Waiting Room

**This story contains anticipatory grief and thoughts about impending loss of a loved one**

How long had she waited? When she had arrived, tripping over herself just to get to the reception desk, it couldn’t have been that long after sunset. Now, it was pitch black, not a single star in the sky that she could make out. As if they had decided to hide away in mourning. 

In the busy room, seats filled with people of various walks of life you would not see otherwise in the same vicinity. Women in scrubs wheeling person after person through hallways that seemed like mazes. Anxious fellows, parents murmuring prayer, lovers worrying their fingernails down to the wicks, daughters and sons pacing the halls. A purgatory of the worst kind.

The picture frames on the walls of white held images of plants, close ups on the leaves and petals so that the viewer could see the veins mapped out across them. You didn’t even have to squint to see the crisp morning dew drops caught in the photo. The television played yet another house hunting show, where people were allowed to be picky about the minuscule mundanities of their future home. Carpets that were mauve instead of eggshell, counters that were hunter’s green instead of marble or granite.

In the room, no one had a choice. It was a luxury unavailable to them. Unless you had pockets deep enough. But even so, most of the common folk had to rely on pure luck and blind faith just to get through a single day of waiting, but more often than not, the outcome was already set in stone.

It wasn’t fair. Fate was the puppet master while their poor little lives were being strung along, unaware of what end awaited their story. The seconds ticked by on the clock overhead, each passing like an eternity. She squinted, barely able to tell where the minute hand was between the 1 and the 12. What good was looking at the clock anyway? It wouldn’t make the time go faster. If she truly wanted to know the time, then she’d have checked her phone by now. 

Of course, that would mean seeing the lock screen. A picture of them both smiling mischievously at the camera, untouchable. They had been young once, but now was a different time, one where the world had crushed their dreams in the palm of its hand as they watched the dust fall through its fingers. Stress had aged them both beyond their years. 

She was a mess of wrinkled pajamas and bunny slippers. Another glance at the clock told her that the time hadn’t changed. Or maybe the clock was broken. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, recrossed with the other leg, before deciding to lay her head in her hands. 

The door opened, and she straightened her posture, “Mrs. Newsome?” She lowered her head as the older woman a few seats away from her stood up to greet the man cloaked in white, clipboard in hand.

“Yes. How is he?” Mrs. Newsome wrung her hands together near her waist, eager to hear the news.

“Your son will be alright. He’ll just need a few days to recover,” he said, adjusting his glasses from the tip of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. 

Mrs. Newsome nodded, her hand covering her mouth, tears threatening to fall from the woman’s wrinkled face. “Oh, thank God. Thank you.”

Lucky woman. If only she could borrow some of that luck. 

“Just a few more minutes,” she told herself as Mrs. Newsome left to visit her son. She never had such luck, or so she was told. She was as likely to find a lucky penny as she was to win the lotto. And then one day, she had struck it rich. 

And now here her misfortune was, threatening to rob her of every happy moment she had experienced in the last three years. She was afraid to look at the clock again. If it hadn’t changed, then she would rip it off the wall. Her stomach churned, and her head started to spin. What if they didn’t let her in to visit? Ask anyone about their relationship, and they’d say they were two close friends.

Lying was always hard, but it kept both of them from having to answer even harder questions. Who’s the man in the relationship? Are you sure you just haven’t met the right guy? Are you sure you’re thinking things through? What about your future?

Right now, her future was hanging in the balance of life and death. It was a thought she wanted to tie to a cinder block in chains and sink to the bottom of the sea floor. A thought she’d rather riddle with bullet holes than ever see the light of her mind again.

And yet the more she fought against it, the harder it resurfaced. What if when she leaves this place, she leaves with alone? What if she can’t step foot in the apartment because it reminds her of everything that she lost? What if they take away their belongings and keepsakes? Their dog, Brutus? The car she used to drive wasn’t in her name, they had a shared bank account. They were only one month away from their four-year-anniversary, and she had already bought the ring as a surprise. 

But now, she might not even have the chance to—

She stifled a sob in her hands. Ugly, shaking stutters of breath until she felt the lobby walls close in around to crush her like a flytrap. The edges of her vision blurred and she felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. She almost didn’t recognize her own name being called by one of the staff. 

She wiped her eyes quickly and stood to meet the nurse, “I know the situation you’re in is stressful, ma’am,” the nurse said with an understanding look, “The procedure went off without any complications, your friend will be alright,” the nurse smiled at her softly as she blinked away her initial shock, “You’re friend’s lucky to have someone like you. If you got here any later, there’s no guarantee the surgery would have gone as smoothly.”

A huffed of a laugh slipped past her lips, more tears fighting to run down her cheeks as she hiccuped, and she reached to hug the nurse before her legs buckled and she passed out on tile floor.