White Walls

         All I could see was white. White walls, white floor, white doors, everything was white. The air felt as if it had been sucked dry of oxygen and filled with the overwhelming scent of cleaner. I caught myself staring at long, narrow, fluorescent lights that flickered ever so slightly while letting out a soft buzz. It had been several hours since Andy went into the operating room and the screw poking out of the cheap plastic chair into my back finally got to me. I got up and started pacing back and forth, feeling the stares of every other person in the waiting room. Dark circles of sweat formed around my neck and armpits; it felt as if the room was getting warmer by the second. I looked down and saw my reflection in the perfectly polished floor as thousands of thoughts flowed and swirled through my head. I leaned against the smooth, tiled wall and let myself slide down to the sterile floor. Sitting in the chairs I saw frightened, sad, and worried faces. None of the people looked at each other. A man with a bandage wrapped around his head sat next to a girl, no older than ten, holding her wrist. I caught eye contact with a little boy in a wheel chair with a cast for each leg. He smiled at me. It was the first smile I had seen in hours; it pulled me out of my brief state of depression and made me think that Andy will be okay. The room seemed to fill with color at that moment. Plants stood out against the walls, colorful pictures leaped out of their frame, and everything seemed to become brighter. My body relaxed and I let out a long deep breath. As I looked up the door across from me opened with a bright flash of light revealing the tattered, bruised, yet smiling face of Andy.