I sit. I wait.

I sit. I wait.

A sterile beige room taunts me as a cocktail of bleach and dust swirl around the air. Fading framed photographs fill the tragic walls. Battered reupholstered chairs retain the shadowy concave imprints of the people who waited here before me.

Doctors swarm the echoey halls, carrying the wicked weight of people's lives on their clipboards. A dreadfully bright fluorescent light flickers and buzzes above me.

Here I am sentenced to wait for news that may change my life forever. Agony floods my body. A large lump in my throat fights each attempt to swallow. Tears flood my eyes and blur my vision. My heartbeat thumps in my ears while the soft sound of static rushes from the outdated tv in the corner. The most lively thing in the room is a thriving, brilliant bouquet that sits on the table beside me.

Suddenly, images of the constricting MRI tube flash through my mind. An ambush of moments I want to forget.

A scratchy voice from the other room wiggles through my headphones, "Keep still."

Stiff as a board, I wait. So much waiting.

The haunting images are underscored by a sinister symphony of bangs and thuds bombarding my eardrums. Headphones help, but not much.

The sharp giggle of a child snaps me back to reality. My eyes melt towards the family sitting across from me. A broad-shouldered man nervously holds the hand of a noticeably worried woman. The woman frantically gnaws at the inside of her cheek like a rodent desperately feasting on cheese.

Gleefully oblivious to their surroundings, a bright-eyed boy and a pigtailed little girl play on the floor. A bogus cynical smile inches its way across my face in an attempt to conceal my pain.

I sit. I wait.

Longing for the innocence of childhood I have long left behind. Wishing I was naive to how cruel life can be. Things seemed so simple when I was the child playing on the floor. Anything and everything felt possible, and I was free to dream. As an adult, I only dream when I am asleep.

A stabbing pain shoots through my temple. A miserable interruption that brings me back into my body. The crushing pressure of reality collapses around me. Crumbling, I shrivel inside my skin until all that is left is a hollow shell of who I once was. Each second that passes seems like a lifetime. Is time standing still?

I examine the couple across from me. The man squeezes the woman's hand tighter and strokes her thumb. They share a look, knowing that even if the worst comes, they will have each other. A bitter reminder that I am utterly alone.

The only thing worse than waiting is waiting alone.

If only I had a hand to hold. Maybe this pain would not feel so immense. The air would not feel so thick, like bricks filling my lungs.

I try to distract myself by flipping through a magazine. The same magazine I have flipped through ten times already. I let my eyes wash over the words and try to forget why I am here. Impossible.

The little girl on the floor snaps her head back and forth, looking around the room. Each sway of her tiny head flings her curly blonde pigtails into her rosy cheeks.

Her bright voice squeaks, “I spy with my little eye… something beautiful.”

The little boy rolls around on the ground, scanning the room. He points to the technicolored bouquet sitting beside me.

“The flowers?”

“Nope!”

She snickers. The young boy smacks his forehead in disbelief.

“Darn! The rug?”

She shakes her pigtails from side to side.

I play along in my head, glancing around the room. The bright-eyed boy and I make eye contact. I playfully and slyly point to the painting.

He exclaims, "The painting!"

She smirks, "Not even close."

A doctor peeks out from the doorway.

“Miss Byrne?”

There it is. My heart drops at the sound of my name. This moment is almost worse than the waiting.

Blood rushes back into my ears. My legs go numb, but somehow my limp body stands. Like a zombie, I saunter towards the doctor.

The room goes hazy as I take a walk that feels like an eternity. These are my last steps before I hear the news that may change my life as I know it. A million thoughts play pinball in my mind, and the buzzing in my ears muffles all sound around me.

Before I can reach the doctor, a meek tug on my leg stops me in my tracks.

I look down and see the pigtailed girl staring up at me and hiding something behind her back. She gestures for me to crouch down to her level.

I kneel, and the little girl pulls a flower out from behind her back.

Her voice shyly sings in my ear, “It was you I spied, silly! This flower is beautiful, just like you.”

Stunned, my trembling hand reaches for the flower. The little girl pounces and wraps her teensy arms around my neck.

“Everything is going to be okay."

Suddenly, I feel lighter. My heartbeat drains from my ears, and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile seeps onto my face.

My brain goes silent. No thuds, no bangs. Just peace. For a moment, I forget that I am waiting. For a moment, I am just here. Not alone, but with the little pigtailed girl.

The little girl unleashes a powerful giggle. Shockingly, I giggle back. I almost cannot believe the sound leaves my lips. A tear gently rolls down my cheek. She gallops back to her family and buries her head in her mother’s lap.

As I stand, I take a deep breath and notice something strange. The air does not feel so thick anymore. The pain does not feel so grueling. Flower in hand, I brace for the impact of whatever may come.

No more sitting. No more waiting. All I have to do is move forward.

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