It was the waiting that was getting to Julia as she stared fixedly at the pink-flowered wallpaper, trying desperately to ignore the slow ticking of a clock. The ticking that sounded like a last warning to leave. She had come to this place seeking relief, but the atmosphere did not soothe the aches she felt all over her body, nor did it quench the fever that ran through her veins like fire. As sweat poured down her forehead and the thought that she had been forgotten by the world washed over her, two of the most personal words known to her rang out into the vast space. Even the tattered, silk plants seemed to wave in the echo of her name being called.

Responding promptly, Julia stood, gathered her coat and purse, and quickly followed behind a nurse dressed in cornflower blue. She was asked to take a seat in a semi-private admittance booth, where she saw rows of filing cabinets standing stiffly at attention just out of reach, almost out of sight. Trying not to concentrate on her misery, Julia listened intently as a faceless person sitting behind a plain, gray desk regurgitated her patient information back to her. As a paper bracelet lined with numbers was fastened upon her wrist, Julia wondered about the files within the metal cabinets only several feet away. She knew she had now become one of them: just another document contained within a manila folder.

Julia’s mind started to drift due to the intensity of the fever, and she began to imagine a life among those files. It was as if she had been delivered into the hands of death, her essence contained within a tall, silver grave marker filled with other papers of the remembered. Feeling compressed and overwhelmed, she gasped for air, only to inhale the information of patients past into her lungs, feeding her blood with their memories; exhaling their existence. She could feel thousands of paperbound souls wanting to ascend from written diagnosis and ailments unknown, not wanting to be buried alongside strangers who shared the same time or fate.

“Sign here and initial there so we may bill your insurance,” said the lady behind the desk. Julia snapped out of her delusion with a pen in hand. Pushing away the papers and setting the pen down, she quickly rose to her feet, snipped the identifying bracelet from her wrist, and proclaimed she was feeling much better. She gathered herself and walked rapidly to the nearest exit. Outside, the night air felt cool and calming upon her face. After taking a deep, renewing breath, Julia knew she would be okay.

Copyright © 2004 Marie Summers
Published in the SP Quill Quarterly Magazine, Spring 2004