Hindsight

Habile

Time.

Time does not wait. Time is not free. Time doesn't stand still and wait for anyone. Time proceeds and leaves anybody stranded if they aren't ready.

Time.

More time is really all we want and can never have.

As a child, we want more time to watch TV and play video games.

As a teen, we want more time to sleep and stay in bed.

As an adult, we more or less want the same thing but for a different reason.

And as we grow older, we want more time with our family.

Time.

Time is never a friend.

Two hours of sitting and staring at the bright lights spiking in all the monitors, the nurses were ready to take Voight to the cath lab for his angioplasty.

He was still asleep by the time they wheeled him to the other side of the cardio wing.

Tears.

She didn't shed them just yet, though she wanted to. Voight wouldn't have wanted her to cry. He hates it when she cries. It's not a pretty look on her. He've always been very blunt at telling her that.

She remembered the first time she cried on his shoulders, it was when Chad Michael broke up with her a week before junior year was coming to a close. She was devastated and Voight was gloating. He couldn't have been happier since he've never liked that blonde hair, blue eyes, all-America star. He was a player, not the fun kind, and Erin was too blinded by love or whatever it was she was feeling as a hormonal teenager to see him for who he really was.

Thirty minutes up to three hours.

That's how long the procedure will take.

Time.

An hour or so had past, an hour or so of sulking her own throbbing head against Antonio's shoulder in misery - one that she've so willingly created for herself - an hour or so of worrying about Jay since she had actually convinced herself that he's left her for good - until he came back with an even more displeased and disgusted look that she knows was only directed at her - an hour or so of waiting for progress on Voight's procedure, there still was no update.

So she kept on waiting and waiting, leaning her elbows on the armrest, fidgeting on her seat to find a comfortable position. But the more she moved the more uncomfortable she got since there's a huge basketball right in front of her. A basketball who's constricting her airflow. A basketball who's now at it's thirty first week. A basketball who wouldn't stop flipping like she's a freaking gymnast. A basketball whom Erin really doesn't need to be reminded of right now.

She've already had enough on her plate.

Time.

The air was thick with tension as they sat together in silence. The faint buzz of pairs of shoes, pagers, alarms, telephones going off, announcements to doctors for emergent care echoed around him. All at once. Creating what sounded like the perfect hymn for what he's feeling inside. Pressured and in chaos. Everyone and everything was passing right through him like he's invisible.

He is invisible.

He can't see and Will have made that absolute so many times, so, people might as well not notice him too.