The Premises of an Ideal Life and Additional Poetry

Chapter 3

It’s midnight and Aria’s mother is walking back and forth in the waiting room, gnawing her pale pink nails- a bad habit she’s been unable to break since childhood- leaning to the door and trying to spot her young daughter in case she appears. The room is dim, with connected chairs circling the place. The hospital itself is bare, with no nurses, guests, nor doctors around, making the need to keep her eyes open into a great effort, turning her head away from the test room ever so slightly. Clare's thumbs can’t stop twirling,  a half-open mouth ready to scream for help if needed, and decaying shoes- without any shoelaces nor rubber soles- tapping and scraping the white tile floors.
No matter what the doctors promised, the mother blames herself for her daughter’s accident and can’t figure out how she would have dealt with her lonely, gloomy life with no company at her side. Aria has made several cataclysmic choices, especially during her first year after high school, in which Aria denied any kind of study or useful activities for that matter. Yet, Clare’s heart became a bomb after the accident, often imagining the worst futures in hand for them.
Anything at all can happen with us, she thought, anything at all. We can die tomorrow or maybe I could have yesterday if that man hadn’t warned me of the car coming. Clare has never pondered this much about death.
Amidst such a distressing train of thought, a little girl pops her head out from one of the corridor’s doors, sending a swirl of ease and love through Clare’s fingernails, ceasing with her gnarling. Unlike other patients, the girl isn’t wearing the plain blue gown that labels any patient. No, she is wearing a rose-toned short dress, with drawings of black, purple, and redbuds with greenish leaves flying around the stamp. It’s perceptible that the dress’ tint is becoming gray with time, it most likely has been used many times in a roll. No doubt the garment brings cheerful memories to the kid, making it a sin to not wear it at every opportunity.
Aria’s mother comes closer to the child, barely making any sound, like a predator nearing a white dove. "What's your name darling? Are you here for something?". The girl comes out of the door in full, yet not articulating a single word. She loosens her fingers from the clasped hands and points in the direction of the door leading to the outside world. The girl opens her mouth once, twice, gaining confidence. "I-I'm Olivia, would you let me go outside? M-my mommy says it's dangerous. But if an old, wise woman like you let me go there, maybe she wouldn't be so mad at me." Olivia lets out a shiny smile and bashful eyes, a provocative figure of ingenuity, while Clare gives a smirk.
"That's a nice name you have Liv. Did you know that Olivia means "olive tree" in Latin? You truly look like a plumpy olive with these rich cheeks of yours!" Clare then tickles the girl's tiny and thick neck, reverberating Olivia's giggles all over the empty room. "Can't I go outside for a few minutes Clare? Please, please, please!" Olivia stands up in a heartbeat after her meltdown, while also cleaning the dust from her precious dress.
“Oh, sweetheart, I can’t let you go if your mommy said otherwise.” She then sees the hot face of the kid and her angst eyebrows. “To be honest, I’m terribly alone in this waiting room, so in need of a pretty princess like you to keep me entertained!”
Olivia catches the hint immediately, smart girl, “I can wait here if you want, I’m not going anywhere, anyway...” And, with a reassuring nod, Clare accepts the offer and grips the baby fat hands of cute Olivia, helping her to sit on one of the benches next to her. 
The two females are quite an alluring picture to contemplate: an exhausted woman beside a youngin, talking non-stop about their favorite colors, baby animals, and Olivia’s many brothers. Clare’s assumptions about the girl proves to be true, when she says that, in truth, her mom, Sylvia, has gestational diabetes and has one month left for her toddler to be born. The baby would be her fourth boy and, contrary to Clare’s expectation, Olivia makes sure to say that she isn’t jealous of her thousands of siblings, but rather positive that she’s the best-loved and has nothing to be bothered about.
“I often help mommy with the dishes, make my bed, and do my homework with excellence, as mommy tells me! Once, I made a chocolate cake for her birthday with my older brother, Stevan. I personally didn’t want to work with him, but mommy wanted us to bond so badly that I had to say yes. Then, Stevan ended up messing everything up.”
To show her frustration, Olivia sends her arms up with a grunt. “I got really angry at him and almost knocked the whisker on his head. Stop laughing, I swear I would have if he hadn’t cleaned it afterwards!”
The small individual becomes a chitty chatty box in instants, impressing Clare with her polished and much mature talk. Poor kid, the woman thinks, only five years old and already crammed with tasks and assisting her mother with housework. The previous dark and colorless thoughts of Clare’s give way to the glossy world of Olivia’s, with varying hues, appealing views, and give her the liberty to dream afar long lost.
This is how Aria’s mother spends the night: hugged to Olivia’s funny concepts and young interpretations of the world, the girl’s earrings gradually getting shinier and shinier as the sun rises. Rasps, trills, and whistles of the mockingbirds flapping their black wings through the winds; bushes, and roses covered in cold dew, surrounding the hospital’s grounds. A new day has begun and talking to someone has never been as pleasing as with this strong youngin, Clare surmises.