true story-if you can call it that.
I wrote it during the long wait at the emergency room.
he was jumped.


Jumped

The waiting room; full of the stench of disarray, far from the reaches of sanitized surfaces of the doctor's rule beyond the double doors. The hum of ventilation and fluorescent lighting a monotonous backdrop for the dreary tidbits of conversation between the waiting. Outside, beyond the reaches of assumed assistance, lay the sleepless city. Cars passing in an endless rhythm of stop and go, their headlights illuminating briefly the streaky windows as they passed by us. Sitting under the hum of the lights, seeing the injured called in one after another, waiting for your chance to be seen. Heads drooping as the hours dragged on, always jerking up expectantly at the promise the sound of an opening door brought. The green and blue pleather of the waiting room chairs squeaking every time a position was shifted.

It was hard, sitting there with him tired in my arms, all bruised and beaten down. I had always been the hopeless optimist, struggling to hope beyond hope. He had really seared the desolate truth into me this time. I studied his calm face as he slept. My eyes were drawn to his numerous injuries with dismay. Mottled purple stemmed from the inner corners of his eyes, which themselves were too bloodshot to be healthy. His nose had swollen beyond recognition and dried blood was still visible, caught behind the bristle of his mustache. He bore the unsettling resemblance to some mutated chipmunk with his left cheek well past a normal size. I contemplated how much he meant to me. Enough to make me want to cry over his subverted appearance. I held his hand in mine, my fingers absent-mindedly tracing the swollen veins protruding from his pale skin, my mind languorous with fatigue.

We had changed seats numerous times, always looking for something more agreeable. He decided on a padded bench and he laid down, listless, his head on my lap, and fell asleep once again. I sat silent and still, readying myself for the numbness of not moving. The door opened again but I didn't lift my head; all anticipation had been drained of me."Brent Parker?" My head snapped up in disbelief, which stirred him from his slumber."It's your turn.." I spoke when i saw his eyes open in blurry-eyed confusion. He looked around, stunned, then quickly got to his feet and walked uncertainly towards the door in an amazed stupor.

My hebetude was replaced with a more hopeful outlook, my near-comatose state vanishing. I was hoping that this was the beginning of the end; that we'd be out in an hour at most. My dad cut through my wishful thinking like a knife through soft butter.

"This could still take another five hours for all we know" he readjusted himself so he could see the hockey game being replayed on one of the television screens affixed high on the wall. I sighed. He was right, of course. I bunched up the coat he had left in the waiting room and used it as a pillow, not caring about the dried blood that covered most of it. I perused through some discarded magazines and newspapers, and settled on an article about memories on the neural level. I felt unusually intelligent as I understood the vocabulary; axons, post-synaptic terminals and dendrites. Despite my unmotivated nature, the human body intrigued me and I was always wanting to understand more and more about myself through science. Having said this I contradicted myself by hating hospitals health care and most medical breakthroughs. The emergency room was a joke, I had waited in those sterilized hallways for nearly twenty four hours just to find out there was nothing seriously wrong with me. Now I was on the outside looking in, wondering what he was going through, if he would have the same results as me.

The article was only a few pages long and consumed little of the endless hours dragging on. I looked at the clock hung high behind the "emergency care admitting" desk. 11:16. Only? I slumped back against the bench. I laughed inwardly as I realized I'd gotten my 11:11 wish before I'd wished for it; he'd been admitted to see a doctor. I wish I could have gone with him beyond those double doors. I had a gnawing anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach that refused to let me fall asleep. I craned my neck on the off-chance I could catch a glimpse of him, but I knew my efforts were futile. So I covered my face with my coat and tried to sleep but my stomach was too disquieted to cooperate. I was unaware of how long it had been but the thought of revealing my eyes to the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs deterred me.
My mind had long gone on a tangent of incoherrent thoughts when my father's voice disturbed me.

"Here he comes.." i immediately sat up and turned my head in the direction of those double doors through which he had left me- I looked at the clock, 1:48 am- over two hours ago. he advanced in a painfully slow manner, his face looking just as decrepit as before that it made me cringe. I sat impatiently, awaiting the verdict.
"Nothing's broke" a woosh of relief left my lungs. He continued, "Just some minor tissue dammage but it should fix itself within a few weeks." I smiled, eased of my earlier worries, got up and gave him a hug.
"I'm so glad you're OK.." He gave me a big squeeze then released me from his embrace.
"Me too. I'm so lucky to have you...in my worst hour and you're still here for me."
"Of course. Especialy in your worst hour I'm here for you." It was true. Despite the fact I'd been sitting in this room for eight hours, it felt inconsequencial now that I had him safe in my arms again, the relief of his health a worthy prize.



Short story by dre
Read 1026 times
Written on 2009-02-23 at 04:03

Tags Emergency  Wounds  Waiting 

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