The Waiting Room Chapter 16

 The Waiting Room 

Chapter Sixteen: Storms and Boxes

 

The door appeared for Samuel on a Tuesday, or what everyone agreed to call Tuesday. The clocks, as usual, disagreed. The room had just finished breakfast. Claire was tending her flowers. Mara was painting. Thomas was working patiently at a knot that seemed determined to remain tied forever. Victor was arguing with a clock. No one knew why. Victor stood in front of the grandfather clock, with his hands on his hips.  "You skipped three minutes."  The clock ticked.

"Don't play innocent."

Tick.

"I was here."

Tick.

"You went from 8:42 to 8:45."

Tick

Thomas watched the exchange and leaned toward Mara, "Did it?"

She shrugged, "I wasn't watching."

"Time isn't even real here," Victor continued the argument.

The clock chimed once.

"Exactly!"

It chimed again.

"Don't interrupt me."

Samuel laughed.  Victor looked at him.  "If the clocks are trying to teach me patience, I already hate the lesson."

Samuel, without looking up, "Then it appears the lesson isn't finished."

Tick

Victor groaned.

"Seriously.  Why did you lose time?  Answer me!"

Tick.

"Really?"

Tick.

Victor threw up his hands.  "You are the most infuriating thing in this room."

The caretaker looked over his teacup, "Second most."

Victor opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment the door appeared beside Samuel’s chair, golden light spilled across the floor. The room froze. For one glorious moment everyone smiled, even Victor. The gardener looked up and studied the doorway, then slowly returned to sorting seeds.

 

The room blinked. Thomas frowned, “Samuel?” The gardener continued working.

 

Claire stood, “Aren’t you going?”

 

Samuel smiled gently, “No.”  Silence.

 

Victor nearly dropped his lantern, “What do you mean, no?”

 

The gardener shrugged, “There are still seeds to plant.”

 

The caretaker sipped his tea, completely unsurprised, which somehow made it stranger. The doorway remained open. Waiting. Samuel never looked at it again. Eventually the light faded, the door disappeared and the room sat in stunned silence.

 

Victor stared, “That’s not allowed.”

 

The caretaker raised an eyebrow, “Apparently it is.”

 

Victor threw his hands into the air, “This place makes no sense.” The lantern rattled. Thunder grumbled, the first warning. Mara noticed, so did everyone else. Victor had been growing restless for days, every departure made it worse.

 

Lily had left.

The woman with the fireflies.

Daniel.

The medals boy.

The birdcage girl.

 People kept moving forward.  Not Victor.  Victor remained. The storm inside the lantern darkened. That evening it finally erupted.

 

“I don’t understand why I’m still here.” Thunder rolled across the ceiling, lightning flashed behind the lantern glass.

 

Nobody answered immediately. Victor stood. The lantern storm expanded. Clouds pressed against the glass.

 

“I’ve talked.”

Thunder.

 “I’ve listened.”

Lightning.

"I've even tried journaling."

Thomas looked up.  "You did?"

"One sentence."

"What did it say?"

"Everything is terrible."

"That's not journaling."

"It is if you're efficient."

Everyone smiled...

Then Victor pointed at the ceiling.

“So what exactly am I waiting for?”

 The room sat quietly, until Elena spoke, “No idea.”

 Victor blinked, “What?”

 

Elena didn’t even look up from her chair, “I said no idea.”

 Victor stared. The room collectively winced. The storm intensified.

 

Elena finally lifted her gaze, “You aren’t leaving.”

 

Victor laughed sharply, “Oh really?”

 “No.” The answer was immediate. Certain. Infuriating.

 

Victor pointed dramatically, “You don’t know that.”

 Elena crossed her arms, “We’ll see you right back here.”

 

The room went silent. Thomas suddenly found his rope fascinating. Claire stared at her flowers. Mara stopped painting.

 

Victor’s eyes widened, “We’ll what?”

 Elena’s expression never changed, “See you right back here.”

 

The thunder became deafening. Victor stepped forward, “That’s ridiculous.”

 Elena shrugged, “So is storming out.”

 

Victor pointed at the lantern, “This isn’t storming.”

 

A bolt of lightning exploded inside the glass. Elena raised an eyebrow. The room waited.

 

Victor glared.

Elena glared back.

 

Finally she said, “That’s exactly what it is.”

 

The argument escalated immediately.

 

Victor accused her of avoiding her problems.

Elena accused him of shouting at his.

 

Victor called her stubborn.

Elena called him dramatic.

 

Victor declared she was impossible.

Elena fired back instantly, “And yet here you are.”

 

Thomas nearly choked. Claire hid behind a flowerpot. Even Mara looked suspiciously close to laughing.

 

Victor pointed toward the box beside Elena’s chair, “At least I know what’s in my lantern.”

Elena whispered almost to herself.  "No... you really don't.  You think knowing makes it easier?"  The box rattled.

 

The room froze. The words echoed. Victor immediately realized he had gone too far.

 

Elena stood.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

 

Samuel sighed,“Oh dear.”

 

The box rattled again.

Once.

Twice.

 

Then burst open. The lid flying off the box completely.

The room gasped.

 

The little girl stepped out. 

This time though, the girl was not frightened, she was not crying and not hiding.

 

Victor stared.  "She's..."

Elena nodded once.  "I know."

 

The little girl walked directly between Victor and Elena, with hands planted firmly on her hips.  The room became very quiet. The little girl looked at Victor. Then Elena. Then Victor again, pointing at him.

 

“Stop yelling at her!” She demanded

 

Victor blinked. The room blinked.  “This is a first.”

 

The little girl pointed at Elena, “She’s trying.”

 

Then she pointed at Victor, “So are you.”

 

The storm exploded. Clouds burst from the lantern. Wind filled the room. Lightning tore across the ceiling. A memory opened.

 

A boy stood alone in a storm. Ten years old. Maybe younger. Rain soaked his clothes. Tears streaked his face. His fists remained clenched. A man’s voice thundered from somewhere unseen, “Stop crying.” The boy flinched.  “Men don’t cry.” 

The words struck harder than the rain.  The boy secretly tried to wipe away tears before anyone noticed.  He tried to stand straighter.  He stood looking at the storm, because looking at the man hurt more.  But some tears escaped.  The boy was grateful the rain hid the tears.  The storm pushed him to sit down.

 

The room watched. The little girl from the box stepped into the memory.  The room gasped.  Another first.

 

She crossed the storm and sat beside the boy. The rain continued falling. The boy looked at her, confused, but grateful.

 

Victor watched, shocked into silence. The lantern trembled. The room trembled. The boy’s face crumpled. The tears came. This time he didn’t stop them. He gave the grief the soul shaking space that it needed.  The storm weakened. The rain softened. The thunder faded.

 Victor sank into a chair, for the first time since arriving, he cried without anger, without shouting, without lightning. The lantern became silent. Completely silent. The room held its breath. Then two doors appeared. One beside Victor. One beside Elena. 

The child version of Elena was still in the room.  The child reached out.  Adult Elena took her hand gently, "I'm sorry."  The child hugged her and smiled, then quietly disappeared.

Thomas stood first. Then Claire. Then Mara. The room gathered around them. Victor looked toward Samuel. The gardener sat exactly where he had been before, still sorting seeds, still refusing his own doorway.

 

Victor shook his head, “You’re the worst gardener I’ve ever met.”

 Samuel looked up, "Odd.  I was about to recommend you for landscaping.”

"Absolutely not.  I kill houseplants."

"People seem to survive you."

Victor paused.

Samuel smiled, "...Huh."

 

For a moment nobody spoke. Then Samuel laughed, a warm, surprised laugh. The room erupted into laughter, Elena smiled, then the moment settled, the way all beautiful moments eventually do.

Claire reached into one of the bottles and removed a tiny flower.  She walked to Elena, "You don't have to keep everything closed."

Elena looked at the flower and smiled.  She held the box, without a lid now.  It was quiet.  Empty.  She placed the flower in the box.  

Victor picked up his lantern.  Thomas asked, "What's it like?"

Victor looked at it, shook it.  Nothing.  He smiled, "Quiet."  Then... "I never thought quiet could be this loud."

Victor looked at Samuel, "None of us were flowers when we got here.  Good thing you planted us anyway."

As the laughter faded, Victor looked around the room, then back at Samuel.

"Well.." he said, rubbing the back of his neck.  "I guess this is where I tell you I'm never coming back."

Samuel smiled.  "I certainly hope not."

Victor pointed a finger at him.  "Don't get excited.  I still think you're the strangest gardener I've ever met."

"I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have."

Victor hesitated.  The room noticed.  Victor almost never hesitated anymore.

"You know.." He looked down at the lantern in his hands. "When I got here, I thought you were just some old guy who liked dirt."

Samuel nodded thoughtfully.  "Fair assessment."

"Turns out..." Victor looked back at him.  "You were growing people."

Samuel's smile softened.

Victor sighed dramatically.  "I hate heartfelt moments."  Thomas chuckled.

"Come here," Victor muttered.

Samuel stood.

Victor wrapped him in a quick, awkward hug.  "If I ever see you again," Victor said over Samuel's shoulder, "something has gone terribly wrong."

Samuel laughed warmly, "Then let's make sure we don't."

Elana called out, "Are you waiting for the door to close so you have to stay?"  Victor ran over and they stepped. Light filled the room. The openings shimmered and then they were gone.

The Waiting Room became quiet, not peaceful. Empty. The kind of empty left behind when people matter. Claire felt it first. The absence. The silence. The missing voices. The empty chairs. She stared at the flowers growing from her bottles, for the first time in a long while, sadness settled over her. The room felt smaller.

Then came a sound.

 

Click.

Click.

Click.

 

High heels.

 

To the side, the door appeared and before it fully opened, a bright cheerful voice called out: “Oh good!” The door swung wide, a woman carrying six mirrors stepped inside.

 

She beamed at the room. “You’re all far too serious.”

 

The room stared. The woman smiled even wider and somehow that was even more alarming.  Mara’s brush paused. Samuel laughed. And Claire, despite herself, smiled.

 

The next story had arrived. 

Click here for Next Part - Chapters 17 through 19