Lost but not found.

I sat perched in the magenta chair like a robin on a feeble branch. Every second could be one of sudden danger and fear. The chairs around me were not magenta, no, they had their own shades of ebony and sepia and olive. The ceiling was many shades of browns and greys: the cracks and holes were darkened by the absence of light while the matte finish of the styrofoam-esque squares gave the room a retro feeling. These were the same ceiling tiles that were in my best friend’s basement. Except those were marred with holes of pencil stabbings. 

It was hot in the room: hot enough for my head to start aching a hint from dehydration and my hair to feel as if it was insulin slowly suffocating my brain. I glanced at the person on my left. He was dressed in a dark onyx jacket draped eloquently over a tailored shirt. I turned to the sour-looking woman to my right. Two seats separated our bags and four for our bodies: too close for comfort. She, like the man, wore a professional suit and tie which only exacerbated the sourness of her face. A thick layer of pale ivory makeup only partially covered her bags and scars of old age.

Thoroughly uninterested by my neighbors, I turned back to the envelope in my hands. 

Alexis Marrelle

601 Pickiter Drive

Mountain View, Connecticut, 06798, U.S.A

Read the front of the stamp-embellished side. The penmanship was small and slanted and e at the end of Marrelle encapsulated the Last Name, like an “at” symbol. The four stamps were each a different hue: a lavender one of sleeping beauty, a cerulean one for Kwanzaa, a scarlet one of a Phenix, and a yellow carpenter rendering of a sunflower: my favorite color. Only one person would have put this much thought into the stamps of a letter, and the thought of her well being poked my tummy just slightly.

But, now was no time letter-opening and possible unneeded tears. I sighed with all the buildup weighing down and compressing my rib cage and slid the envelope back into the third pocket of my purse. It had been an hour on the magenta chair already: to the point where the synthetic leather may crack if I waited much longer. I tapped my Chucks on the floor - Lead would be the best color to describe it. Well, lead with smudges of shoe bottoms and occasional stains of dark maroon. I slowly traced my eyes along the seam which separated two large floor tiles. It went on and on and slithered past the door which I could neither see nor barge through.

I had always found it curious how floor tiles connect and make patterns. Especially the ones on the community-pool shower floors and the ones which decorated my best friend’s kitchen. There are cross sections that make flowers and cars and create bursts of nostalgia. There are seams which crawl and slither and never seem to end or have a beginning. And there are seams that look so promising and beautiful until they abruptly terminate.

Moving my eyes around the room, I jumped from the unmanned front desk, to a large blue-tinted gray door, to the unsettling daisies which reeked of contaminated Earth. The sole window in the far corner was partially shaded by pearl, diaphanous curtains; like the ones hanging from my best friend’s den. It was then that grey door flashed open.

“Alexis Marrelle?” Said a red-headed nurse, “Miss. Grace Johnson is ready for visitors.”

I immediately hopped off the magenta chair and trailed the nurse. We turned right five times and left twice before a door stood between us. 

“Good luck!” said the nurse.

Taking a final moment, I pushed open the door gently

. 

“Hello?” I said.

“Get the hell out of here.” a voice responded, “our family wants nothing to do with you.”

I could feel my eyes already stinging of shame and embarrassment. “Please, no, Mrs. Johnson you must understand, it was an accident!”

“No, No, NO!” replied the voice, her icy tone sent chills down my knees. 

“Please! Mrs. Johnson you must understand!”

“NO! It all your fault my daughter was in a coma and you should count yourself lucky she awoke after a week. Our family wants nothing to do with you!”

Clutching my purse and forcefully blinded by the tears which felt like Nitric Acid I ran. I ran and ran until I reached a room without people. And then I cried. I cried for Grace’s basement ceiling with the punctures and pencil holes we made in elementary school, I cried for Grace’s kitchen where we spent hours imagining shapes and animals from the cross section of tiles in middle school, I cried for Grace’s stamp collection in which we spent so long curating in high school, and finally I cried for us: for our memories, for our friendship, and for our love.

Authors Note:

Reedsy Community - Thank you so much for your support! ( this website is amazing supportive and friendly - especially to authors). This prompt means so much to me. Alexis's character is a blend of a little bit of myself, my friends, and others that I know. I really hope you enjoyed this story (its my first on the Reedsy website). As I was writing this story, the setting of a waiting was always changing ( Alexis was waiting at an airport in earlier drafts ) and luckily, it evolved to perfectly fit this prompt. Other aspects of the story were also constantly changing, such as the person Alexis was waiting for ( It was once her brother and at another point her Mom) If you have any comments of suggestions please leave them down below, your feedback is appreciated and valued. Again, thank you for taking time out of your day to take an excursion with Alexis in her waiting room. Have a lovely day and amazing Fourth of July (A little late on that).

-Alex