Waiting in a Room of Weeds

By Tim Sabados

It's a typical night in the emergency department. Patients are streaming in and the waiting room is packed. People are irritated. Staff has been pushed to their limits. To top it off, there's some kind of commotion in the corner that involves both hospital security and the police. And Brayan, a seasoned nurse, is forced to deal with it all.

On this particular night he has had more than his fair share of stress. So much so that it has given him a pounding headache and a stabbing pain in his gut. There was the confrontation with a patient's angered boyfriend. Then the people who were involved in what appears to be a car crash. The sudden flashbacks involving his ex-fiancée. And the commotion in the corner that has the detectives interviewing his co-workers.

Amidst all the chaos, something else is happening that Brayan can't quite put his finger on. He doesn't realize it, but the timer is ticking and he needs to somehow gain control of it before his very existence is put in jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Sabados
• Release date: Aug 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393818991

Book preview

Men freely believe that which they wish to be true.

—Julius Caesar

1

Noise. It drilled through the canals that lead into Brayan’s inner ears. A storm wave that pounded the sea wall of his ear drums. The copier’s guts whirled. Next to it, the I.D stickers spun out of the tiny white machine as if wheeled by a mouse jacked up on crack. A pager beeped. Telephones rang. Keyboards clacked. Waterlogged soles squeaked across Linoleum. There was some kind of commotion near the hallway that led to the elevators. A couple of cops were there. Hospital security too. Somewhere in the back of the waiting room an infant wailed. It would have been piercing if it were closer. Thank god it wasn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered though. All of this noise was somehow dampened. Tucked beneath a blanket of chatter.

It was the persistent chatter of dozens upon dozens of people. There were too many to count. They were everywhere, though. People from all walks of life. They could be rich or poor. Male or female. Black, white, or green for that matter. The empty dialogue is always the same. The questions the same. The irritation it creates the same. Day in and day out. Each one insisting that they needed to be treated as if they were the only one that truly mattered. As if the blood of royalty ran through their veins. Each one believing without a doubt they have something unique to say or ask that had never been said or asked before.

It was only a matter of time before Brayan’s sanity would be tattered by the pestilence of their expectations. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes was all it took. Usually by the second or third person he had to triage. Is it always this busy? Why do I have to wait? My doctor said I would get right in. How much longer? Why does that person get to go ahead of me? I’m in a lot of pain; can’t you give me something right now? That nurse didn’t know what they were talking about. I haven’t eaten since nine this morning; what do you have for me?

It doesn’t matter who they are. The virus of self-importance was like a plague. It doesn’t discriminate. Me, me, me. What about me? They don’t say it, but it flows from their eyes like a raging river cresting its banks. It spills from their throats like the gossiping breath of a high school cheerleader. It’s saturated by the demanding moistness that coats their mouths, amplified by the expectations of their moving lips, then it burdens the air with its overbearing heaviness.

Despite the crowd’s burgeoning chatter and pressurized annoyance, the steel-beamed walls don’t buckle. The off-white plaster fails to crack. The tiled ceiling doesn’t crumble. The faux wooden floor becomes harder. There’s no give. No springiness. It pushed against the soles of Brayan’s running shoes. The dull ache oozed into his heels, crept up the bones of his legs and imbedded itself into the small of his back. A javelin of a pain pierced his gut. Was it the same pain that started in his back? Brayan couldn’t tell where it began or where it ended. He rubbed his stomach trying to soothe it away. Then there was the headache that jackhammered the back of his head. Normally his headaches didn’t come from there. Then again, anything was possible in this environment.

Brayan silently exhaled and hoped his breath would somehow blow everyone out of the room. Somehow ease the stress in his head. Maybe even relieve the vise-like tension that compressed his being. Bolted through his gut. Burned in his lower back.

It didn’t work. Everything was still there. The crowd. That screaming kid. The pager. Telephones. Clacking of computer keys. The security guard’s heavy footsteps. The creak of a wheelchair. The copier. The I.D. maker. And that commotion by the hallway. What the hell was going on over there? He shook the question away. The last drops of his determination to deal with this shit had been squeezed out of him. Ever since he had to deal with that irate asshole. That drunken guy who had been demanding to go back and see his girlfriend. Something about how his rights were being violated. That his lawyer was on standby.

A thick cloud had drifted through Brayan’s head. The memory of what was said blurred. That was just fine with him. It was another irritation that caused undue stress. Better to put it behind him than let it tear his sensibility to shreds.

A woman stood in front of the check-in desk. Her gaze uneasily darted around the room. Wearily bobbed over the crowd. Salt-and-pepper hair was matted to her scalp. A grime-stained red jacket draped her drooping shoulders. She looked directly at Brayan. Can you believe my husband wouldn’t come with me? A scoff. Had to get my daughter to bring me here.

Brayan tipped his chin to make it appear he was somewhat interested in what she had to say. There had to be a reason why he didn’t come. He cleared his throat. You can come this way, ma’am. He pointed toward the nearest triage bay. I’ll need you to take off your jacket so I can get your blood pressure.

She crossed her arms and shivered. Can I keep it on? It’s cold in here.

How else can I get…? The woman’s lips were tinged blue. Skin a cool shade of pale. Right eye red as a radish, its surface layered in a sheen of liquid. A tear crested the edge and trickled over the slope of her cheek.

You look chilled, Brayan commented. Is it that cold outside?

The woman simply nodded her answer.

Brayan gestured with his hand. Just keep it on for the time being.

The woman plopped into the ochre-colored plastic chair. Her disheveled hair spilled across her face as if to further emphasize her frustration. Can’t believe he stayed home. She flipped her bangs. If he drove, I bet I would never have had to walk.

You walked here? Brayan asked. I thought your daughter drove you?"

She did, the woman confirmed. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. Hit a patch of ice. Held her hand over her right eye. This damn thing is killing me.

The fog of confusion filled Brayan’s head. So you slipped and fell?

Disgust crinkled the woman’s brows. No. I told you, she was driving. A sharp exhale. Her hand sliced the air. She’s so stupid. If she was paying attention like she was supposed to this entire thing would never have happened.

Brayan knew better than to ask, but the words slipped past his lips. Was she talking on her cell?

How the hell should I know, the woman sharply said. I was reeling in too much pain to pay attention.

Brayan quietly grumbled to relieve his annoyance. Did you hurt your eye while you were in the car?

God no, the woman said. She leaned forward and folded her arms against her stomach. I’ve got this problem with my sinuses. A brief pause. Years of sinus infections and sinusitis and now I’m told they’re getting smaller. Her hands clasped together. Can you believe it…my sinuses are closing in on themselves.

I’ve never heard of such a thing, Brayan said. He rubbed his chin. The cloud in his head thickened like clumped oatmeal. If you’re having problems with your sinuses, then how’d your eye get…?

The woman