The Long Wait

“Don't worry, be happy..” kept resonating in my head. I kept playing Bobby McFerrin's cool and soothing voice paired with an infectious reggae beat that would make anyone tap his feet and bob his head to the tempo. Yet, these sounds coming out of my IPOD were not enough to quiet the different voices arguing in my mind.

The clock makes a funny sound similar to that of a Nokia ring tone. I look up and see that it is already midnight. I've been sitting here for only a couple of hours yet it seems that I have been waiting here for a week. They couldn't tell me anything yet. They do not know what is wrong with her. The doctor told me that the only thing that they could do for now was wait. He suggests that I do the same. I tried to, but God I hate waiting.

The room was bitterly cold, freezing even. My thick black sweater proved of little help in keeping me warm in this place that emits an extra chill that makes my right leg tremble. I am badly in need of a cigarette but somehow something is keeping me from stepping out of the room. My legs feel weak and numb and my hands refuse to stop shaking. My whole body is literally paralyzed and frozen.

I am seated on the end of a long and rusty dark-green bench which is lined up in front of the wall. In front of me lay dozens of light blue plastic chairs lined into rows where a few people are sitting. On the farthest end of the back row was an old lady holding a rosary in her hand. Her head was bowed and her face was partially covered by her long silver hair. She appears to be reciting some kind of prayer and whispering some inaudible words. A few seats to her right sits a young man who appears to be in his twenties. His right arm is in a sling and a few scratches can be seen across his face. Maybe he was involved in some kind of accident. I would like to know but now is not the right time to start a conversation with anyone here. It is too quiet, and this can be understandable. Directly in front of the rows of chairs stands a big flat screen television showing a movie about a car accident. I try my best not to glance at it. I do not want thoughts about anything that might be possible polluting my mind . It was torture.

Across the white-tiled and brightly lit room stands a cubicle where a sleepy and tired nurse is stationed. She sits beside a red telephone which rings every four or five minutes. The nurse who dons an all white suit appears to be weary and pale. I wouldn't blame her. Being in this room for a long time can make anyone look pale, tired and even dead. Dead is not a good word but it surely captures the moment I am in. Every person in this room looks cold and lifeless. They are stationary and anxious. But somehow the room produces an aura of a certain calm and quiet. Yes it is peaceful, in contrast to the emergency room just behind the door at the farthest end of the room which appears to be a place of constant noise and movement. But this is not a comfortable kind of peace. It is a kind of peace which is felt in the middle of a cemetery. This is not the peace I want.

As I listen to Bobby McFerrin rant about how good life is, a figure clad in white steps out from the double door on the farthest end of the room. A tall, middle-aged man donning a white gown and wearing light yellow rubber surgical gloves emerges from the chaos of what we know as the emergency room. He strides slowly across the still room and heads towards me. He is calm and expressionless. His thick framed glasses reflect the light produced by the blinding fluorescent lamps which makes him appear mysterious, scary to be precise. He stops in front of where I am seated and looks at me. I look him at the eyes and notice the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I find it peculiar that the man standing in front of me feels hot and is sweating while I am covered in thick clothing almost freezing to death. The doctor bows his head down and sits beside me. He puts his left hand on my right shoulder and says nothing. My knees suddenly feel weak and tears start forming at the corners of my eyes. All of the sudden the room is noisy. It is dark and crowded. I can hear a lot of angry people screaming, some out of grief, others of pain and most out of fear. I increase the volume of my player and try to drown out the noise. It keeps on repeating the words which I grew to hate.

“Don't worry, be happy...”, the song continues to play.