Observation Hours

The hospital is nearly empty; the time is well after 3:00 AM. The walls are white. The tiles on the floor are a pale gray. A quiet hum buzzes over the intercom.

Five people form a crescent-shaped semicircle in the fluorescent white lighting of the waiting room. Each person in the group behaves uniquely and distinctively.

1. The young woman stares at a space between the tiles under her shoes. Her hair is black, and it falls in curtains over her eyes. Shifting slightly, she wonders who went through the trouble of laying down each one of the tiles, and when. It must have taken a while. She tilts her head as she notices a warp in the tile — the deformity resembles a human face.
2. The young gentleman’s watery eyes flit around the room. He clears his throat and he leans back in his chair, his knee bouncing as he glances at the others. He smells faintly of menthol and vodka. Adjusting his too-tight collar, he wipes his brow and wonders if they know.
3. The father knows. The father says nothing. The thin, gray man paces back and forth with his hands folded behind his back. He watches the door as he oscillates, waiting for the moment it opens. He drifts here and he drifts there before he settles by the window, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.
4. His wife, a loving mother, stares blankly at the wall.
5. The youngest can be found in the chair by the wall, trying desperately to stay awake. She sits, perched and hugging her knees, as her eyes begin to slowly close. She jerks her head up twice, each time slowly realizing that she’s fighting the inevitable. After a few minutes of her heated battle with her exhaustion, her head tilts back. She’s out.

The semicircle sits up as a labcoat slowly saunters toward the family, placing himself adjacent to them to complete the circle. He has nothing in his hands — no clipboard, paperwork, or even a pen. The father notices.

The labcoat speaks slowly, detailing his observations. He doesn’t hesitate, falter, or sputter as he speaks. He frowns once, nodding his head after the briefing before turning away from the family. He exits the waiting room, the door closing softly with a click. Each family member responds in turn.

1. The young woman doesn’t look up from the tiles. The curtains of her jet black hair continue to obscure her eyes completely. A single tear trickles down her cheek, rolls down the bridge of her nose, beads at the tip, and promptly drops onto the face in the floor.
2. The young gentleman chokes, his shoulders shuddering as he sobs. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and wipes his eyes, taking deep breaths. He stands up and walks to the window, placing his hands on the wall to steady himself.
3. The father stops drifting to and fro and sits down in the chair next to his wife, unclasping his hands. Almost completely limp, he leans back in his chair. His head hangs as he breathes unsteadily.
4. Loving mother doesn’t tear her gaze from the wall.
5. The youngest, now awake and alert, startles at the labcoat’s words before bursting into shaky sobs. She stumbles out of the chair and runs out of the waiting room and into the parking lot.

After a long, quiet moment, the semicircle shakily stands, approaching the exit to follow the youngest. They walk out the doors as another family enters, forming their own semicircle in the same seats.

A quiet hum continues to buzz over the intercom. The lights flicker before holding.