The Crying Room

Standing in this room. Feet on this white floor, surrounded by these four white walls,  white ceiling above, white lights shining down on us. It’s cold in here. Staring at him, standing to the right of me, watching him cry. This fucking guy. To the left of me, they both stood. Together, crying on each others shoulders. Him leaning on her. Her leaning on him. Sobbing. Fuck. And to the left of them. This other fuckin guy. Who are you guy? Leave us alone guy. This room isn’t for you. This is for our family. What’s left of it. My eyes scan over the room again. Her body on the cold, aluminum table in front of me. The white sheet blends into the white walls, reflecting the white light. Her skin, on top of the aluminum table, no longer white. A light blue hue. I trace the blue veins down the side of her face, along her neck towards her slightly uncovered shoulders, where her skin ends and the sheet begins. My eyes go back towards the crying man. A grieving husband. I have no empathy for him. Imagining my hands around his neck. Squeezing. In that moment, there is a fire inside of me. A blink and a pause and I’m back. Back to her. What’s left of her. I stare. Blankly at the back of her head. The hole in it is the size of a ping pong ball. The red blood and brown brains dripping out of the black hole in her skull and onto the table underneath her. Standing alone, I swallow my pain. Looking again to my left. Ignoring him on my right. His wrongs. Her parents crying on each others shoulders. And to the guy to the left of them. Fuckin guy. This fuckin guy. Can’t be bothered to let us have our moment, couldn’t even be bothered to tuck her brains back into her head before we came inside. This fuckin guy. And now its just him and I. The only one’s standing in the crying room without a cry. I close my eyes and picture myself falling to my knees, curling in a ball, a sobbing mess. Instead I stand tall, eyes wide open and dry,  staring at her, what’s left of her. My friend. My first friend. My dear friend. I’ve failed you. I put my arm around her parents, my grandparents, telling them “It will be ok”. Knowing. It won’t be ok.

-The Time Traveler