The hall wasn't really that big. Compared to the hangers of the great fragrance barges, or the vast distance covered by the glossy Eastern Sea, the hall was hardly worth any notice. But the barges and the Eastern Sea didn't watch you.
Lisa pondered the six different walls, untraditionally angled in asymmetric positions by a contractor who was clearly precise, but oblivious to the desired cliches of hospitality. The room certainly had six walls, but they broke off at inconsistent angles and never seemed to agree on which length they should extend to. Lisa thought about this, just as one being told a very dramatic tale of intercultural politics thinks about such news; this is all very interesting and I am entirely capable of dissecting such information further, but I am utterly apathetic when it comes to such a prospect.
She wanted to admire herself. It was an accomplishment all on its own that she had made the journey here with minimal trauma and moral redirection along the way, and she felt that it would do her some good to reflect on how much she still appreciated herself. She wanted to stand and flourish, to wave her arms and present herself to the foreign floor tiles, which would undoubtably applaud her conformity and congratulate her on who she was. But the walls seemed like they were watching.
It was all very silly, but Lisa refrained from any sort of display. Though she knew, logically, that she must be alone in this big, angular home, she could not bring herself to mentally break into the part of her impulsivity that would allow her to prance and sway and make up catchy songs no one had ever heard before.
How massively inconvenient that the universe did not allocate certain times and places to be designated free ranges for creativity. Why couldn't someone tell Lisa when it was that she was allowed to be optimistic and goofy? Then she could plan her life around these instances and not feel inaccurate and confused when they didn't proceed like they were expected to.
She knew she wasn't going to cry. Whether this was because nothing had sunk in yet or because she was actually as full of indifference as she felt, Lisa couldn't tell. The conjoined band of brass and bull leather on her wrist reminded her that times and places existed where the walls didn't watch you, and where resentment and complacency weren't the only possible resolutions to an argument.
She hoped her family would find her. Deliberately positioning herself to face away from hope, she couldn't help but hope anyway.
