When they bring him in I jump to my feet like there’s something I can do other than clench my hands into fists so the nails dig into my palms. But he’s covered in gashes and blood and mud and I’m no doctor. They wouldn’t let me anyway. They’re already rushing him into the back and telling me to wait here. This is a waiting room, after all.
“Waiting room.” That says everything. A neat little description for this helpless, teetering limbo, for standing at the edge of a void.