Here is a short story I am currently working on. Consider this a somewhat polished rough draft. The story revolves around Marc, a man that has an outburst in a hospital waiting room.
Thank you for reading my work!
Waiting by Alina Happy Hansen
Marc looked solemn as he flicked through the magazines in the parlor. The nurse at the reception desk glanced over in his direction every once in awhile, her hand inches away from the phone just in case. The chairs had been put back where they belonged, papers and garbage thrown away and the entire room was now restored to its previous neatness before Marc’s outburst. A vein on his forehead was still prominently pulsing but his face was no longer flushed. He appeared to be completely calm now.
A few people trickled into the office and in a matter of minutes there was a break in the tension felt in the room between the nurse receptionist and Marc. But even as the minutes sped by he continued to revisit and shuffle through the same five magazines within his reach. The pictures meant nothing, the words a blur, Marc only went through the motions to divert attention from himself and his own irritation.
His wife was somewhere in the labyrinth of halls, somewhere far away and possibly in pain. They had grown worried about their unborn child a few days before and finally scheduled an appointment to see their doctor. But it had now been over two and half hours since they first arrived and his wife had disappeared behind a shut door. She wanted to be alone, wanted to talk the doctor privately, not in front of Marc.
Marc tried thinking about work, about the home, about all the errands he had to do this weekend as he was grinding his teeth and trying to keep his eyes away from the reception desk. His outbursts were embarrassing and rarely occurred but the mounting worry that he had felt during the first hour finally exploded when the nurse had told him that the doctor was not done evaluating his wife. His temper, his frustration, and feeling of lack of control is what drove him to throw a few things around and yell like an overgrown child.
Did she tell them? Did his wife tell the doctor about the incident that happened two weeks ago? Did she tell her parents? Her friends? The housemaid? Marc’s frustration was mounting yet again and he felt like he was going to burst. The image of his wife slipping in the bathroom, the sound of thud her body made on the tiled floor. His constant worry about his wife and child had led him to the point where he could barely sleep or eat because the loss and pain that had plagued him and his wife for the last five years was overwhelming and never-ending.
This was not the first time they had had to come to the doctor, this was not the first pregnancy but again it was possibly their first child. Marc had found himself stressed between his work and his wife where his constant worry had pushed him over the edge. Too many times had his heart suffered, to be overjoyed and elated with a pregnancy then torn up with his wife’s heartbreaking sobs and another loss. It was too much for Marc to be in that office again waiting for the news he was going to receive.
A quiet voice called to him, he looked up, the nurse was approaching him her hand now on his shoulder. They were finally done with the evaluation, the doctor was ready to talk to him, his wife was just fine. Marc’s heart jumped into his chest and he quickly followed the nurse to one of the rooms down the maze-like hallways. In one of the abrasively white and fluorescently lit rooms, his wife sat there in a chair her face no longer pale or stained with tears. It was beaming and warm. Marc felt instant relief and wrapped his arms around her. The doctor rummaging through paperwork looked up and smiled. Everything was going to be ok this time.
Thank you for reading my work! I hope you will return in the future!
-Alina
