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By Savannah Haze Date: 2002 Jan 22 Comment on this Work [[2002.01.22.21.35.9531]] |
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Waiting Room We've been married for 4 months and 21 days to be exact. Even I don't understand how I could love you so much, so soon. The doctor told us it was probably nothing, But (and the truth comes after the but) It could be something. The worry gene passed from my mother wreaked havoc on my already tired mind. Could our lunch today have been the last truly happy moment? Will we remember this day as the day something bad emerged in our lives? Could I--would I?--live without him? Now I sit in this waiting room and wait and wait. We spend our lives waiting. For answers, opportunity, the cab, the bell... our next breath. God, please give him billions and billions and billions more of next breaths. The door opens, a white jacket. Good news, good news, good news... If I wish hard enough, it will be good news. Would you like to see your husband? His skin is transparent from the nausea. His eyes flutter when I kiss his forehead. He knows I'm there. The tests went well. Yes, yes, go on. He was a wonderful patient. I know, I know. We found nothing abnormal. He can go home now. My husband is asleep as we drive home. He cannot see the tears in my eyes. He does not hear the silent words of gratitude I save for those times that I am especially thankful. I am determined we will live forever. (or die together.) |