FicWad

I sat on the uncomfortable waiting room chair, waiting for my dad and my brother. This was the fifth visit to the hospital this week. I always came to see my mother but every visit began and ended the same. I'd walk in the hospital doors, confident. 'I can do this,' I'd tell myself. I'd ride the elevator up the five floors to the hospice unit, I'd walk confidently down the hall, I'd get to my mother's room, and I couldn't go in. I could never do it. I'd try to take that first step into her room, but I could never bring myself to do it. Every time I retreated back to the safety of the waiting room, where I was currently sitting.

There was usually someone else in there waiting, but today it was just me. I was alone with my thoughts; I hated being alone with my thoughts. At least with others in the room I could silently listen in on their conversations and forget about my problems for a moment. I put my earphones in, hoping that music would soothe me. It didn't work, nothing ever worked.

I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag and began to draw. I was drawing eyes when a group of boys walked in. The boy leading was tall and skinny, he had hair that stuck up every which-way. The second boy was slightly shorter, but just as skinny. His hair was a dark brown, almost the color of black coffee. The third boy average-sized with light brown hair. The last boy was skinny as well with light brown hair.

I watched the boys as they took a seat, thankful it wasn't near mine. I continued to sketch the eyes, making them more life-like. With every stroke of my pencil, they came to life. They seemed to be saying, 'hello.' I looked at them, so familiar. I realized they were my mother's eyes. I teared up, she was exactly what I was trying to ignore, trying to forget. Everything was just too much. I didn't want to be here. I threw the sketchbook away from me in frustration, trying to hold back my sobs. I brought my knees to my chest and laid my head on them, letting the tears fall. I heard whispers and a shuffling sound coming from the boys. I looked up and saw the coffee-haired boy walking towards me. He picked up my sketchbook and began looking through it. He sat down next to me and I watched as he flipped through the different pages of my art.

He reached a sketch of a little boy with his fingers splayed across his face and I snatched the sketchbook back. "Thank you," I whispered.

He looked surprised at how soft my voice was, "You're welcome. I'm Brendon."

"Kenzie," I whispered again, not trusting my voice. I expected him to leave, to go back to his friends, but to my surprise he stayed. I flipped back to the eyes I was drawing and stared at them. They were my mother's eyes but at the same time they weren't; they didn't hold the softness her's held, they didn't show the laughter in her voice.

Tears pricked my eyes again and I felt Brendon's gaze on me, "So, what are you here for?" What was I here for? Really?

I wanted to get angry with him, I desparately wanted to yell and scream at him for being so dense. But I didn't. "My mom," my voice broke on the word mom and it brought on a new wave of tears. Sobs racked through me. I put my head in my hands and Brendon gestured for his friends to come over. I heard shuffling noises as his friends convened around me.

I felt arms wrap around me and looked up to see the taller boy's head on my shoulder. He was rubbing my back soothingly and shushing me. I didn't know this boy and he was embracing me as if we had known each other for years. I pushed him away and stared incredulously at him. He laughed, "Sorry, I just don't like seeing people upset. I'm Ryan."

The lighter-haired boy spoke up, "Spencer."

"Jon."

The three boys held out their hands to me. I shook them and wiped the tears from my face. "I'm Kenzie." I looked down at the tear splattered page of my sketchbook and closed it. The boys looked at me expectantly, "What?"

"You're an artist." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Well not really. I mean I draw some but I'm not very good," I tried to deny but Brendon disagreed.

"Not very good? Those sketches were incredible, and I won't even go into the water colors!" He exclaimed.

I blushed and put my hands in my lap. The boys laughed at my reaction.

Ryan turned to me, "So who are you here for." Brendon was shaking his head no before the question was finished. I felt the tears well in my eyes again and heard Brendon whisper, "Her mom dude."

I stood up, "I'm going to check on her." I quickly left the room, sketchbook in hand. As I passed the floor to ceiling windows looking in on the waiting room, I hoped no one would notice that I was going the wrong way; the way to the restroom.

I entered the restroom stall and sat on the toilet clutching my sketchbook to my chest. I pulled my knees up, listening to the people come and go. I'm not sure how long I was in the restroom before I got a text from my brother -Where are you?-

-Restroom. Sorry, I'll be right out.-

-We'll be in the lobby.-

I left the restroom, hoping the four boys weren't still in the waiting room. Thankfully, they had left. I grabbed my bag and left for the lobby.

When we got home, my dad went straight to his room and I went straight to mine, skipping a meal of any sort. I stayed in my room for the entire night, creating angry sketches and letting my tears flow freely.

Around midnight, my brother entered my room. He sat on my bed where I was currently laying, clutching my teddy bear.

"Why don't you ever go see mom?"

I sighed and rolled over to look at him, "I don't know Danny." A lie. He knew I was lying, he always knew. He was my big brother, after all.

He laid his hand on my leg, then got up and walked out the door. He paused before closing it, "You know I love you right?"

I nodded, not sure if he could see me but not trusting my voice.