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The waiting room looked like the sort of place interior design had not just forgotten, but left out entirely. The floor's dirty sea-foam and cream checkerboard of vinyl tiles brought back memories of that spring break she had spent getting violently ill on the cruise ship, and it turned her stomach so badly that she winced and took a long, slow sip of her lukewarm coffee. Why did everything always have to be white and lit with florescent? It showed the grit and the age like a gallery display, and the mingling stench of mildewing sheet rock and antiseptics was doing the place no favors.
She shifted in the cracked vinyl cushion of the chair, the soft wool of her trousers catching and snapping on the curling tears and the exposed and disgusting foam beneath. She tried not to think of the people who may have sat there before her, depositing whatever filth they carried on themselves into that same foam stuffing, tucking it away safely where no amount of Lysol could ever find it. Despite her efforts, she wretched at the thought, and fearing the chair now she got up to pace.
How long was this going to take, anyways? She didn't like being in this part of town, and besides, she had another appointment to keep in Birmingham this afternoon; a more important, scheduled appointment to keep. She couldn't come running downtown every time her little sister had another urge to fix the entire family's attention onto herself. At twenty years old, Angelique had been in her third year of college at Michigan State, majoring in journalism. Her little sister, afforded the same privileges since birth that she had, was now working as a waitress in some dive in downtown Detroit and doing God only knows what in her off-time. She could only imagine that it was jealousy and an inability to grow up and deal with her own life that made her call Angelique into each and every melodrama, a passive-aggressive attempt at making her hated older sister feel the same pain and helplessness as she was feeling, no doubt. Well, this was the last time Angelique would humor her, end of story.
Somewhere behind her a door swung open.
"Angelique Bordeaux?"
"I'm here, where is she?"
The nurse, a strikingly beautiful young black woman wearing pale green scrubs, motioned with her french-tipped fingers for Angelique to follow her.
"I have to go soon, can't we just skip the whole process and move this along? We've been through this before, far more than I'd like to admit actually."
"Miss Bordeaux, we're well aware of your sister's medical history, and I'm sorry to take up your time, but this is not crying wolf. Your sister has been assaulted, and her head sustained a lot of trauma. If you'd please come with me, I can explain things further, and you may be able to see her.
The floor had dropped out from beneath her, and it took her a moment to process all that the nurse had told her. She was stumbling for words, her eyes scanning the room wildly as if she had just woken up from a dream and found herself there. Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she simply nodded and followed the nurse through the doorway.
She shifted in the cracked vinyl cushion of the chair, the soft wool of her trousers catching and snapping on the curling tears and the exposed and disgusting foam beneath. She tried not to think of the people who may have sat there before her, depositing whatever filth they carried on themselves into that same foam stuffing, tucking it away safely where no amount of Lysol could ever find it. Despite her efforts, she wretched at the thought, and fearing the chair now she got up to pace.
How long was this going to take, anyways? She didn't like being in this part of town, and besides, she had another appointment to keep in Birmingham this afternoon; a more important, scheduled appointment to keep. She couldn't come running downtown every time her little sister had another urge to fix the entire family's attention onto herself. At twenty years old, Angelique had been in her third year of college at Michigan State, majoring in journalism. Her little sister, afforded the same privileges since birth that she had, was now working as a waitress in some dive in downtown Detroit and doing God only knows what in her off-time. She could only imagine that it was jealousy and an inability to grow up and deal with her own life that made her call Angelique into each and every melodrama, a passive-aggressive attempt at making her hated older sister feel the same pain and helplessness as she was feeling, no doubt. Well, this was the last time Angelique would humor her, end of story.
Somewhere behind her a door swung open.
"Angelique Bordeaux?"
"I'm here, where is she?"
The nurse, a strikingly beautiful young black woman wearing pale green scrubs, motioned with her french-tipped fingers for Angelique to follow her.
"I have to go soon, can't we just skip the whole process and move this along? We've been through this before, far more than I'd like to admit actually."
"Miss Bordeaux, we're well aware of your sister's medical history, and I'm sorry to take up your time, but this is not crying wolf. Your sister has been assaulted, and her head sustained a lot of trauma. If you'd please come with me, I can explain things further, and you may be able to see her.
The floor had dropped out from beneath her, and it took her a moment to process all that the nurse had told her. She was stumbling for words, her eyes scanning the room wildly as if she had just woken up from a dream and found herself there. Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she simply nodded and followed the nurse through the doorway.
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