An overpowering stench of antiseptic hung in the air. The corridor outside was packed, footsteps clamouring up and down the linoleum floor, occasional calls from a patient in distress, clattering of medical equipment and trolleys banging against side walls. Vincent glanced around at the dimly lit waiting room. The outline of anxious faces staring into the abyss disconcerted him. He shifted uneasily in his hard plastic seat wringing his hands with worry. Vincent looked across at the row of chairs lining the waiting room wondering just how many troubled lives graced their surface on a daily basis. Entire families distraught by news emerging from the faithful words from the oncology specialist. The thought made him shiver.
One woman had her arms tightly folded over her chest gazing directly at the opposite wall. Her body completely motionless and rigid anticipating the inexorable. Across the Vincent sat a fit and healthy gentleman wearing a beige polo top and jeans, his blonde hair rugged slightly clearly distressed from being here. Leaning forwards he dug his elbows into his thighs every few moments shuffling in his chair to return to his normal posture and gaze at the metal legs of the chair in front of him. Vincent needed something, anything to take his mind off this place. The faint din of human traffic moving about in the corridor slowly faded into the background as Vincent submerged himself in the columns of text printed in the local newspaper. Some farmer had lost all his land to the bank, his land repossessed with some kind of injunction. Vincent could barely read his vision blurred from stress. His eyes bloodshot from not having slept in what must have been over a day or two, of that he could not be sure. Lifting the paper in front of him he noticed his shoulders ached tremendously, every sinew of his musculature sore. His emaciated state prolonged the enduring plight of this inescapable situation, his nerves on edge. Vincent could hardly recall how many empty styrophome coffee cups he discarded into the waste paper basket losing count after the first five. His hands trembled slightly as he held the tabloid aloft scanning the pictures in a vain attempt to distract himself from the inevitable.
Vincent looked up at the clock hanging on the wall next to a tattered health promotional poster advising patients to have their cholesterol checked. ‘Ten past three,’ he thought. He’d been waiting there for well over eight hours. Each moment becoming increasingly heart wrenching, almost unbearable. An abrupt fit of coughing and spluttering roused Vincent out of his reverie, the woman sitting opposite to him on his right began wheezing loudly, the sound of her inhalation simultaneously startled and disturbed Vincent causing him to wince in empathy. Another jolt of electrical fear rushed through his body, the slightest sound sparking a wave of panic in Vincent. His palms covered in sweat, he threw the newspaper down onto the seat beside him quickly rising from his chair. He needed to walk around for a while, get some breathing space. The waiting room was closing in on him.
His brown leather shoes squeaked as he strolled along the polished floor out into the now silent corridor. Shoving his hands firmly in his denim jacket he paced out of the waiting area crossing the narrow hallway towards the public restrooms. Vincent glanced around at the empty corridor, a blonde nurse sifted through papers immersed in administrative work at the reception desk. Everything was too quiet, the eye of the storm.
Shouldering the laminate panel of the restroom door Vincent pressed his torso against its weight traipsing into the gents. Still pressing his curled up fists tightly into his jacket he entered an unoccupied cubicle and slammed the plastic frame with his back. It crashed against the wall, the noise reverberating throughout the isolated surrounds of the gents’ toilets. Using his thick wad of unkempt wavy brown hair he slid the lock on the door concealing him in an incubated cordon sectioning him off from the outside world. Still cradling the inner felt lining of his pockets he raised his outstretched leg tipping the outer rim of the toilet seat down with an ear-piercing clatter. Collapsing onto the plastic surface of the seat Vincent buried his face in the palms of his shaking hands and burst into an uncontrollable fit of crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks running down the side of his face in rivulets. His chest heaved with every staccato breath he gasped, the gravity of his wife’s illness bearing down on his emotionally destitute shoulders. Each teardrop blissful memories of their lives together. All those times spent frolicking on long hazy afternoons nestled in each other’s arms or curled up beside the window on a stormy night watching sheets of rain cascade off the pavement outside their door. It all seemed so far away now, intangible and out of reach. Her life would be taken without consent, mercilessly ripped away by the hands of fate. Its cruelty knew no bounds.
