Shoelaces

Check Ups

of Part 1: y = mx + b

"I forget."

"I asked for your date of birth."

My eyes finally move from the melanoma poster back to the receptionist's face. Hospitals have always given me the creeps, and the chairs always hurt my back, and for some reason, whenever I go, I seem to be the only one there. For some people, that might be nice, but not for me. All the receptionists always stare at me, and the nurse that walks into the waiting room to call me in never even calls my name. I mean, what if when I was washing my hands in the gender-neutral bathroom, somebody took my seat and stole my appointment from right under my nose? I wonder if people do actually steal other people's doctor appointments.

"Oh, uh, November 15," I don't know why I stutter; of course, I know my birthday. Well, I guess I didn't know the first time he asked, but still. Something about the way the man is looking at me makes me uneasy. Maybe he thinks I'm stealing somebody's appointment. See, I told you! That does happen!

I guess the receptionist buys it cause he hands me a clipboard and tells me to take a seat. I find the chair that looks like it would hurt my back the least, and sit down, the chair sending out a squeak that fills the entire room. The receptionist stares at me. Great. To avoid looking back up at him, I get started on the questionnaire attached to the clipboard he gave me. Okay, question 1: How much sleep do you get a day? Easy, 8 hours. 2: Do you use electronics within an hour of when you go to sleep? Yes, I mean, who doesn't? I keep filling out the question until I get to 14: Are you sexually active?

...

Does that off count?

I'll just put no. I keep on filling out the form, the pen occasionally falling out of my grasp due to my sweaty hands. Why am I so nervous, anyway? Trick question, I'm always nervous, but it just really comes out talking to the doctor's receptionist. I'm scheduled for a regular checkup, but there is that one spot on my back that I can never see or touch. What if it has one of those moles that I saw on that melanoma poster? Ew, they looked so gross. So lumpy... My hand subconsciously makes its way to my back in an attempt to reach the untouchable spot as another patient walks through the automatic doors. Finally, I'm not the only person in this forsaken waiting room. He looks my way as I quickly divert my eyes. I could only get a quick glance at his black hair before I'm finally refocused on the questionnaire. Okay, number 30: How much juice do I drink? How should I know? I'll just put down zero, or none, I guess. And with that, I finished the questionnaire, finally.

I clutch the clipboard close to my chest, only the fabric of my hoodie blocking the cheap plastic from hitting my abdomen. I wonder what kind of diseases are on this thing. Rather than being patient zero, I decide to place the clipboard down in the chair to my right. But, when I put it down, it doesn't hit the uncomfortable material of a hospital chair. It hits a pair of khakis. A pair of khakis worn by the guy who walked in a few minutes ago, who is now sitting next to me. How did I not know he was sitting right next to me? And why did he choose this chair? I look around. These are the only two chairs in the entire waiting room. Fantastic.

My hand starts to shake as I turn my head to look at the guy sitting next to me. My mouth goes dry as I try to form an apology, "Uh... S-Sorry. I, uh, didn't know- I didn't know you were sitting there." Wow, Darrion, what a way with words. The man to the right of me just gives off a chuckle, telling me it's no problem as my face gets as red as the Scarlet Letter. At this point, I might just walk out of here and let somebody steal my appointment slot. Luckily, the nurse comes out and calls my name, to my surprised delight, as I walk through the double doors into the medical hallway. Right before I can't see the waiting room anymore, I turn back to see the man staring at me, the familiar chuckle emanating from his mouth.