"Nine-thirty appointment, here for a flu shot,"
I murmur, trying to sound even a bit
polite. "Take a seat," the overly-happy
desk clerk squeaks. And I do
just that.
The leather arm chair is strangely sticky
underneath my skin, dried out
from the hand sanitizer and a
sign that kindly asked me
to use before checking in.
It's a busy place today,
the room bustling mostly with
older folk. There's only one girl
who looks like she could be
within a decade
of my age. She's reading
a romance novel,
her face content.
And then I begin to
recognize
the hospital noise.
It lingers in the air, an orchestra of
small talk and page flipping and a plethora
of phone-lines ringing off
the hook.
"People in Alberta aren't nearly as nice
as us Maritimers," one middle-aged
lady spurts,
her lips curled up
like she'd just sucked
a sour lemon.
"I know, I know," her plump friend, whose glasses
swallow her face, nods
in agreement. On the other side
of the pale yellow room,
somewhat spruced
with PAP-test and vitamin posters,
a man who's
a tad amnesic
investigates his watch and shakes his head.
"Bin wait'n here way too long," he complains,
overtly
to a small, frail lady. I can't help but think she's
his wife,
but she doesn't ask him to
lower his voice
or use a nicer tone, so I'm not
positive.
And for some reason
unknown,
I start to think about
30 years down the road... when I'll
be grown like a tree.
Then I shovel on another
30 years, when I'll stand
in the shoes
of all these hospital people, still sure of
who they were.
It dawns on me then, like a sudden summer storm,
that far down the road
everyone else in this room
will be dead. Except, of course, for the girl
who's now deciphering
another cheesy romance novel.
But when the doctor calls
"Russ MacKay"
and the complaining man stands up, shaking, limping
sadly, I come
to another realization;
that even the romantic girl, or maybe even me,
could be gone then
too.
I hear my name, spoken in monotone,
and shake off these thoughts
induced by a epidemic setting. Time to get my flu shot;
I hear it's going to be
a nasty season.
Author notes
*True story.
*Sorry if anyone from Alberta is insulted. The opinions expressed by the lady do not reflect my own.
*Felt as though this could not be written without proper capitalization and punctuation, so I went a bit outside my normal style.
Shoot.
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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an excellent write; i like the free verse with different line lengths and punctuation; it was interesting to read. i really felt like i was there.
when you described the hospital noise, i felt like i was listening to it; the way you portray the other patients is cool to read because it was really like looking at these people with your perspective. your word choice is great; i especially like "epidemic setting" in the ending. great work
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Thank-you. Glad you enjoyed. This is a very different kind of write for me. Still working on your cigarette poem. I keep deleting and writing and deleting and so on and so forth.
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this sounded true
from the beginning
damn man
you should write a novel
this was reading so much as such
I swear
had me engulfed...
are you Canadian?
or
how do you have such knowledge
"this was an honestly entrancing
piece that left me wanting"
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Thank-you sheltered! Glad you liked it. I am thinking about writing a novel... or, trying at least, I would just have to come up with an idea first.
Yes, I am Canadian and I live in Nova Scotia. You are from New Brunswick, correct? That line was actually said when I was in the waiting room at the Dotor's.
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i love this. it's from a very observant, perceptive point of view, which makes it so much more interesting.
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you feel like you were there, and i know there are some people who have been, i kind of like this poem/tale, i could even here the music of the hospital or what not in my head. keep it flowing
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fun
a very fun read Ryno; the story telling was aptly achieved with small dose of metaphor that embellishes the scenery with additional ambience that perfects the setting and dinn. Observation for story telling can go immediately wrong if it reads like a cook book, but this it is NOT! The telling is a 'story telling' and I applaud you.
Darmok
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Glad to see you enjoyed the piece. Thank-you for your comment, Darmok. Much appreciated.
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love this.
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I like the ideas you explored, Ryan. People my age make these observations about older people, finally aware of our own mortality. So, I am impressed that you allowed this setting to help you reflect on these mature issues. I see your characters, and understand the dynamics.
I really like the "wife's" non-reaction to the man... great part... also nicely done was the sanitized hand part as well as the ending... All of these were vivid and poignant! Well done.
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Thank-you ten. Grammar-wise, is there anything that you can point out. I feel like I missed something when I re-read it.
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