The store's bright florescent lights reflected overwhelming shades of pastels. Sanitary soft blues, greens, yellows, pink and peach. She stood erect in the doorway between the censors wearing her power-suit, three inch heels, make-up, business and authority. The security camera's eye combed her body up and down; the machine seemed to sense that she was not welcome here. She couldn't bring herself to the point of stepping in. It was a department store for Christ's sakes, she was a costumer. Wasn't the mantra to get in, go out and back to work? Her breath was heavy; her body was at the point of producing tears.

A young boy that looked to be about seven came barging into the lobby. He took a carriage from the rack and began circling the small foyer. Lisa was the midpoint of his diameter; he made a low whirring noise, and wheeled the cart faster. All she could do was stand there; look at the security camera that projected her image and the little boy who was circling. Vulnerability was etched into her features. Suddenly, a woman appeared on the security camera too.

"Thomas" She said. Lisa could feel the resignation in this woman's voice. "Please."

The boy stopped in his tracks. He held eye contact with his mother for a brief time and then pushed the cart into the store on hyper-speed. He nearly knocked down the "baby registry" display. The woman put a hand on her protruding tummy.

"Children." She said. She rolled her eyes.

All Lisa could do was stand there. She could not speak this language, but she nodded as if she understood the very pregnant woman with tired eyes. The woman stepped into the store and Lisa followed her.

Lisa held the stack of papers in her hand tightly. Her hands were white and red at the knuckles from the strain. The papers were her cousin's baby registry. Lisa printed the sheet out online. Highlighted the gift she wanted. Memorized the section of the store which the item could be found. Told her mind to be on its best behavior. To function properly, rote, calculated, sans emotion. The mantra was to get in, go out and back to work. Years of medical school taught her that it was important to train the mind through a series of suggestions, phrases we repeat to ourselves to make it through the day, order and precision equals inner and outer harmony. That was how she became the Dean of Medicine at a renowned teaching hospital.

"In, out, back to work." She said it aloud. All in one breath holding the air she had left and exhaling it. She closed her eyes.

Her body began to walk toward the Decor section. She selected a "Winnie the Pooh" patchwork quilt bedding set from the registry. Displays of matching décor lined the back wall. In one foul swoop, expecting parents could fire their registry gun at everything in one display-- bedding that matched a mobile, a light, a piece of wall art, a changing table, a crib. Everything micromanaged and sequential, "Here's your room!" If everything in life were that easy. Lisa found the Winnie the Pooh section and with ease selected the present. Sighing, she mentally congratulated herself for a job well done.

She turned to leave, the bedding set bulging in her arms. Her toe stubbed against something hard. In a moment, she toppled over onto the floor, face first, clutching the bedding set in her hands, breaking her fall. She let out a whimper. No one had been watching. She was alone. Never in her life had she wished there was someone there to say, "Are you okay?" more 

than at that moment. Tears began to fall down her face. She looked up and realized that the offending object that had tripped her was a rocking recliner. A goddamned foot-stool.

She rose and kicked the stool hard. Her foot pulsated from the pain but she kept on kicking the stool and then the chair. She took her heals off and threw them against the linoleum floor. Her fists balled as she began to punch the back of the recliner. It connected with her fist and then it would bounce back for more abuse. She was huffing from the exercise, her chest heaving from the tears. She felt herself kneeling on the back of the chair and punching harder into the seat nearly propelling forward enough to flip over the chair. She became so tired that her arms couldn't even lift to hit the chair any longer. But the tears would not cease. She crouched in the chair, her bare feet under her skirt. Her body hunched together as the chair continued to rock. She shook, her labored breathing mirroring her body's convulsions.

She heard footsteps behind her. Her back straightened as if on cue. She began to rub her eyes. She felt a person towering over her but they did not speak. Perhaps they were a Babies 'R' Us employee or a paramedic sent to fetch the ballistic middle-aged woman having a fit in the department store.

But then, she felt an object being tapped against her back.

"Wakey, wakey. Lunch break is over. People dying."

Her in-take of breath was an audible gasp. Of all the people in the world. She stayed completely still, hoping the chair would swallow her up and never return her to existence.

"Cuddy," his voice was low, but firm.

"House." She was annoyed.

He crossed to face her and sat in the adjacent rocker. He picked his bad leg up and elevated it. A file was extended to her. "Consult."

Only he could bring her from complete self-deprecation to asserting anger with two syllables. Her eyes bore holes into his body. She refused to take the file. "How dare you follow me!"

"Oh please, you left a trail of tears to the scene."

"No! Why are you here?" Her body shifted to face him straight on, "You could have just as easily waited for me to return. Gloated over the fact that you noticed my make-up was smudged, and then you could later make some comment about my breasts being firmer."

"This was more interesting." He stated.

Her head cocked to the ceiling and she shook it back and forth in disbelief. "My pain interests you." She said to no one in particular. A statement whispered to the universe.

He bowed his head and glanced at her.

She stood, tried to iron out her suit jacket with her hands but she was so disgusted with herself that it didn't matter. She couldn't even look at him. She started to run to the front of the store. Leaving became her only salvation. Barefoot with disheveled hair and red eyes, she stumbled out to her car.