Atonement

A hospital waiting room is a funny thing.
In my case when I'm in one
it's usually to wait for a certain nurse
to take a break or finish her shift.
For most of the others there
the faux leather chairs aren't so comfortable
because someone they love
is sick or dying. You can see the heaviness
in their faces like an eight-hour drunk.
It's for this reason that I try to stay focused
on my book and avoid eye contact at all costs
though sometimes I can't resist watching and listening.

The last time I lost concentration on the book I'd brought
to pass the time I looked up and noticed a Jewish family
standing in front of the elevator. The father dressed casually
in a baseball cap with a three-day beard growing, the strawberry
blonde mother in a long, puffy coat. I wouldn't have guessed their
religion had it not been for their pre-teen son who seemed
out of place in his yarmulke, his temples sprouting truncated
versions of what would grow to be the telltale curls. His sweatpants
had thick stripes down each side, his bubble jacket looked like
it belonged back in the mid-Nineties, and the portable video game
he was playing commanded his complete attention-- so much so
in fact, that when the elevator doors opened his mother had to
remind him to follow them into it. The tone in the parents' voices
suggested that someone was dying; dad's hair was becoming more
salt than pepper in anticipation, mom's eyes sank deeper into her
sockets, and the boy, whether he knew it or not, was submersing
himself in the game so effectively that Death couldn't phase him.
When the steel doors closed behind the trio I slouched further into my
seat wondering if any of them acknowledged that their little messiah
was dressed and groomed to make up for the sins of their slacking.
Perhaps it was a charade to please the dying elder upstairs.
I wasn't sure and wouldn't waste any more time thinking about it.

In the restroom minutes later I observed that my fly
was already down and wondered how long it'd been that way--
how many bustling New Yorkers on the streets of Manhattan
had silently witnessed my blunder. That kid, had I been closer
was the only one who would've been honest enough to tell me.
Quite the fool, quite the judge, quite the corrected hypothesis.


Currently reading:
"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury