The Waiting Room Object Show Novels & Stories

Irina sat down. Sasha sat beside her. The family waiting room on the third floor was small and beige and had chairs that were marginally better than the waiting room downstairs and a window that looked out at a parking structure which was not a view designed to comfort anyone but was what it was. They sat in it. Two chairs facing the door. The clock on the wall moved in the specific way clocks moved in waiting rooms — each minute taking considerably longer than sixty seconds to complete, as though time had been informed of the situation and had decided that urgency was not its problem.

The driver dropped me at the entrance and I stood there for a moment looking at the glass doors before I walked in. The waiting room was full of pregnant women, some with toddlers climbing on their laps, others alone like me staring at the wall or scrolling through their phones. The receptionist behind the glass window looked up at me. "Name?" "Aurora Vale." I replied, leaning until the little space left on the counter. She typed something into her computer. "Insurance card?" I pulled back and opened my bag. Took it and handed it over. She looked at it, typed some more, then pointed to the chairs. "Have a seat. Someone will call you."

At school, I had a nickname. They called me "Mister Wait-Your-Turn." I waited for the sneakers my brother had grown tired of, the backpack my sister thought was ugly, and the phones my parents had already cracked the screens of. Even when it came to taking a shower, I had to wait until everyone else was done. A week ago, Mom had promised me, "On the day of your college entrance exam, you won't have to wait your turn for the shower." So when I finally stumbled into the bathroom, drenched in sweat and smelling awful, I thought my turn had finally come. I was halfway through working up a lather when someone started pounding on the door. "Come out. Let your brother go in." My eyes stung,

He held hers back in the way he held things that mattered, with the full settled weight of him, not performing the holding, just holding. The waiting room had four other people in it and a television mounted in the corner playing something with the sound off. The chairs were the standard chairs, plastic and institutional, the same chairs that appeared in waiting rooms all over the country as though there had been a single procurement decision made about waiting rooms somewhere in the 1980s and no one had revisited it since. She had a specific

"Actually... Lina's been able to stand for a long time." My voice was quiet, but the line went dead silent. The second I said it, I hung up. I pressed the power button. The screen went black, reflecting the last bit of relief in my eyes. I hadn't just found out. Six months ago, I'd brought fresh rice pudding to the hospital for Lina. Through the window in her room door, I saw her bracing herself against the wall and slowly getting to her feet.

Marco's POV I sat in the waiting room with my phone in my hand and looked at it for five minutes. I know it was five minutes because I was aware of the time in the specific way you are aware of it when you are deciding something and each passing minute is its own small argument for or against the decision. The waiting room was the standard hospital variety, functional chairs and overhead lighting and a television mounted in the corner that was playing something with the sound off. Two other people were there, a man in his sixties reading something on a tablet, a young woman with her legs pulled up on the chair who had been there when I arrived and had not moved since.

The chair was cold and slick under Richy’s bare thighs. He’d changed into the paper gown in the little room. The gown was tied in the front, but the back consists of two flaps that don’t meet, leaving him exposed from the waist down. He kept his hands pressed flat on his knees to stop them from shaking. The air smelled of antiseptic and something else, something sterile and metallic that coated the back of his throat. Every other man in the waiting room stared at the floor or at their phones, their faces blank as each got lost in their thoughts, in a world that had no concern for those around them. Richy’s knee bounced against the polished tiles, and he bit his lower lip.

With one last reassuring smile at Liam, I stepped out of the room with Marcus, the door clicking shut softly behind us. The waiting area was just a small space separated by a one-way mirror and a speaker system so Ms. Ramos could communicate with us if needed. We sat down, and for the first few minutes, there was silence from the other side. I leaned forward slightly, my eyes fixed on the mirror. It was strange—being able to see them but not be seen. Liam stood near the door, looking like he wanted nothing more than to run back out. Kael stood a few feet away, looking unsure of what to do, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed to be waiting for something, but he didn’t move closer.

Izzy sat in the waiting room of Chicago Memorial Hospital, her knee bouncing anxiously as she gripped her phone in her lap. The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air, and the low hum of medical equipment buzzed faintly in the background. The room was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of feet or murmured conversation, but inside her head, it was chaos.

The receptionist suggested. "I don't have his contact,but can I wait for him at the waiting room?"Mrs Seth asked. "If you want to wait,then you are free ma'am.i would call someone to take you to our waiting room."The receptionist answered. "Okay,"Mrs Seth said and just then the person who she was waiting for arrived. "Ohh.here he is ma'am"The receptionist Announced. "Who?"Mrs Seth asked. "The guy at Room 206"The receptionist answered and Mrs Seth turned back and saw him.