Waiting

• Veronica Perez-torres, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2018

Hours in the Waiting room. Hours that stretch out into days and seem like years. Not knowing, never knowing. Hours of fear and anxiety, of not being able to predict what will happen next. The sun sets and rises again and again as I crouch on the hard plastic seats, a small selection of toys scattered around the floor to please small children in the long hours of waiting. Always waiting.
My skin prickles with worry as two nurses wheel a bed past me. The woman in the bed isn't moving. She has her eyes closed, and her hand rests by her side, almost as if she’s sleeping. I turn away, knowing the truth but wishing I didn’t.
The worry is sickening, too intense for me to cope with. I want to leave, but an invisible force is pulling me back, urging me to stay on the hard plastic seat. I give in, to exhausted to move. I have been beaten once again.

I am not allowed to see, not allowed to say goodbye. It happens so fast, and then a doctor leads me to his office to talk. To explain the mistake and its consequences. I force myself to look away, I don’t want to listen to what he says, don’t want the truth to sink in. But my ears are oblivious to my commands and every word slips through, permanently settling inside me.
I wait for the tears to come. Want them to come. But they don’t. I have to draw myself to face reality; can’t shelter in the depths of my mind, forcing myself to stop being oblivious of the fact that she’s gone.

I run out of the office, my sneakers squeaking on the polished floors. I want to hide, to face away from the facts; the proof that surrounds me in the forms of bustling nurses, beeping machines, and the yells hiding the fear that everyone lives with until it really happens. Until they are flung right in the middle of a catastrophe, their minds spinning and their knees giving way.
My mind is in turmoil. I sit back down on the plastic seats and feel like kicking a toy next to my foot. If they hadn’t made a mistake. . . if we hadn’t agreed it was the right thing to do. . .

Suddenly, I hear a cry. It’s soft and faint as if it’s far away, but I know it. Recognize it even though I’ve never heard it before. My hands go cold. I have no idea what it means, couldn't possibly guess. And that is one of the scariest things.
The cry echoes through the halls once more and understanding clicks. I fling myself back down the corridors, tears flowing freely.

It is the cry of our newborn son. The cry of life.