Waiting Room

She took me in during the morning news--political pundits exchanging crossfire of jabs intermingled with plesantries. I settled in a corner on one of the couches. At nine Regis and Kelly hosted David Boreanaz. Seeing him was worthy of a retreat from my corner. Neither Martha Stewart's consommé lesson, nor the grating prattle of Barbara Walters and Whoppi Goldberg could draw me from my retreat like Agent Seeley Booth did.

Local news at noon and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? made surprisingly good background for reading, but by the end I welcomed a personal update from the doctor. We had anticipated leaving after the consommé lesson. The doctor was kind enough to show me through the twisted corridors to the coffee shop and wait while I purchased water and a bagel. Had I attempted such an adventure on my own, I may still be wandering those corridors.

Earlier in the morning, such wanderers had passed thorugh the waiting room with sheets of paper guiding, "Go to room 2516 E. Look for the desk in the corner. Find the phone, pick it up, and wait to be admitted." But the phone in 2516 E didn't reach anyone. We, ourselves, had scavenged for orange detour arrows and succeeded in finding a buzzer, which unlocked a door, leading us to human beings who promptly whisked us in opposite directions. The only thing to do was stay there and wait for the next clue for how to exit.

The bagel revived me enough to survive All My Children without completely losing my intelligence. Despite a new-found appreciation for the lack of drugs, blackmail, murder, and sex in my life; One Life to Live was too much to bear. I roamed the halls in search of cell phone service.

The morning had provided people watching, but when the volunteer receptionist threatened to leave me solitary with soap opera stars, necessity found me standing on a chair searching for the power button on the mounted flat screen. Aside from the occasional page on the PA system, it was quiet. Sitting there had made me so tired I thought of napping but each sound of doors and every footstep in the hall made me wonder.

My mind drifted back to sitting on a bench in front of the school, craning my neck to search for my mom's Suburban. I knew she was coming. I knew she was coming today. I knew she was probably even coming within the hour, but I did not know when. Certainty was never so uncertain as on that bench or on that couch, in the corner.