list of amends
.
road /noun /
a series of events
or a course of action that will lead to a particular outcome
.
Several hours later, the same day. Eleonore’s place.
In the late afternoon, I receive an official text message from the hospital claiming that my test results are in and I can pick them up tomorrow. I stare at the short text and the official logo. Mmm, how fancy. It’s after 5 p.m. but I don’t really care. I grab my bag, keys, jacket and storm out before the screen on my phone has a chance to go dark. I quickly run down the stairs, as if my life depended on it while somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice argues that I could have probably just checked the results online. I throw the thought away and rush for the same bus that I rode the last time, not even checking the schedule just staring at the spot where the bus usually shows up - foot tapping angrily and arms crossed tightly. Willing the vehicle to come faster just by the power of my mind.
I knew that I was behaving irrationally, standing there and getting cold, while my nerves were on the edge. But having a goal seemed to charge my batteries and I just wanted to have the results in my hand — on paper, an envelope with my name and everything. It needed to be as official as it possibly could, I wanted it to be more real while everything around me these days seemed like just an unstable illusion.
My stare focuses on the end of the street, eyes hardly blinking; and the bus finally rolls in after 15 minutes, while I wonder if my body parts could fall off from the cold, and the unbearable wind that seemed more like multiple slaps in the face than anything else. I rub my hands and slip into the open doors, finding a seat and gazing out the window - it was already dark outside and it wasn’t even six. Yes, the glory of changing seasons. I moan quietly, imagining the real winter chill that would arrive before there even was a chance to blink. I feared the coming season, feeling the need to prepare for something much worse that was coming my way. This feeling haunted me more and more, making it difficult to run away from it and falling back into the numbness that seemed my only rescue at times.
_______
Hello, I am here to pick the drug test results that I did here two days ago. The test was done for private usage and paid for directly.
The woman looks up meaningfully at the clock and then back at me, and I’m starting to realize that maybe rushing here like a speeding bullet without a second thought, wasn’t the best tactic to go with.
Your full name and ID, please.
I tell her my name and slip her the little plastic card. The woman checks something on her computer. I notice her eyebrows pull together as she looks up at me, my irritated expression reflecting in her glasses and mimicking hers. I try to control it, in fear that she might not give me what I want if I start to behave like an ass - the way I always did eventually.
The information clearly stated that the results can be picked up tomorrow.
It also stated they are already in, a bit confusing if you ask me.
I say the words calmly, trying to hold back the sarcasm that was tickling the inside of my mouth.
Yes, perhaps. However, the patients don’t usually rush into with such enthusiasm, as you, Miss Walton.
The sarcasm was held on my side, but apparently not on hers. I automatically gain more respect for the woman. I look at the ordinary-looking clock hanging on the wall behind her. It’s big, round, and white with black hands ticking away. It’s after six now, and she’s probably here since the early morning. I feel my body language change, the excessive air finally deflating from my muscles.
You might be right there, it was just important for me to get them as soon as possible. This piece of paper means a lot to me right now.
Her stare is filled with some reserve, but then she seems to let go of it as well, yet still shakes her head, almost automatically.
I can understand that.
So, should I go and come back later tomorrow?
There is a short moment of silence, then she shakes her head again but in a different way this time.
No, that won’t be necessary. It’s just that the results are not on my desk yet, we didn’t expect such a rushed visit. Excuse me, while I call someone to bring them over, they should be already printed out at the lab.
Of course.
I nod quickly as if my head was going to fall off at any second, the expression of a guilty schoolgirl probably quite visible on my face. The woman sends me an odd look and then makes a phone call. After 20 minutes someone brings a big and thick envelope with the hospital logo on it. My hands roll up into fists, the anticipation pretty much killing me. I didn’t even know why I was so hyped and apprehensive about it. The results had to be negative since I haven’t taken anything in several months. I haven’t even been drinking any alcohol, too afraid that it might make things even worse.
Yet I felt nervous, something sharp seeming to tighten around my neck.
My fingers lift, almost expecting to feel a slowly tightening rope around my throat, but obviously, there is nothing there. One slow, deep breath and I move up to the desk, standing by the far end of it, not saying anything while the woman looks through the contents of the envelope. She’s in no hurry and does everything methodically; arranging the names in alphabetical order. I watch as she types something on the computer, while I start to hear low voices in my head from all the anticipation. My mind tries to ignore them but suddenly they get just as anxious as me.
That dirtbag never stood a chance against me, and now he’s got it good... the cut was too deep, the hospital won’t help him this time.
I start to massage my temples while taking slow breaths.
It’s not working... she isn’t breathing. I didn’t know this stuff was so strong. I can’t fucking lose her again...
I feel the pounding in my head and my nails scrape against the wooden surface. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.
What do you mean I’m sick?! I never slept with her, she couldn’t be. No, I made sure that...
I cover my face with my hands and feel the sobs coming, but then something breaks through.
Miss, Walton? I have your results here, you just need to sign that you received them first.
The voices get caught off as if with a blade, an earthquake of sounds and then nothing. I feel as if I just got kicked in the gut and thrown back to reality. The words from the woman are so normal and mundane that it all just stops, while one unexpected thought manages to still reach me. Stress releases the voices and hallucinations, bad emotions and fear waking up the little beasts put aside in temporary slumber. I look up at her as she’s filling some paperwork, not really looking my way, and honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved at the sight. I walk up to her, sign a form and get the results in a plain, small envelope.
My full name printed on the front, suddenly feeling as if I had swum the entire ocean, and finally made it to the shore. I smile gratefully at her while she quickly returns to her responsibilities. Slowly, I walk away on shaky legs and sit on the nearest plastic chair, sliding the paper out and staring at it for what seems like forever. Negative, obviously. I wonder if to the last moment some part of me assumed that it would be positive, a little voice in my head telling me that I was insane and nothing was really true. I doubted myself more and more these days, even when it seemed that I was on the right path. Maybe deep down inside, I knew that nothing would help me, but that I could still make it better for others that once cared about me. I had to have that faith, to just make it through and survive as long as I could.
I stuff the envelope deep into the bag as if it was the biggest treasure that I owned. You’re finally doing things to fix your life, you’re doing better. I feel more power in my body, unexplained strength growing in me, even though my mind keeps telling me that I am just fooling myself. You’ll find a way to screw it up, you always do. I shake my head, refusing to let these thoughts get to me, taking away this little achievement from me. It was time to take care of some things.
________
Back at home, I pick a beaten-up receiver and dial a familiar number, tapping against the plastic, yellowing cover, fingers playing with a twisted cord. It rings eleven times before anyone even answers.
Carl put those crates away, no one can make a damn move without tripping over them, do you want me to...
There are several cracks on the line.
Tennessee Joe’s, what’s the problem?
Polite as always.
Hey, I’m coming over.
Silence and then more audible cracks. Some shouting in the background, the sound of glass rambling and some heavy cursing, then just faint country music playing.
By all means, it’s been long enough.
Just like that? No questions asked just a happy “Well then, come on down!” kind of thing?
Yes, and you know why?
Do tell.
Because I want to see your face when I ask those questions. I want to savor the moment and hear all the stories that you will try to sell me. True or not, I will find out anyway, got my ways to deal with you.
You are the devil, Phil, but you’re still like family to me.
Don’t you dare get emotional on me, I don’t have buttons for those. This is a warning.
Come on boss, a little sweet-talking will do you good, make your beer and whiskey that you sell less bitter.
Thin line, Elle, very thin line.
You’ll tell me more about in an hour.
You can count on it.
He hangs-up and I smile. Alright, time for some paperwork, plus a little show to keep everyone happy. Well, might as well get this over with. Once again I grab my bag and jacket, at the last moment deciding on a woolen scarf as well; wrapping it tightly around my neck as the night was getting increasingly chillier by the hour, and head to the bar.
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https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses (chapter 1 )
17. https://theprose.com/post/276704/visiting-hours
18. https://theprose.com/post/281116/a-grounded-feeling
19. https://theprose.com/post/288893/loosening-the-knots (last 3 chapters)
next chapter :
21. https://theprose.com/post/301927/a-tired-mind-is-a-dangerous-one