Stuck in a waiting room
1981
He paced. He smoked. He attempted to read and gave it up as useless; there was no pleasure to be had from reading the same sentence over and over, and when the other people in the waiting room had begun to stare, he'd realized that a low, frustrated growl had erupted from his throat. The magazine returned to its spot on a messy table, he'd gone outside for fresh air
The antiseptic smell of the hospital frightened him in a strange, fundamental way. He was so used to scenting all of the things that made up everyday life that the cold sterility of the hospital was like a wall in front of him. The nurses and doctors smelled of antibacterial soap and latex, the patients smelled of sickness and pain, and every last person in the waiting room stunk of fear and desperation.
He hated it.
It didn't smell much better outside, exhaust and sweat and more fear. Willem shook his head to clear it out and only succeeded in rattling his brain around. It was too much. He shouldn't have come.
He hadn't come for any of the rest of them, but Dani had begged him over the phone and he hadn't been able to refuse. Her father had died not even two years ago and the father of her baby had skipped town five months ago. Dani had forbidden him to go after the man at the time, but Willem was certain that she would change her mind once reality settled in; he had already sent out cautious feelers, probing for information as to the deadbeat's whereabouts.
So he had come to be with her because she didn't have anyone else and still he found himself relegated to the waiting room. She was nearly a week overdue, which wasn't all that unusual, but a week made a big difference when you dealt with the moon the way he did; it was close enough now that he didn't trust himself in a room full of noise and movement, bright lights and the unadulterated smell of birth.
He wandered back inside and checked the clock on the wall. A quick mental calculation told him he'd been here for nearly fifteen hours. He didn't get tired the way other people did, but restlessness plagued him. He rose again, made another circuit of the waiting room. The nurse at the desk eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.
He drank a soda (it was too sweet) and had a bag of chips (they tasted like cardboard dusted with fake cheese). That passed another ten minutes. He took out his journal and scribbled briefly in it, then tucked it away again. The entry consisted of three sentences: I hate hospitals. Dani had better hurry up. I want out of here.
Seventeen hours and twenty five minutes after he'd arrived at the hospital, a nurse stepped into the waiting room and spoke his name. The way he leaped from his seat must have been familiar to her, because she smiled tiredly and gestured for him to follow.
"How is she?" he demanded.
"She's fine," the nurse answered. "And so is the baby."
She ushered him into Dani's room and he smiled stupidly at her. She was propped up in the bed, disheveled and exhausted, but glowing with pride at what she'd just done. There was a pink-swaddled bundle in her arms.
"Hi," he murmured.
"Hey, Pop," she answered. "It's a girl."
"I see that." He reached out and stroked the baby's fat cheek, astonished by how soft her skin was. "She's chubby."
"That means she'll be tall," Dani said, settling back against her pillows.
"Have you named her yet?"
"Yeah." Dani looked uncertain for a moment, then smiled up at him shyly. "I thought she should have a family name, so I'm calling her Eden."
A smile blossomed on Willem's face, unimpeded by the tears that pricked his eyes. Eden. That was what Sofy had named their daughter all those years ago. Cause when I look at her, all I see is perfection. She's my own little Eden. And now here was another one, just as precious as the first.
"It's a good name," he managed, taking Dani's hand in his own. "I'm sure she'll live up to it."
He paced. He smoked. He attempted to read and gave it up as useless; there was no pleasure to be had from reading the same sentence over and over, and when the other people in the waiting room had begun to stare, he'd realized that a low, frustrated growl had erupted from his throat. The magazine returned to its spot on a messy table, he'd gone outside for fresh air
The antiseptic smell of the hospital frightened him in a strange, fundamental way. He was so used to scenting all of the things that made up everyday life that the cold sterility of the hospital was like a wall in front of him. The nurses and doctors smelled of antibacterial soap and latex, the patients smelled of sickness and pain, and every last person in the waiting room stunk of fear and desperation.
He hated it.
It didn't smell much better outside, exhaust and sweat and more fear. Willem shook his head to clear it out and only succeeded in rattling his brain around. It was too much. He shouldn't have come.
He hadn't come for any of the rest of them, but Dani had begged him over the phone and he hadn't been able to refuse. Her father had died not even two years ago and the father of her baby had skipped town five months ago. Dani had forbidden him to go after the man at the time, but Willem was certain that she would change her mind once reality settled in; he had already sent out cautious feelers, probing for information as to the deadbeat's whereabouts.
So he had come to be with her because she didn't have anyone else and still he found himself relegated to the waiting room. She was nearly a week overdue, which wasn't all that unusual, but a week made a big difference when you dealt with the moon the way he did; it was close enough now that he didn't trust himself in a room full of noise and movement, bright lights and the unadulterated smell of birth.
He wandered back inside and checked the clock on the wall. A quick mental calculation told him he'd been here for nearly fifteen hours. He didn't get tired the way other people did, but restlessness plagued him. He rose again, made another circuit of the waiting room. The nurse at the desk eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.
He drank a soda (it was too sweet) and had a bag of chips (they tasted like cardboard dusted with fake cheese). That passed another ten minutes. He took out his journal and scribbled briefly in it, then tucked it away again. The entry consisted of three sentences: I hate hospitals. Dani had better hurry up. I want out of here.
Seventeen hours and twenty five minutes after he'd arrived at the hospital, a nurse stepped into the waiting room and spoke his name. The way he leaped from his seat must have been familiar to her, because she smiled tiredly and gestured for him to follow.
"How is she?" he demanded.
"She's fine," the nurse answered. "And so is the baby."
She ushered him into Dani's room and he smiled stupidly at her. She was propped up in the bed, disheveled and exhausted, but glowing with pride at what she'd just done. There was a pink-swaddled bundle in her arms.
"Hi," he murmured.
"Hey, Pop," she answered. "It's a girl."
"I see that." He reached out and stroked the baby's fat cheek, astonished by how soft her skin was. "She's chubby."
"That means she'll be tall," Dani said, settling back against her pillows.
"Have you named her yet?"
"Yeah." Dani looked uncertain for a moment, then smiled up at him shyly. "I thought she should have a family name, so I'm calling her Eden."
A smile blossomed on Willem's face, unimpeded by the tears that pricked his eyes. Eden. That was what Sofy had named their daughter all those years ago. Cause when I look at her, all I see is perfection. She's my own little Eden. And now here was another one, just as precious as the first.
"It's a good name," he managed, taking Dani's hand in his own. "I'm sure she'll live up to it."