Stories

waiting

                 

The room is cold, white. The only sound is the slow rattling breathing of the person sitting two seats away. No one looks at each other, pretending to read a two year old magazine is just easier. The colourful page in front of my nose is trying to convince me to buy a product to cleanse my face. I'm pretty sure that the company doesn't exist anymore. Three easy steps to failure. 

My mind wanders to the events of yesterday. How fast happiness can turn into something else, something nameless, or at least something hard to name. Will I call it hurt, no, it is more of a hollow  feeling.

My thoughts get disturbed as one of the two doors in the room open. A name is called, a person leaves.

Yesterday I had the wind in my face and luck on my side. Searing over the hills like nothing could stop me. I passed the bumps that usually take me down like a pro. The first time I didn't struggle on this part of the track.

The other door of the room opens, a greyish looking person stumbles in, takes the seat of the guy that just left. I look around the room once more. Almost everyone present looked up at the disturbance, now the old magazines are getting all the attention again. Some unspoken truth must be in those things.

The woman sitting across from me seems to already know all the wisdom that is to harvest from the dusty pages and is dozing off. She is old and grey, round like a bowling ball but her cheeks are rosy and she looks content. I don't think she is here for something serious, maybe some blood pressure pills. Three seats to her right sits a skinny man, he reminds me of a mouse. Dusty blond hair, sunken eyes, slightly twitchy as he turns the pages of his book of wisdom. Next to him sits a little girl with the same dusty blond hair. Big green boogers are dripping from her nose. They are probably here for the girl but i'm sure that the man can use a doctor exam himself.

A stabbing pain in my ankle revives me from my ponderings. I grunt and grab my leg. There is rustling of people turning their faces  to see what is going on. But only a second later everyone is back to doing what they were.

I shouldn't have been so reckless yesterday. I would not be here if I had just kept my eyes on the track and my brain sharp till the end, if I'm on a roll I tend to cheer to early.

The creek of the door sounds again, the white coated woman calls another name, someone leaves.

The pain in my ankle spikes again. Yesterday I didn't feel it half as intense as today, I guess it was the adrenaline. A few jumps with some airtime will do the trick.  The thing that bugs me the most is not the pain but that I will be out for probably a few weeks. The prospect of not being able to ride for that long is what saddens me, makes me feel hollow inside. It all hangs on what the doctor is going to say. A sprain, a crack, a break, it all depends on her.

A few minutes while I mindlessly look at the pages in front of me. Then the door to the office opens again and I hear my name. To the best of my abilities I jump up, I have wasted enough of my live in this room. I see her frowning a little at my clumsiness.

The verdict is a crack and not walking for at least a week, not riding for at least four. It's going to take all the will power I have to comply.