by Rosalind Goldsmith
She teased up the ruff of the teddy bear so the starched frills stood out like a strange white shrub around its head. It was a comforting little toy with shiny glass eyes and a sweet knitted smile under a button nose. You could move the arms and legs. It was brown with a tan-coloured snout and the fur of it was so soft to the touch and so thick.
The mother sat in the waiting room holding this bear that she would give to her daughter when she came out of surgery, so she would have something to hold onto, something to comfort her. The mother sat very still, trying to quiet her thoughts, stroking the bear’s head, gripping one paw.
She wasn’t alone here. A couple sat on the low plastic peach-coloured sofa by the door. They spoke quietly to each other from time to time but were mostly silent. The mother was glad of that. She wanted to send her thoughts elsewhere, outside this room, and she didn’t want those people to distract her. She focused her mind on the dull, ordinary moments that trekked across her memory, picking out this one and then that. A Little Mermaid lunch box, a baby blue blanket with a unicorn on it, a pair of white socks she had left on the bed, one with a cranberry juice stain on the toe.
It was going to be a long wait, the doctors didn’t know exactly how long. It depends, they said. The mother couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. She was bound up inside, twisted around the danger of her daughter’s operation, how the doctors described the complexity of it to her, how they were confident it would go well, she just had to trust that they would do their best.
She did trust. But couldn’t dispel the shivery sensation that something – anything – one little small thing – could go wrong, might go wrong. A nurse might look away at the wrong time, an overtired surgeon might hit a vein –
She gripped both arms of the bear and looked out the window of the waiting room: tall buildings in relief against a pale blue sky, wisps of cloud, an unremarkable city scape. That building closest to the hospital was a condo tower. Directly across from her she could see a balcony with tall green tropical plants in golden pots and a couple of wicker chairs either side of a small café table. On the table some kind of a lamp or lantern that could hold tea lights. It was exactly what she wanted to see. It looked nice. Normal. Behind the balcony, the glass doors were partly open and she imagined the couple who lived there.
Young professionals, just starting out on their careers. They would have bought nice new furniture for this condo, a queen-sized bed and a nice teak dining table all new and bright, and they would have had so much fun filling their cupboards with all their lovely wedding gifts. Maybe they got a beautiful set of Wedgewood they would display in a cabinet, or a sleek glass vase they could fill with snapdragons, gladioli or fresh-cut tulips. Her sister loved gladioli. Flowers of joy, she had called them.
Maybe the couple went to an antique market or better yet, an art show. They probably found a colourful canvas of modern abstract art which they hung on the living room wall above a white leather sofa. Yes, the young wife would have stood behind her husband as he held it up against the freshly-painted eggshell white wall. “A little higher,” she would say, “A little more to your left.” And after he hung the picture – yes! Perfect! – they would stand gazing at it, arms around each other, so much in love, so content in each other’s presence, they could wish it to be no other way.
The mother held the small bear against her belly and ran her fingers along the edge of its bristly collar. Oh, and at this stage of their life together, the young couple – he a professor, she a doctor maybe – no, a teacher, no, a sales rep – they would have a puppy. Of course. It would be a little spaniel or a Bichon Frisé, yes that, and it would curl itself up into a fur ball on its little blue fluffy blanket and wait for its mummy to come home.
She didn’t know she was chewing on her lower lip. It was a shock when she tasted blood. She wiped it away with her hand.
The couple would take the puppy for a walk when they came home from work in the evening. Yes. In a green park with tall elms and gladioli and long green grass. And they would be tired after a long day at work, but take joy in how their new puppy frolicked in the grass and ran in circles round their ankles. But oh. During the day?
She stared at the balcony doors. She could almost hear the puppy whining, left alone, poor little love. Left alone for hours while they were at work. And it wouldn’t know why. It wouldn’t know why they left it there alone. To suffer all alone. And look! They left the balcony doors open. Horrible. The puppy might run out. He might try to squeeze through the railing – How could they have – ?
She licked her lower lip and looked away from the window. A trickle of blood ran down her chin. The man on the peach sofa reached over and gave her a kleenex. “Thank you,” she said and dabbed her lip. “Are you alright?” he said. “Fine, thank you ,” she said. Her voice sounded strange to her. Why had he spoken to her? Why? Forcing her to answer. The woman beside him, in a wrinkled green shirt sat scrolling through her phone. She looked like she just got out of bed, her greyish brown hair all mussed up. And slippers!
On the wall beside the mother was a painting framed in white. It was of a basket in mid air held up by six multi-coloured balloons with long black strings. The balloons were pink and blue and purple and green and red and yellow, and inside the basket was a bunch of roses, irises and white chrysanthemums hanging over the edge. She looked away. Her sister hated those flowers. “Never get chrysanthemums,” she had whispered, “Not for me or anyone else.” “I promise I never will,” she had told her sister as she held on to her hand.
The mother clutched the head of the bear. Squeezed. If it had been a cat or a puppy she could have crushed its skull. She looked down at her feet. They were far away. Cold. She couldn’t feel her toes. She’d put on the wrong shoes – this morning – threw on the sling backs without even thinking. Forgot her coat. And it was still that cold out for boots and a winter jacket. Still that cold. That chilly. For a hat. For a scarf. For a soft blue blanket. A unicorn.
She turned the bear around and looked into its face. Its stitched smile. She bounced the bear on her knee. Thought nothing. Of nothing. Her thoughts scudded out of her mind, white and cloud-like. Her spine pressed against the back of the hard plastic sofa.
She glanced over at the couple on the sofa by the door. They were both staring at her. How odd. Why were they looking at her? Why? They looked so funny. His grey bristly hair stood up and he hadn’t shaved for days. That was clear. And the woman – her eyebrows were painted on badly so she looked like she was in shock. Honestly, it was to laugh at.
The mother sucked in blood from her lip. The metallic taste of it cloyed to the roof of her mouth. She hugged the bear to her chest and rocked a little bit side to side. When she closed her eyes, she smelled blood. She smelled sharp medicinal fumes wafting in from the hallway. Or from somewhere. Horrible. Smell of alcohol, disinfectant. The air around her cold.
She opened her eyes and looked out the window at the balcony of the condo across from the hospital. The glass doors were closed now. Oh good. That was a relief. She turned and looked at the painting on the wall beside her. This time she saw the straw basket, the brightly coloured balloons and flowing over the edges of the basket, red roses, blue irises and a few white gardenias. No chrysanthemums. Not one. Not one single one. Thank God.
Her shoulders relaxed and she took a deep breath. Sighed. It was alright. There were no chrysanthemums. She had imagined them. The balcony doors were closed, and she could no longer smell those awful disinfectant fumes. Her relief was so great, she laughed out loud. The couple gawped at her now and frowned – not that the woman could truly frown, but she tried. They both looked ridiculous.
The mother smiled down at the little bear on her knee and stroked its soft head. She decided to call it Max. That name suited it perfectly. Max was the name of –
She looked up. A doctor in a white coat was standing in the doorway of the waiting room, looking at her.
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Category: Featured, Short Story