The Blue

6. Doctor Eli

I'm in a small waiting room deep in the recesses of the hospital, at the neurologist's office. Four chairs in the cramped space; only mine is occupied. My parents—or, the two people shaped like them—are in the cafeteria. I made them go. Too creepy, seeing a pair of strangers stare at me with so much love and fear. Have to figure out what is going on, if I can trust them or not. Hell, if I can trust myself.

Still a little drunk. Turning sleepy, and the alcohol thickens into a sludge over my every move. 

No receptionist behind the plastic window. No sign of life at all. Not even any magazines to read. Just silence in a cream-colored waiting room.

Starting to drift off. I make myself stand up, walk back and forth. Pull open the screen separating myself from the receptionist's office and lean through, turning to see a silent computer. Nobody home.

But somewhere behind the desk, in one of the examination rooms—a woman weeping, muffled arguing. Lean in closer, suck in every sound.

"I can't take this anymore!" she howls at the top of her lungs. "You drunk, worthless, cheating piece of shit!"

I jump back; bangs my head against the plastic divider. Glad no one was around to see. I carefully extricate myself and return to my seat.

A man responds: "Hey, calm down, here, have a Seroquel. Have three. Put that down, please, this is a hospital -"

The sound of glass shattering. A door opens, slams shut, then opens again. I stare at my hands, pretending I’m not here. The camouflage of the socially awkward.

A pale blonde woman steps out of the doctor's office. Mid-thirties, nose red and raw. Her blouse is buttoned out of order, and one side hangs lower than the other. She's holding her shoes; seems like she got dressed in a hurry.

The woman turns and shouts in the direction she came: "Don't ever call me again. Don't ever come by my place again, and don't send any of your people to keep watch over me. I don't want to be seen with you in public. No more astral projecting, no more talking to the moon, and definitely no more blowjobs in your car."

What?

When she sees me, she releases an extra sob then wipes her eyes with the crook of her arm. Her mascara smears across her face like tire marks down a road. She steps across the waiting room, nose snotty, sobs percolating to a boil until she's really letting loose. A twist of the doorknob, and she's unleashed on the hospital.

A short, balding doctor with two day's brown stubble enters from the door where the woman first appeared, walking after her but stopping at the door, clenched fist at his mouth, thumbnail between teeth. He exhales, and seems to deflate. Sagging shoulders, white lab coat—half trapped in his belt—almost touches the floor. 

"You're just gonna let her run around out there?" I ask. "I can wait for you to go get her."

The doctor turns, seems surprised I exist. He wipes a sweaty hand off on the back of his pants then extends it. "It's a hospital, she'll be okay. I'm Dr. Anderson." 

I stand up, take his hand. It's sweaty and limp. 

"You're Derek?" he mumbles, staring at my feet.

"I'm Derek, yeah. I talked to your assistant today, she said it would be okay if I came in on short notice, since it was an emergency."

"She's not my assistant," he says. 

"What?"

"She's the hospital’s assistant. I don't have my own assistant, she just does scheduling for everyone." The doctor sounds out of breath. He leans on the door frame and runs a hand over the back of his neck; it glistens with sweat.