The Revolving Door Parade

 

    The revolving door in front of the hospital keeps moving and moving, even when there is not a soul around. I sit and wait for my father and step-mother to enter. There are ebbs and flows of people.

   There are several people in wheelchairs being pushed by other people. 

    Next comes a few people with canes walking slowly, almost getting trapped in their section of the revolving door. 

    Next comes a delivery man from an ad printing company moving at a fast pace with his patient, a stack of “Ad-pro” boxes balanced on a handtruck.

    Next is a man with a metal clipboard and a black bag with electronics popping out from it. He looks straight ahead, with just a brief glance down at his black bag. He roughly tucks a a stray thin red cord back into the opening in his bag.

     Next is a short stocky man with his hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his kaki’s. 

     Next is a daughter thinking about pushing her mother in a wheelchair through the revolving doors, leg jutting out, casted and elevated. Just in the nick of time, her mother spots the handicapped door and hastily points at it, rather dramatically, as though foreseeing the potential shortcomings of using the revolving door while in a wheelchair in her condition.

    Now a priest in full garb spills out from the revolving glass door, moving quickly. I wonder if he is here for the finality of last rights. 

    The parade abruptly ends when I see two people I recognize, my father and step-mother. I am on my feet and ready to go up before I am even aware of having stood up.

     I am keenly aware of the piece of paper crumpled up tightly in my hand. Room 3118 was written on it moments earlier by the hospital volunteer at the visitor’s booth. I will not need to look at it again. We begin walking towards the elevator. Fear and sadness take over.  I would rather continue to watch the revolving door parade. 

Sent from my iPhone

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About robin swetz

I am a creative writer that enjoys the simple things in life. I really connect with humor and really like making observations and writing about them with an overlay of humor. Its what makes my world go around.,
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