Black Box
On Sunday right after breakfast we went back to the hospital.
We walked through a sudden rain to the double doors of the main entrance, then shook the water from our clothes and crossed through the emergency room waiting area, where people with dislocated arms or broken fingers–things that were probably easy to fix–waited their turns the way we had done two days before.
My mother pushed the button for the elevator and turned to me as if discovering my existence for the first time. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” My mother was short, like me, and I worried I would grow up to be a lot like her: determined, chubby, and a pain in the neck. “That was traumatic yesterday,” she said. “You can wait in the lobby if you don’t want to come.”
“Of course she wants to come.” My father put his hand on my shoulder. I felt like their private puppet. Let me make her talk!
The elevator opened. Everyone else who filed in with us was carrying flowers and GET WELL! balloons. A little girl was dressed as if she were going to a birthday party. We got off on th ...
read full excerpt from Black Box ebook
