“Devon,” answered the man in a dull
tone, “Tristan Devon.”
The consulting manager of the medical
facility scanned the papers he held in his pudgy hands and then with a slight
widening of eyes in recognition, he pulled out one sheet from the rest.
“Tristan Louis Devon? Master’s degree
in psychology?”
“Yes.” came the short reply.
“Hmm,” the person sitting behind the
desk mused. He was actually impressed with the applicant’s impeccable record –
studied in Washington, in-training at Australia – he was clearly a rare breed.
But Doctor Devon seemed to be really out of sorts today.
“Is this a bad timing?”
“I’m sorry?” Tristan asked, quietly
confused.
“You look, well, depressed. The
weather got you down?” The man very well knew that whatever’s bothering the
young doctor was most certainly not the weather, but he didn’t know what else
to do.
The only response he received was a
shake of his head.
The manager sighed. He was so easily
swayed by other people’s worries – now he feels bad, as well. He wanted to
cheer Tristan up.
“Are you okay, son? You know, if
you’re not ready for a job interview, just tell me and we’ll reschedule.”
“Today’s fine, thank you.”
“But something’s clearly the matter
with you.”
Tristan raised his topaz eyes to meet
the sympathetic look of his only companion in the third-floor office. Then, he
spoke in a low voice, “It’s rather a long story you don’t want to hear.”
“No, no, it’s perfectly fine. We have
time, you know, lots of it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment