Journey of two
Every morning I tell myself I wont drink it again. It doesn’t taste like coffee, but then this is a hospital; coffee cant taste like coffee, can it?
Has it been 48 days? Or 49? I honestly lost count.I look around the room and my eyes lay on the 15-year old who’s slouching on his usual chair. He comes in every Sunday and Tuesday, and sits there chewing gum and looking bored and not happy about the fact that he is here. But then, no one would be happy about being here.
I smile at him, and he gives me his usual frown. It takes you a few weeks of smiling at that boy and getting frowns in return, to stop believing that smiles are contagious.I cross my legs, uncross them, stand up and walk around the room then sit back again shifting in my seat. These plastic chairs are so uncomfortable.
It’s 10.25, almost time.My gaze moves towards the small room door as I patently wait, for what I consider my only glimpse of hope in this cold, tiring place.
There they are. They walk hand in hand as usual.They don’t really walk, they slowly hobble in. The long time which takes them to reach their seats doesn’t ever seem to bother either of them. They just smile at each other adoringly
He has hair that’s as white as December snow, and kind brown eyes which are as warm and light as the coffee in my plastic cup.
She , on the other hand, has a tiny frail figure and delicate wrinkled hands which I wish I could touch, just one time.
I cant help staring at them. I cant help smiling either, or finding myself lost in thoughts and wondering about their long journey; a journey of two.