Mercy
by Maria Petty
I wait and I pace, like a caged animal treading on this strange savannah of linoleum, striding back and forth in places my forefathers never would have dared make footfall. It is this prison of antiseptic and pastel scrubs that ignites my anxiety, but in this prison I must remain, for a father and a friend lie in the same bed on the fifth floor of Mercy Hospital, and it would kill me to lose them both. Because I didn’t come prepared—in fact, I’m still wearing a bathrobe on top of my un-ironed flannels—I don’t have anything to do except stare at the pen in my hand for as long as my shaking fingers will grip it. On the side of the slender, white cap, an advertisement boasts the latest generation of LDL-lowering cholesterol medication. I imagine that if my dad had been popping one of these pills every morning, he might not be stretched out on a hospital bed with a throng of surgeons and orderlies hovering about him like harried worker bees at the foot of their ailing queen.
But he hasn’t been taking any medication, and the surgeons apparently aren’t crowded around his bed, because they are here in the waiting room, or at least one of them is, stinking of strong chemicals and sterile, unbridled truth. He pulls his mask from a stubble-covered chin, and it gives me a chance to see that there is death written on his face, in the firm creases of his frown and in the single wrinkle between his furrowed brows. No good news can come from a face that looks like that.
Before he has a chance to open his mouth, I inhale and hold the moment there in my chest. I will remember the tasted of hot metal on my tongue, I tell myself, because I have always nibbled on my cheek when I get nervous, just like my dad does when concentrates. I will remember the musk of his aftershave, though I’ve been too ignorant to ever take note of the brand name. I must hold it all in, from the rusty color of my father’s hair to freckles on his forearms, because as soon as the surgeon in front of me opens his mouth, everything else will be blown away.
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