Worry

Worry

The chair was too soft. He would adjust his position, sit on the edge of it but he just kept sinking back down. His hands left big, damp prints on the arms of the chair, so he placed them carefully on his knees. They looked like they weren't part of him. He tapped each finger. Pinky first, then ring, all the way to the thumb and then back again. He adjusted his position again. His hands were making wet prints on the arms of the chair.

People always talk about hospitals having a distinct smell. He noticed the lights. They were too bright. The color scheme was off. You would think they could find something more soothing the industrial tan and green.

The clock ticked loudly, but the hands never seemed to move. His own hands seem to move of their own accord, why couldn't the damn clock do its job. He watched it head on, then from the corner of his eye.

The kids had gone off to the hotel room to sleep. “You should try to get some sleep, Dad.” Casey had said in her best mother tone. Strange thinking of her as a mother now.

“Case is right. There isn't anything you can do. They won't know anything for hours”

They were agreeing. That was how he knew it was really bad. Things were bad when his children joined forces for anything. Cats and dogs didn't even cover most of their relationship.

He adjusted his position in the chair. Listened to the clock tick. Watched the hallway. This time he didn't even bother to move his hands, just let them make their imprint of the ugly green vinyl. He sank down into it.