alters

28

OUTSIDE itʼs raining, heavy and dense. I throw my hood over my head and stuff my shivering hands into my pockets. I take a brief moment to look across the scenery and observe frantic citizens rushing to find shelter, a toddler crying beneath a rainbow colored umbrella being held by a sighing mother, I see the traffic light change from red to a blazing green, and cars put into motion. I see life continuing to move on, despite my circumstances. It makes me feel small; insignificant. No, it reminds me that I am small. Insignificant.

I don't walk far, but I do walk slowly, to my surprise. I find that my steps are closely spaced together, my blacks boots scuffing against the soaked, dark gray concrete of the sidewalk. My thoughts, I quickly discover, are not my own. They are unintelligent murmurs and whispers, something of myself but not of myself. I don't know what the voices in my head say, I just listen and pretend to understand my own quiet insanity.

I arrive at my destination in roughly fifteen long minutes, my clothes drenched and cold, sticking to my pale body. The William-Jasper hospital sign flashes too bright, it ironically is almost headache inducing. I trudge up to the front doors and press the handicap button on the right brick wall, watching the clean glass doors steadily push open.

The lady at the front desk is fat and visibly unhappy, her ginger locks twisted back into some crappy up do fastened with a too-large clip one could find used at a hair salon. Her face is sagged and wrinkled from the frown permanently set above her chin, even though she tries to fake a smile when she spots the rain littered teenager emerging from the outside and lumbering over to her. She looks up at me with squinty eyes. "Yes, can I help you?" Her voice is aggravatingly raspy.

I slide a hand over my face, sigh, and look up at the ceiling light. "Um, yeah, I think that a friend of mine is in here, and I'd like to, um, see him."

"You think?" She repeats quizzically. "If you're not sure, would you like me to check for you?"

I swallow and shrug my shoulders. "I guess..." I know he's here, I'm just too stupid to say so.

She actually manages a convincing smile, her fingers moving perkily to the computer keyboard. "Alright, then I'll need his name please." She says cheerfully.

"Seth Way." I respond.

"Seth Way? Hm..." She types a few letters. "Seth Way, Seth Way, Seth Way..." She mumbles mindlessly to herself while her old eyes search the screen.

My hands awkwardly fumble with my jacket zipper, unsure of what to do at this particular moment. Suddenly the fat lady exclaims something out, a sort of "Ah-oh-ah!" sound.
I look at her with concern.

"Seth Way, why he's the poor boy that was in that awful fire down at the, uhh,  Jetson Theater. I don't know if they're letting non-family members see him quite yet." She taps her long fingernails against her desk, shaking her head sadly at me.

I groan, looking at anything but her. Ugly cow. The thought crosses my mind subconsciously. Fat ugly cow.

"Well, when can I see him?" I ask frustratedly, my hands resting on the cold purple-gray desk.

"Not sure, hun. How about you have a quick seat in the waiting area and I'll ask for you. I'll let you know right away. Name?" She replies through a smile.

"Alice. Alice Caster." I tell her, receiving a nod from the lady. After a brief awkward pause, I realize that's my cue to leave her the hell alone.

My dirty black boots shuffle across the ground, the pungent scent of the hospital atmosphere shoving itself up my nose. Once I reach the assortment of chairs spread out across the waiting room, I let myself fall into one. My mind should be spiraling out of control over the events that just unfolded in my apartment not even an hour ago; but I'm surprisingly calm, well not exactly calm---I'm just not in a fit of panic and distress.