Waiting Room | Teen Ink

Waiting Room

December 7, 2013
By Meital.S GOLD, Netanya, Other
Meital.S GOLD, Netanya, Other
13 articles 0 photos 24 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough" - Albert Einstein


3:48 PM. Tuesday afternoon. I'm sitting on the most uncomfortable chair, with my feet stretched out on the shiniest floor, and my head moving from left to right staring at the whitest room. Now my foot's tapping. Why is my foot tapping?

The old man sitting next to me keeps dozing off, and waking up completely startled every ten seconds. As I stare at him resting again, I wonder how he can manage to sleep with those thick nose pads on his glasses squishing his big nose. Someone new arrives. Everyone – including me – look up at her as if she were a student who was late for class. She tries not to look into anyone's eyes, as she walks over to an empty seat. She places her huge Louis Vuitton or some other designer tote bag on her lap, either protecting it from touching the seat, or protecting herself from all the other people in the room.

A nurse walks by. Everyone's eyes follow her movement with excitement; as if the short women in the periwinkle scrubs had the answer to all their worries. Her short brown hair bounces with each step she takes. I stare at it, mesmerized, until I remember why I'm here. My eyes lower and I stare at the floor for a while. If I lean down and focus real hard I'd probably be able to see my reflection. I try to do so, but when I almost fall off my chair, I decide it's best to sit still. I chuckle to myself. As if I were really able to do that.

I suddenly notice a clock on the wall across of me, yet I take a quick glance at my watch as a force of habit. 3:52 PM. How can time possibly move so slowly? From complete boredom I consider starting a conversation with the old man next to me, during the three seconds he's awake, but I change my mind when I find something new for my eyes to look at; toys. Suddenly, instead of them being squished together in the corner, they are everywhere. Beside them is a little boy sitting and playing with them. His mother - I assume - sits right next to him. I stare at her for a moment, but once she notices, I quickly look away. I try to stare at her again, still trying to figure out why she's wearing her huge sunglasses indoors. I wait for her to come to her senses and take them off, but all she does is freshen her hot pink lipstick. Now her Botox-filled lips are even brighter than her peroxide dyed hair. 'Don't judge' I quickly warn myself. 'She might be here for a terrible reason.'

Scanning through the room and trying to find someone or something new I find nothing. A phone rings. I jump in shock as my eyes follow the noise. The receptionist picks up the phone. I eavesdrop, hoping to hear something exciting, but all I hear is 'mmhmm' and 'yes sir'. Disappointed, I look down once more; this time at my feet. I remember that I'm wearing my sneakers today. They are tie-dyed with rainbow streaks, and their once-white laces are now a pale gray. I tap my heels together in hope of disappearing and appearing someplace else; any place but here is fine. I fail. I frown in disappointment and imagine how Dorothy must be laughing at me right now.

Not being able to find anything else to do, I play with my hair. I grab each curl with my index finger and wrap it around until my finger is covered with curl. I set it free and search for another. Then I remember what my mother would always tell me when I'd play with my hair: "Every time you do that, you make me so dizzy I can't even walk straight anymore". That sentence never made sense to me as a child, but looking back I understand what she meant. I let go of my hair and place my hands on both my thighs, trying not to move. Me being impatient, that position doesn't last for too long.

I look at the ceiling in agony, hoping I might find something to look at there. The sight of the florescent bulbs nearly blinds me, so I decide to find someplace else to look. I remember my mother's advice to me every time I had to wait in long lines with her: "Think of happy times. Think of times better than this. You'll get so caught up in the memory, time will fly away". I smile, then try to find a time when I was happy. Hmm. Not right now. Ok, let's go a little further back in time. Ok, found one. I'm five years old, and I'm on the swings in the back yard. I keep laughing, and with each swing, I try to reach higher and higher – My goal is to touch the sky. Wait. There's something wrong with this memory. I was only five; I couldn't have been able to push myself. Who was pushing me?

"Becky," Adam, my older brother, calls out to me as he exits the room he was in for the past twenty one minutes. I quickly rise up from the uncomfortable chair and walk over to him.

"Well?" I ask nervously, praying for the right answer and horribly fearing the wrong one. Before I have time to dwell on each option, Adam's mouth opens.

"Yep," he answers with the casualness of an older brother and the relief of a patient. "I'm cancer-free." My eyes expand to twice their size at the sound of those beautiful words as I hold my hands up in a tight fist. "We did it, Becky. I'm cancer-free." Tears are dripping down my face with exhilarating joy and a massive amount of emotion. He looks at his shoes and tries to shrug, but his emotions take over. His looks up and his eyes shine brighter than the strongest ray of sunshine. That's when I know – my brother is crying. As a result of happiness and in order to respect his wish to remain manly, I grab his shoulders and hug him tightly, leaving his tear-filled face to hide in my shoulder. "We did it," he repeats in happiness, and then starts to sob.

As we stood there, me – a fifteen year old girl, and Adam – a typical macho nineteen year old – hugging and crying in the middle of the waiting room, I remember the rest of my happy memory. I'm five years old, and I'm on the swings in the back yard. I keep laughing, but I'm not the one who's urging to reach the sky, it's my brother Adam, who's pushing me harder and harder with each swing, with a huge smile on his face. His skin pale, and his head bald, he keeps telling me how I had to be able to reach the sky. And when I ask him why, he simply explains:

"When I join mommy in heaven and you'll be lonely, you can swing on the swing and visit me in the sky."



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