{"id":9462,"date":"2015-06-30T10:30:04","date_gmt":"2015-06-30T14:30:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=9462"},"modified":"2015-06-30T11:04:43","modified_gmt":"2015-06-30T15:04:43","slug":"the-waiting-room","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/the-waiting-room\/","title":{"rendered":"The Waiting Room"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Image<\/a>
Image credit: Rachel Shannon<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The waiting room was a lie. Colorful, soft chairs. Soft lighting not to blind the eyes. White, tiled floor. Small, brown tables decorated with an assortment of magazines. A flat screen against one wall. A small clock on the other. And a warm, welcoming reception guarded by ugly, plastic windows.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, don\u2019t sit next to me. Please, don\u2019t sit next to me. Please, don\u2019t sit next to me,\u201d and the middle-aged woman guided her elderly mother over to the next row of chairs.<\/p>\n

I was tired. The sensation of sleep was overbearing. I was not one for coffee, but I needed a cup. Black. That would be enough to wake me up, drive home, and I wanted to go home. I wanted to be inside. I wanted to know what was going on. Instead, I was sitting here, listening to the repeating news and medicated commercials. I was ready to go nuts.<\/p>\n

A woman maybe in her forties sat not too far from me. She was hunched over, biting her lip, and when she wasn\u2019t biting her lip, she was mouthing something. It was a name. It was familiar, but it slipped from my mind as I watched her twist her hands around and around in her lap. I couldn\u2019t tell if she was just in pain, or if she was crazy.\u00a0 Maybe both, but now she fixed me with a hard stare. And it was I that twisted in my seat.<\/p>\n

There was an older gentleman nearby. He reminded me of Paul Bunyan. I stifled a laugh, and he too shot me a look. My smile faded. Yes, I knew exactly where we were, and this was no laughing matter. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, and I couldn\u2019t. I was glued to that chair, and there was nothing that I could do but wait. And I\u2019d been waiting for a long time now, and I was getting worried.<\/p>\n

Loud, annoying squeaking broke me out of my reverie. It was coming from the hallway. It stopped. A smile twitched at my lips, and then the squeaking commenced. I tried not to laugh, and I succeeded when I realized that the squeaking came from the doctor\u2019s shoes. He stopped right before me and tapped on those ugly, plastic windows with his knuckles. I watched him lean over and say something to one of the receptionists, who quickly jumped up and grabbed the requested forms. He then moved away, and the squeaking began.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry.\u201d I was surprised by his thick accent. \u201cMy shoes squeak,\u201d and he stormed away. I didn\u2019t realize that I was still smiling.<\/p>\n

A name was called. I jumped. It wasn\u2019t for me. It was for the elderly lady, who was guided by her daughter over to the nurse. They disappeared inside, leaving only me and the other two here to stare out into nothing but space.<\/p>\n

The woman was back to mouthing something. I knew that name. How did I know that name? Where did I know that name? I wanted to focus on that, block everything else out. Nobody was coming to get me. Nobody was telling me anything, and I needed something, anything. So, if this crazy lady was fixated on whatever that name was, I would focus on that too.<\/p>\n

\u201cI trusted you!\u201d Her screaming broke me from my trance. \u201cI trusted you! Don\u2019t tell me to calm down! You give me this shit, and you didn\u2019t know it could do that! Look at me! What do I do now! How am I supposed to live my life? You\u2019re a fucking doctor! \u00a0You were supposed to help me! Get away! Stop pushing me into this room! I want my lawyer! I\u2019m going to sue you\u2026\u201d A door slammed shut.<\/p>\n

My mouth hung open. The others had a similar reaction. The receptionists were standing up now. The windows were open, and they were whispering to each other. They glanced at each other. They glanced at us, at me, and then the windows slid closed.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike they\u2019re safe in there,\u201d I thought. \u201cNow, what was that damn word?\u201d<\/p>\n

The door, where the nurse had shortly welcomed in that elderly woman, flew open. Another woman emerged. Tears streamed down her face. She bolted down the hallway. Her three-year-old son just stood there. He just stood there, and then he slowly met my gaze. \u201cThey killed him,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. We just stared at him, and he said nothing else. Finally, a receptionist moved away from her desk and was about to open her door when the mother re-appeared. She stormed into the waiting room, grabbed her son by the hand, and was once again about to bolt, but then she just stopped. \u201cIf I were you,\u201d she began. \u201cRun,\u201d and she did along with her son this time.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell,\u201d the man muttered through gritted teeth.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on. What was the word? That damn word,\u201d I said to myself. \u201cThink,\u201d and I did. And I realized finally what she was mouthing, and I asked her, if that was the word. And she nodded, and I couldn\u2019t stop the next question from escaping my mouth. \u201cIs that why you are here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she hissed, and then she rocked back and forth in her chair. \u201cYes,\u201d she repeated.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut why,\u201d and she stopped rocking. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. Forget it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou take it?\u201d I nodded at her question. \u201cAll of it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMany times.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen, be warned.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s lucky that it made her crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s horrible,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t give a shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s still horrible. How could you say such a thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLady, look at me,\u201d and I did. \u201cI look nice and calm to you?\u201d I slowly nodded.\u00a0 \u201cYou have no idea of how much pain I am in right now, and it is taking every effort for me not to scream. Loudly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI bet you are,\u201d and then we heard another name called. \u201cIf you hear screaming.\u00a0 Again.\u201d He rose from his seat. \u201cThat would be me,\u201d and he walked into the room, followed by the nurse.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the drug is not supposed to do that. It doesn\u2019t have those side effects. Not physical or mental. It\u2019s not supposed to do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLies,\u201d she shrieked, and the receptionists jumped. I jumped. \u201cLies! Lies! Lies!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you don\u2019t stop, we\u2019ll call security,\u201d a receptionist threatened, and the woman fell silent, once again mouthing that damn word. \u201cThank you,\u201d and the window slammed\u00a0 shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat could be me,\u201d I thought. \u201cI could be crazy, or in pain. Or both. How could such a drug be allowed to be given to people? How could they do that? It\u2019s an antibiotic.\u00a0 It\u2019s supposed to cure and save lives not cripple people. What if it kills?\u201d I shuddered.\u00a0 \u201cWell, so far, so good. Right?\u00a0 Right?\u201d I swallowed hard. \u201cHow long does it stay in the body? When was the last time that I took it?\u201d A man\u2019s scream thundered through the hall. It was him. \u201cPlease, God, save him.\u00a0 Save me,\u201d and then I remembered why I was here. It was because my father was given something, something in the same family as my medication, and I remembered the little boy and what he said. \u201cPlease, God,\u201d I nearly cried out loud. \u201cPlease,\u201d and a tear slipped down my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s okay. I think.\u201d My mother stood nearby. \u201cI think, but he can go home.\u00a0 Let\u2019s go home.\u201d She held my stare. \u201cI know it\u2019s late. I\u2019m sorry. It took forever.\u201d I found that I had no strength to get up. I just sat in the chair, and I looked over at that poor woman. \u201cHoney?\u201d I glanced back at my mother. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

And I said, \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

__________________________________________________________________________________________________<\/p>\n

Melissa R. Mendelson is a published author and poet, whose writing has been featured in Names in a Jar: A Collection of Poetry by 100 Contemporary American Poets, Espresso Fiction: A Collection of Flash Fiction for the Average Joe, and Antarctica Journal.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The waiting room was a lie. Colorful, soft chairs. Soft lighting not to blind the eyes. White, tiled floor. Small, brown tables decorated with an assortment of magazines. A flat screen against one wall. A small clock on the other. And a warm, welcoming reception guarded by ugly, plastic windows.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, don\u2019t sit next to me. Please, don\u2019t sit next to me. Please, don\u2019t sit next to me,\u201d and the middle-aged woman guided her elderly mother over to the next row of chairs.<\/p>\n

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