They gave me my own waiting room. Hid me in the pediatric wing, far away from the other families. It's much quieter at this end of the hospital. Less hectic here. Less parents, less press. Spent the last hour simply listening to the hum of fluorescents over my head.
Went over to the window on a whim once, lured in by the camera flashes. The parking lot's all gone now. It's suddenly engulfed in a forest of transmission antennas, budding up from the roofs of these news vans. The network call letters look like initials of young couples carved into the bark of each tree. KBCW-TV plus WGBO-4. WDBJ-7 hearts WSLS-10 4-eva…
When Mitchell was much younger, he and handful of kids from the neighborhood all went out into the woods behind our houses to play a game of hide-and-seek. When it was Mitchell's turn to be it, he leaned his head against his own tree just as everyone else had before him. Closed his eyes and counted to a hundred. By the time he turned back around, he found himself facing the woods all alone. Ready or not, here I come – echoing through the trees. But what Mitchell didn't realize – and why would he, really – was that everybody else had already run home by then. Didn't stop him from playing, though. Peeking behind each tree. Searching for his friends.
An hour went by before I was on the phone with the neighbors, asking if they knew where Mitchell was. But none of their kids would say, shrugging their shoulders. When there weren't any parents left to call, I took to the woods myself. Flashlight in hand. Finally found him leaning against a tree, huddled into himself. Shivering. Poor thing caught pneumonia that night. Had to take him to the hospital, waiting in this same room.
Want to tell me what happened?
No.
We can keep it between you and me, if you'd like. Promise I won't tell.
I don't want to talk about it.
There are never any magazines here. Nothing but coloring books flung across the floor. Crayons scattered all around, like shell casings discharged from a rifle. Every color of the rainbow falling to the floor, round after round after round…
Not that I feel like reading right now. Simply had that reflex to flip through something. Get my mind off things. Picked up a coloring book without even realizing what it was at first, skimming the pictures just to pass the time. Glancing at all the empty animals, empty cartoon characters. Page after page. Their blank bodies filled in with scribbles, crayon spread everywhere. No consideration for coloring in the lines, whatsoever. You'd think they'd all been shot, every animal hemorrhaging Crayola across the page. Their splatter pattern in Razzle Dazzle Rose or Tickle Me Pink.
The amount of times I've sat here over the years, waiting amongst all the other mothers – I've lost count by now. They blend together after a while. All the check-ups. The mumps. Flu shots. Chicken pox. Not to mention ear infections. A tonsillectomy. A sprained wrist. The list just goes on and on...
It's a wonder my son even reached high school.
How any of our children made it this far.
Not that the news is saying anything. Not until the police notify the next of kin. The reporters have been recycling the same information for hours now, the live coverage sounding stale already.
No names yet. Just numbers.
Last time I had to wait this long, it was because Mitchell had swallowed something he shouldn't have. Marbles. Started complaining about his tummy aching at the dinner table, refusing to finish his macaroni – so the very next day, I brought him in for an X-ray. And sure enough, there they were – a constellation of bright white contrasting against that ghastly black of his stomach. The negative image of a half dozen glass pellets settled into his belly. A grape cluster tethered together in pale veins.
Benjamin Pendleton had put him up to it. Said he'd be his best friend if he swallowed the whole set, all ten marbles.