The Optimist

twenty eight

Ignore the few mistakes, I've been perfecting this since forever. Enjoy! -Mo

Nadia

. . .

I hate hospitals.

Strongly. Anyone who can possibly see my expression will get the the hint. With my wrinkled up nose and the look of disgust and sheer hatred on my face, it's not hard to tell. The all white-walled stuffed building holds a way too overcrowded waiting room and the extra full lobby widens helps my hate.

The waiting room smells of old perfume, disinfect, and sadness. Yes, sadness. Everywhere you turn, someone has the heart-shattering look of lost hope and it only grows worst when a white lab-coated doctor steps out every now and then to let them know the make-it-or-break-it news.

Life or death of a loved one or friend.

A majority of waiters have been granted permission to see the hospitalized person, happily, but some poeple haven't been as lucky. Others have pillows, covers, and even upset children and it only makes it worse that they camped out all day or night only to have a doctor shake their head, frown, and tell them their loved one didn't make it.

The expression on their faces will tear you apart. Pale faces and some red with a frown and red eyes and the worst of all, snotty noses. Some will scream or welp (or both) in heartbroken pain, while others are utterly silent about the news. It gives me chills, sometimes.

I've learned all of this in a matter of three hours.

It's after nine and the waiting room is chillier after dropping temperatures from the 70 three hours ago to 61 now. I rub my arm as they are devoured by chill bumps, lazily leaning agaisnt Mom's arm. I can feel the bags resting deeply under my eyes, making the, feel heavy. She tousles my hair lazily as Jacob shifts in the armed chair next to mine.

We're leu ky to have these actual chairs, but It makes me feel bad for the kids and even parents sitting on the floor, Indian-style or sleep. They sit impatiently and are probably hungrier and colder than I am. One little girl in particular turns to me and catches my stare. She smiles, her light cheeks wrinking a bit as she brags a toothy, uneven smile. I smile back and she waves bodly.

"Admirers, huh?"

I turn to Jacob, smiling a little. "I guess?" I laugh and Mom does, too.

"I wouldn't call them admirers," Mom says, and though I can't see her, I know her eyebrow is lifted and she's probably grinning. "I'd call them "I-want-Nadia-to-smilers." The two of them laugh as I pout playfully.

"What? I do smile," I object, giggling as I raise my hands in defense.

"LIttle kids expects smiles from strangers. It's a part of growing up." Jacob says. "But, with Nadia, well-"

"You're pretty."

The voice of someone young catches my attention as Jacob gets cut off abrutly. In front of me stands the litle girl who looks to be at least five, and she's giving me her toothy grin again. Despite being hungry, I muster up the energy to lean off Mom's shoulder.

"Why thank you, little girl." I smile at her and she points to Jacob.

"And he's pretty, too. But for boys." She covers her mouth with her tiny hands as she giggles in them. "Is he your.. boyfriend?" She says, exgarrating the boyfrined in delight. I giggle as she pauses for a moment. I like this little girl, so sweet and adventurous! I'd have never talked to a stranger, and of all places, the hospital!

"Mommy says I can't tak about boys but he's cute." She comments in her babyish tone. "Don't tell my mommy, but I want a boyfirnd like you when I grow up." As black butterfly-printed shirt rises above her tiny jeans, she reaches for Jacob's dark mop of curls, ruffling a hand through it.

"Well, baby doll, where is your mommy?" Mom's motherly soothing tone cooes the girl over and her face darkens. "Here. Her hurt herself in a car accident!" She giggles again, "We flipped over and over and over!" she exclaims excitedly. Poor thing must not know what went down that day!

"Oh my.. Are you playing? How old are you, hun?" My mom asks, question after question. She grins as she holds up four fingers.

"I'm five and my name is Luceeya." Jacob reaches forward and lifts her folded pinky, smiling. "There you go, pretty girl." She blushes, holding up a full hand proudly with the right number this time.

"Do you mean Lucilia?" The three of us can't help but to laugh and smile as we correct the little girl and learn more about her. Her face is full of joy and it lights up with everything Jacob correct her on. She keeps telling me I'm pretty, making me smile each time.

A real one.

"So, are you hear with anyone?" Mom's serious downgrades the moment, but it's an unavoidable question, bound to be ask at some point. I wouldn't have asked be because I'm to soft and I know it took Mom all she had to ask it. Jacob likes to keep the mood light and happy all the time.

"My, um.." She pauses, stumped. Her almost camouflage blonde eyebrows collide in confusion as she shurgs. "My papa said 'Stay here, I'm going to get us food.', but he never came back. Can I live with you?"

It's quiet for a moment as Mom holds her chin up with her arms against her knees, leaning froward. She inspects the little girl, similar to the way she did Nathan weeks ago and sighs, her eyebrows rising in debate.

"Well, I don't know dear." Mom stumbles. The poor girl's face shatters in disappointment, but it's not the only thing that shatters because my heart does the same. I can't bear to see her little face like that, happy, dirty, and now disappointed and hopeless.

At my last peak, I take a deep breathe and stand up. I can feel everyone's stares as I do. Jacob's, Mom's and all the other awaiting humans crunched in the small space. I step over kids, say 'excuse me' eight million times, and shift thin to get in between people and finally complete the treacherous adventure when I reach the automatic doors of the hospital.

They open quickly and I step out into the fresh air of the cool night. The wind. I fix my scarf around my neck and find a ledge and sit there, staring carelessly at the passing and parked cars. I ignore the few families that walk out and focus on Lucile's situation.

How can someone do it? Just leave a little girl in a public place, cold and hungry and alone? Lucille's other parent, her "papa", must be deranged or heartless or something in that catergory, becase he left a five year old hours ago to go find food, maybe not even doing that?

I feel my shoulders tense in anger, but a hand from behind settles them. I turn around, meeting a certain pair of brown eyes and even lower, a green pair.

Lucille's. I smile at her and place her in my lap as she disconnects her hand from Jacob's safe grasp. "She wanted to see you." Jacob's warm smile brightens my mood and my anger for her sick father vanishes as she reaching for my glasses.

"Can I see these?" I look at Jacob a moment, who nods approvingly. "They won't hurt her eyes." Jacob whispers assuringly. So, I nod and she grabs them.

I'm fine without my glasses for a while, but soon enough, my vision will become over blurred and bad things happen. Let's not get into detail, okay? Anyway, she goofily wears my glasses as Jacob sits down on the cold concrete next to me.

"So why'd you walk out? You left us all wondering, especially Lucille." Fog clouds escape Jacob's mouth as he speaks and even though it's mid-fall, the weather is colder than usual. I shrug, at loss for words.

"I don't know. I guess I couldn't bear the pain, you know?" I tell him honestly, and Jacob nods, clasping in hands together. I stare out at the night sky, Lucille's singing to herself happily.

"Of what?"

"Her being abandoned. How can someone be so heartless. She five, Jacob! Five!" I whine as Lucille attempts to pace the glasses on my nose. She tries to place the sticks correctly behind my ears but she can't so I fix them for her, smiling.

"But, actually, we should go in." I say, forgetting the subject. Too much is on my mind to say in words, and even though I know Jacob will listen, I don't want Lucille hearing her situaion verbally becuase she's already suffering the physical consequences.

And that's just a sisterly-love kind of concern. I don't ever want to bear bad news, especially to her.

. . .