I wrote this in the 9th grade, I forgot about this night because of memory suppression, then a year later I wrote this to piece together the memory.
I'm sitting in the waiting room.
"How are you?" They keep asking.
"I'm fine" I keep hearing myself say.
Easter has always been a sad time for me, since the time I have been old enough to know what is going on, I've been the only child who still wants to dye eggs, or participate in childish holiday activities. This year Easter was exponentially worse. It was the same Easter night that I awoke to the only sound worse than an infant crying, a mother crying. I wasn't old enough to drive yet, but being the youngest of five, three of whom are brothers, I knew enough.
There is some sort of dam that humans have, which can hold back liquid hysteria until it's somebody else's problem. It wasn't until I was sitting quietly by myself in the emergency waiting room that the dam breaks and I am flooded with the images.
Whites.
Blues.
All over the floor,
all over my mother's hands.
She's shaking.
She is shaking so hard.
All over.
Blue lips.
Whites, everywhere.
Blue veins.
White spots dot the floor I stand on.
They laugh at me because they know I am helpless.
Blue eyes, they stare vacantly at nothing.
White monsters laughing at me from the linoleum.
I shouldn't be in shock, I knew this was coming, but my brain refuses to allow all the blue and white to process. It's not true. It's not. This isn't happening. But that's not true either.
Everything is fine now. Or at least that's what they tell me. But I still cannot walk into my kitchen at times for fear the ground will be stained white. Again and again, I am brought back to the somber smell of that waiting room, the blue carpet, the blue and white textured walls. They surround me like I am a fugitive.
Sorry for the somewhat depressing post... I don't do well when thinking about the past, my parents misplaced my childhood, it's up to me to begin the future.
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