk was. Especially the cut to the chase: “You’re not a morning person, are you, Rachel?” Little did she know I’d been up since 4:30, had already completed my 8 mile run, had rushed to get here, was fasting, and had a mountain load of paperwork to do and a ton of customers to interact with in the day ahead. Her footsteps were soft too but she made up for that by her raucous “good mornings” spoken to everyone in the office upon their arrival.

The two new docs and I don’t have any formal greeting or special eye contact. We work right alongside each other and shuffle-drag / flip-flip-flip / waddle / scurry alongside each other most days of the week. They’ve been at it longer than I’ve been alive. The foot drag tells of age and wisdom, a weariness even. The flip-flip-flip says she’s been around so long she can do this in her leisurely footwear. I scurry because I’m inexperienced and prefer to not be noticed. The fewer the superficial “good mornings,” the better. I figure if I give it enough time at my job (like 9 months or so), my co-workers will change. The front desk ladies will come and go. Even the doctors will come and go – they usually do stick around a little longer, like fresh snow on the grass. But then they too get stomped upon by overzealous snow-lovers and hence they too become gray and slushy and melt away. Old ones retire.

I do work with one older doctor, in his early-mid 70s. His gait is a deliberate one at times but sometimes is not so driven. I love that he often wears running shoes to work. This was in part because of an injury to his foot. I’m sure he’s very comfortable in those cushioned shoes. His alligator leather ones probably hurt. Either way, he keeps walking. I’ve heard his shuffle up to my office too, those senior feet scooting against the carpet of the hallway.

It’s funny that I’ve come to recognize so many footsteps within a small space, especially among the click-click-clicking of the keyboards at which we all spend a third of our day. I’ve made every effort to minimize the amount of traffic that makes its way to me, as it’s a distraction. But interestingly, last week, I was given a roommate – a new hire in the form of Bethany, another nurse practitioner. We work within four feet of each other, our backs to one another. Picture Forrest Gump and Bubba in Vietnam, except me and Bethany are two females in dress clothes in a pristine medical office. But I feel we had almost an instant bond. She’s very likable. She noticed the other day that I was barefoot standing at my desk. I had turned to speak with her. My gray loafers were beneath my desk. Hopefully this helped her relax in our fast-paced environment. My feet aren’t ugly, in my opinion. I’m in the habit of kicking off my shoes back there. And her footsteps are soft like mine. But, I seldom hear them, as she works almost entirely from her desk doing virtual appointments. I’ll see her everyday I’m there.

I hope my footsteps won’t be a nuisance to her. Her presence is welcome by me. Perhaps she and I will become friends, working alongside each other in such a tight space. Better that than enemies. We work alongside the soft music of footsteps on the carpet – the footsteps of our fellow laborers. ~