The Waiting Room: Part V

Heartbeat nearly rips hers right out of her chest and she begins to tremble. “Now?” she all but whispers, voice dissolving into her shock and fear that this cannot be real.

He raises a scarred hand and gently takes her face in it.  His eyes are sad and soft and hopeful. “Soon.”

Gaze follows gaze as door to the room opens slowly and press of noise from the waiting room snakes in, curling familiar coils around her wild heart. He holds her gaze and says firmly, “Very soon.”

The shuffling of papers and the calling of names. Fingers clench around token, cool weight assuring her it will not dissolve in her hands like all the others. The door is closed behind her, shutting out the half of her heart and the blood-bought life she leaves there with him. Because he promises he will take care of it. He promises her all the things she asked for. Yes, she will wait, but this token, her chance not gambled but hard-earned, is hers. Always hers.

Now she is in the line, shuffling along with the others, tokens, passes, and stamps all held close. All clinging to promises. The one a little ahead of her catches her eye and smiles. He has been waiting a long time too, she recognizes him from the waiting room, the room they will soon be leaving. No white fences, no letters in two languages to send home. Just flights of adventure. Maybe she will find in him a fellow seeker, lusting for adventure more than proof of existence.

Line moves towards the exit slowly, hands stamped and leave granted. Pats on the back and good luck wishes from the ones at the door send off the leavers. Her heart is racing as she draws closer. This is not her adventure, the sum of all her tears, but she is moving. She is getting there. She is strong. She is ready.

The one ahead of her clenches his pass, not a golden ticket but a stopover on the way to the adventure, and shakes their hands. It, like this waiting room, is part of the trip. Her next stop, too. One glance back, a nod and smile in her direction, and he disappears through the doorway.

Then it is her turn.

Hesitant, trembling fingers almost don’t let go. Then the token falls into outstretched hands and a ticket is hers. The murmur of the waiting room behind her presses against her heart and she looks back. Eager, expectant, and dejected faces all catch her gaze. Waiting, watching her go. Hopeful.

The smallest of smiles tips her lips. A reassurance because she, too, has sat in those hard plastic seats and swallowed disappointment as others left not an hour ago. They must be strong enough to trust the wait. Just as she is.

Heart racing and mind reeling, she steps out the door into the pouring rain.

The Waiting Room: Part III

The weight of her world, heavy with desperate hopes and desires to prove to herself what she is capable of, packed into that one, simple, two-letter word. In one utterance, it has become a foul, four-letter word that violates everything within her. Her axis has shifted and she sits on the chair in this little room. It is, if possible, more uncomfortable than the ones outside. Probably ones who come in here don’t stay long enough to notice. But she does, oh how she does.

Her pocket jangles with the last few pennies she has and she thinks about all the foolishly wasted ones she threw into this chance, tumbling on the wisp of a promise, as empty as her heart which, moments ago, had been brimming with wonderful, frightening possibilities. The echoes and rattles in it now seemed to find all the corners of this little room and reverberate back to her, head hung in hands, eyes stinging with hot tears she tries to hold back.

A wisp of cloth and a gentle presence, one she longs for but edges away from as he sits and she silently weeps her dreams into her trembling hands. He lets her cry for a while and she is surprised, expecting him to usher her out to make room for the next one, the one who will take chances she is again denied, who must surely be better equipped and smarter than she.

“Why are you so sad?” he softly probes at last and she thinks what an utterly foolish question he asks. He of anyone must know how long she has been waiting. Sometimes, she can remember nothing else.

“Don’t you already know?” she can’t help but snap, the tears tracing hot, glistening paths down her cheeks.

“Tell me,” he said, his patience more maddening than his denial. Who would play odds on this ever? She bemoans her fate silently but obliges, “I put everything into this, on this chance, onto you. They said you could send me, give me the things and the opportunities to go places.” She draws a shaky voice, scraped over the shreds of her last hopes, “I’m so tired of waiting. It’s all I’ve ever done. Sat out there in that damn room, waiting. Watching everyone else come here and then leave. I waved more people off who get to go where I want to and don’t. I don’t understand.” She thought about them, smiling as they left, asking her questions and making promises knowing she would never go with them. “Why can’t I go?” she demands, her voice breaking into as many pieces as her heart had minutes before, “Why do you always make me wait?”