Waiting Game

The Beginning to the End

Rosalie

Flickering ceiling lights. White walls. Long hallway. Where am I?

I started walking down the hall, passing various identical doors. I tried listening for a sound to let me know that I wasn't alone.. another person, a pet, even music. I braced for the killer to jump out with a chainsaw or something, but heard nothing. All I saw was charcoal leather chairs against the walls and some sheets covering what resembled equipment, I'm guessing.

I heard something so I quickened my pace. As I neared the end, the once plain white doors became filled with drawings done with color pencils and crayons, the handy work of little kids. I recognized a few and connected them to the children I drew with over summer.. that means this is the hospital that I've grown up to know and love.

But why am I here?

Once I reached the room at the end of the hallway, I saw another drawing. It was of a boy and a girl.. the boy was sitting on what resembled a wheelchair and the girl was behind him, pushing him through flowers. I know this picture.

Looking through the small window of the door, I saw a young boy, a mother, and a doctor. I couldn't see the mother's face since her back was to me, but the boy looked vaguely familiar.. do I know him?

The mother was sobbing hysterically as the doctor knelt down next to her and continued to speak, showing her the clipboard in attempt to prove something. But she wouldn't have it, so the doctor gave up and just began to lead her out of the room.

I moved away from the door and let them exit, the mother was too encompassed in grief, walking out with her head down and hands clenched tight to her side. Only the doctor saw me and gave me a sympathetic look before doing a double-take to the patient on the bed. He went pale and hurried down the way to catch up with the mother, I took this chance to go inside.

As I got closer, I recognized who was lying before me. It was hard to miss.. I stopped breathing.. no no no.

I stared at the clipboard at the foot of his bed, looking over at a doctor's handwriting.

Name: Leo Gonzales

Age: 7

Birthdate: October 8th, 2006

Doctor's Notes: Stopped responding to treatment, must keep him under close watch. Surgery had complications.

He was one of the many children that I visited and helped out daily while I volunteered in the children's ward, but he was the one that I got closest to within the days I spent here. Leo has been fighting cancer since he was a baby, going in and out of treatment, like chemo and he was too weak to move. He has been one of the worst cases in this hospital since he arrived, he was so unstable and his parents have been hysterical and paranoid ever since.

I raked my eyes over all the wires attached to him and his ghostly, lifeless face. The only calming thing was his steady heart beat and rising and falling chest. I sat next to his bed. Cautiously, I reached over and took his hand in mine, afraid that if I made one wrong move then he'd break in a blink of an eye.

How could this happen in such a short time? Why do these things happen to kids who've done nothing to deserve it?

The last time I visited him, about a week ago, he was fine. He had less wires and he didn't need a mask over his mouth to breathe, only one wire that had two connecting tubes that went into his nostrils. He was cracking jokes and drawing with me, up to do anything and go anywhere — within hospital limits, of course. Since he wasn't strong enough to walk on his own, I would place him in his wheel chair decorated with Nascar and Pokemon stickers, then we'd go through deserted hallways. Sometimes I'd push him a little faster to make it seem like we're racing through time, it always put the biggest smile on his face.