Waiting Room

CW: Death, bereavement

The first evening Pearl saw the small girl appear in the corner of her room, she assumed it was her cataracts playing tricks on her.

The second evening, Pearl worried that her family’s history of dementia had finally caught up with her after 86 years. Although she had passed her most recent cognitive tests, she felt her long-term memory starting to slip.

But on the third evening, when the same small girl appeared in the corner of the hospital suite, Pearl decided she was getting answers.

She did her best to swing her legs over the side of the bed without banging them on either railing. Her legs drooped to the floor as she felt for her slippers, her hospital gown brushing at the sides of her bare legs.

Pearl had considered herself lucky to have been assigned one of the hospital's only private suites. But now, as she approached the small, shivering girl in the corner, she almost wished she shared the space with a roommate.

Almost.

Pearl had been admitted to the hospital only as a precaution. A dizzy spell had taken her earlier in the week, and her daughter insisted on getting her checked. While the doctor suspected it was a blood pressure issue, she encouraged Pearl to stay overnight for additional testing. Overnight turned into multiple nights, and Pearl couldn’t help but feel like she was being kept out of the loop on something. But now, as she slowly made her way across the floor toward the little girl, whom she guessed was no older than 7, her blood pressure was the furthest thing from her mind.

Pearl knew the little girl was dead. She could not say how she knew. Pearl had once read in some tabloid or another about cats that could predict when someone was going to pass. Maybe all animals share something instinctual when it comes to death, an inner warning not to approach something deceased.

All those alarm bells rang in Pearl’s head as she approached the small child, but she did her best to ignore them.

The girl wore a gown similar to Pearl's, in blue, knee-length fabric. But the girl’s dress seemed to flow around her ankles, as if caught in a current that only she could feel. She stood in the corner, looking absently around the room, her gaze never focusing on anything for longer than a second. As Pearl approached, the child’s eyes locked with the woman’s for a moment before drifting elsewhere in the room.

Pearl had never believed in ghosts. She hadn’t felt much point in it throughout her life, a fanciful distraction for some, but enough practical hurdles kept her mind anchored. But now, as the hair on her arms stood up as she approached, the air around her cooled, and the ambient noises in the room stilled, she knew exactly what kind of impossibility she was facing.

The little girl flinched as Pearl extended a hand, pulling back further into the corner. Pearl retreated her hand and bent her knee, bringing herself to eye level with the girl.

“Hi there. My name’s Pearl.” She spoke. “What’s yours?”

The small girl’s eyes drifted around the room, her long dark hair fluttering much like her dress. Her eyes eventually landed on Pearl. She looked frightened, but with frantic energy, as if her mind were racing.

“I don’t remember.” She finally said.

“That’s okay. I can get forgetful too sometimes.” Pearl said. She sat directly on the floor, her knees creaking as she did. “Have you been in this room long?”

Again, the girl had a look of deep thought, as if the answer was on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn’t find it.

“I don’t know that either.” She sniffled. “I remember being here. In a room like this. But I don’t know when that was. Or how long it’s been. It’s all fuzzy.”

“That’s fine.” Pearl said with a smile. The alarm bells in her head still rang, but she felt oddly calm in this moment. She watched as the girl wiped at a tear on her cheek. The tear wouldn't budge, as if it were plastered to her face. “Can I ask what’s the matter?”

“I’m scared.” The girl answered immediately. Pearl wasn’t even entirely sure the words came from her mouth, more as if they emanated from her.

“Why are you scared?” Pearl asked, slipping back into her teacher’s voice like a long-forgotten sweater.

“I don’t know.” the girl responded.

“You don’t know?”

The girl paused for a moment. Pearl watched as the girl tried to place the words in her mind.

“I don’t know what’s next.”

Pearl nodded. “You mean, after you leave here?”

The girl sniffed, nodding her head up and down.

“I get it. I don’t know either.” Pearl admitted.

The girl looked up, her expression almost surprised. “You don’t know either?”

Pearl exhaled, choosing her next words. She didn’t know exactly who or what she was speaking to. But she knew from experience that children deserve and appreciate an honest answer.

“I don’t. I have hopes, sure. Fears as well. It feels natural. I know what I was taught in church when I was young. And I know what the cynical…sorry…the grumpy part of my brain keeps telling me. But that’s all I have.”

The little girl looked down at her feet, an almost guilty look on her face. “And you’re okay with that? That doesn’t scare you?”

“It terrifies me. Without a doubt.”

The girl looked Pearl up and down, uncrossing her arms.

“You don’t seem scared.”

“This is the first real time I’ve talked about it.” She paused. “Tell me, what do you remember about your life?”

The girl stared past Pearl, a look of concentration on her face.

“I remember there was crying. From lots of people. I don’t remember who, things are foggy...but the most recent things I remember were sad.”

She bit her lip. Pearl waited patiently for the girl to continue, watching years of emotions wash over the girl’s face as she tried her best to recall her life.

 “But there were happy times.” the girl continued. “I know it. I don’t remember the actual things we did. But I feel like I my life was good. I loved people. They loved me. When I think back, I feel warm. I feel good.”

Pearl let a small smile spread on her face.

“Funny, the older I get the more I feel the same. The details wash away. Everything…I don’t know how to describe it…flattens, I guess. Blends together. But the memories of the emotions stick around. I was happy, too.”

The girl nodded along with Pearl, her form drifting through different levels of transparency.

“Did you love people?”

Pearl smiled. Finally, an easy question.

“I did.”

“Did you have kids?”

“Two little girls, with my husband.”

“Is he still alive?”

Pearl shook her head but kept the smile on her face.

“He is not.”

“I’m sorry.” The little girl looked down, as if embarrassed to have asked.

“Thank you. But I’m alright. I have my memories of our time; they didn’t leave with him.”

The girl looked back up, meeting Pearl’s gaze.

“They didn’t?”

“They’ve only gotten stronger. The big events I remember well. Or at least, I think I do. But everything else has smoothed out into a calm.” Pearl thought for a moment. “I most remember his smell.”

The little girl almost laughed, the first sign of a smile since Pearl first saw her in the room.

“Did he smell?”

“Sometimes. But I remember his jacket he always wore. I told him it was ratty, oil stained and patched at the sleeves. Always reeked of grass clippings. But he kept it for years. And now, if I close my eyes, I can swear I can still smell it, and it makes me happy.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is nice.” Pearl reached out her hand to touch the girl on the shoulder. She didn’t know what to expect when she made contact, but Pearl’s hand found its place and rested on the girl.

“And whoever your parents were, I am sure you make them happy when they think of you as well. That’s all we can hope for. That we leave everyone with the happy, smooth memories of us.”

The child sniffed and looked at Pearl’s hand on her shoulder.

“Do you think they’ll remember the smooth memories of me for a while?”

Pearl looked at her own pale hand. Her veins were visible through her skin, and her wrinkled fingers showed nearly 90 years of age. When did I get so frail? She wondered but kept a smile on her face.

 “I am positive they will. The details will fade. But the warmth won’t.”

When Pearl looked up from her hand, she was alone in the room. Maybe she always had been, she thought, as she shuffled back to her bed. She lurched over the side and nestled into the blankets.

Pearl drifted under the sheets, her eyes wet and a small smile on her face. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe her mind was finally gone.

But despite the impossible conversation she had just experienced, she counted herself lucky. Part of a true ghost story. Or at least, that’s what she was telling herself.

As she closed her eyes, the warm smell of oil and grass clippings rocked her mind to sleep.