A Silent Look

I had to watch her pace the room, her footsteps leaving sharp turns in the carpet like a painter’s skillful flick of the wrist. Her face was contorted, squished and squashed by anticipation until I barely recognized her anymore. I pressed my face against the tinted glass, wanted more than anything to run to her, to end her torment, but instead I stayed. Fear tied me down just as it propelled her to walk her well-tread path in the carpet.

She sat down heavily on the carpet, eyes locked on the phone as her feet twitched and she nibbled on her thumb absentmindedly. Her eyebrows were drawn together, the way they always were when she was thinking faster than the speed of light. I felt it too, the tearing anticipation, like I was branch drifting in a rocky river, just waiting to be hit. If I could, I would’ve paced as she had, but I was stuck in the blasted chair.

The clock ticked by quietly, comfortingly. I saw her eyes shift to the clock that hung on the opposite wall. I watched her align her breath with the second hand, tick inhale, tick exhale. It was a technique we learned in our travels what seemed like forever ago, it almost made me smile to see her use it. I shifted in my chair so I was aligned with her and stared at the clock on my opposite wall. Tick inhale, tick exhale. I felt the fluttering in my stomach fade and relaxed so my eyelids fell comfortably over my eyes. I checked my body, as I knew she was. I unknitted my eyebrows and relaxed my lips. I moved down, listening to my heart beat until it was a steady drum in the background, then straightened the tight knot in my stomach. I loosened my arms so they hung limply, leading to my ceiling facing palms. Finally I went to my legs, allowing the negative energy to leave through my toes.

I returned to my mind and began the much more tedious process of fixing my brain. I glanced out the window at her, she was sitting much like I was, her eyes closed and her hands relaxed. I entered my mind, drawing great comfort from the fact that she was doing it too. I quelled my worries, pouring cool water over the fire that burned in me. My frustration flushed away. My anger was harder to be rid of, I’d been here before, in this seat. I’d watched her in our apartment across the street, she’d done the same thing before as she did now. I’d suffered waiting to hear the results so many times before, each time being a worse disappointment.

A strength washed through me, this time was going to be different. This time the medicine was going to have worked and she would be okay. No more weeping when she thought I couldn’t hear, no more whispered phone conversations. Just us, and we would be happy. I opened my eyes, feeling renewed. The pristine white walls, the plain bed, not even the curved curtain could tie me down. I looked out the window, expecting to see a happy face, hoping that she had found strength in me as I did in her, but she had her head buried in her hands, her shoulder blades rising and falling with each sob.

My strength evaporated and I sunk in my chair, resting my eyes in my palms. I wept into my hands, muffling it as best I could. The voices outside became silent and the only thing to fill the void was my sobbing. I shed a tear for myself, the pain I’d been through, the pricks on my fingers, the cap on my head, my muscles that wouldn’t work. And I cried for her, she’d watched me do this. She’d put on the bravest face, boosted me when I felt weak, been my smile when my lips just wouldn't move, she’d been my strength when I had fallen. This was the first time I’d seen her cry since I was diagnosed.

I looked over at her, she was standing, her hand resting on the phone. It still did not ring. She wiped her red eyes and a new look washed over her, anger. She threw the phone to the ground, tossing the table it had been on. She kicked the couch, bending her foot painfully. She hopped in place, I couldn’t hear her, but I was sure there was a slew of noise that came from her moving mouth. She crouched down and tossed over the couch, her hair tie came out and her glasses fell to the ground. She dropped to the floor and tried to find them, pushing her hair back, hands sliding over where she had been pacing. She hit her head on the coffee table. I winced along with her.

The curtain opened with an ear-splitting screech, drawing me away from her, and there he stood, a mountain in white robes and a stethoscope. We talked for several minutes, my mind not believing a single word of it.

I picked up the phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed and brought it to my ear.

I counted the seconds until I knew she would hear the ring.

She fished on the floor in the direction of the ringing and found her glasses instead. She put them on, almost stabbing her eye out, and lunged for the phone, bringing it to her ear without leaving her place on the floor.

“Honey?” her voice was like water after a drought, “What did they say?” She gave me no trace of the anger I saw before, no sobbing or sadness. Her voice brimmed with reserved hope.

My voice shook, “I-I” I couldn't bring myself to form the words.

“Whatever he said I promise you we can get through this together. Ok?”

“Negative, it came back negative.” Just saying it a weight lifted off my shoulders and the clamp that had long since compressed my heart vanished. I laughed, “I’m free!"