When the Stands Empty
A life on and in the courts
by Elaine Gilmartin
When I was in middle school, I began to read Stephen King novels. During high school and college I had little time, but would indulge on occasion as a guilty pleasure.
For my first job right after college, I was an overly ambitious 21 year old who would arrive about a half hour early most days, using a key to gain entry to the storefront office for a human services agency in Queens. Our clients ranged from homeless individuals looking for shelter, people seeking resources for emergency rent assistance or a food stamps application, or sometimes just food as we kept a small pantry in the back.
One fall morning as I sat at my desk enjoying the quiet before the typical storm, there was a knock at the door. I peeked around the cubicle and immediately felt as if a Stephen King character had just stepped out of one of his novels.
With blinds covering only the middle part of the glass door, I could only see the very top and the very bottom. At the very, very top was a hat, the kind men used to wear eons ago, and as I assessed the height of the hat, I assumed said individual was standing on a box or something to peek inside.
But no. At the very bottom stood a pair of insanely large shoes. I stared a moment longer, wondering if what I was…
