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G.H. Goins

“You can take your seat now, sir,” said the woman behind the glass. 

The man nodded in response and moved to find a seat. Looking around the room, he saw that the vast majority of the room sat staring and scrolling on their phones. A dull headache thudded absently against the front of his skull. Probably from these fluorescents, thought the man. A newsman babbled to no one on a television in the corner. A woman flipped through some papers on a clipboard, pen in hand. The man soon chose a seat next to a short, small table. He sat. The cold, plastic chair instantly made him uncomfortable. 

He leaned over to look at the magazines the little table offered. He found nothing that would entertain him. He tried to muster up some interest in the latest news coverage of a famous actor’s nefarious scandal regarding him and a major league football player. After thirty seconds of that, his mind wandered elsewhere. 

The man reached into one of the pockets of his jeans. His hand quickly found the cool rectangle that never failed to grant him his comfort and entertainment. He pulled it out and met his eyes in the reflection of this little black mirror for a moment. He clicked the power button and watched his face disappear in an instant, only to be replaced by a picture of majestic, snow capped mountains. 

The man unlocked his phone.

Though he didn’t notice this, all sounds seemed to fade away. The discomfort of the cool chair, his dull headache, even the pain of his scratchy throat, was suddenly gone from his consciousness. It was as if he had entered into a world that was personal to only himself. 

The man looked around for a moment; glanced at some news story headlines, checked the number of steps he had taken that day, and eventually wound up opening the app colored blue, with a solitary, white, lowercase F depicted in the center. 

He wrote a short post that read, I'm sitting in the waiting room now. Hoping everything goes fine! He shot a quick photo of himself making a passive face, eyebrows raised. Then he pressed the blue button, heard a satisfying noise, and received the notification letting him know that his words and picture were successfully added for the world to see. 

The man decided he would browse for a few minutes while he waited.

He saw a picture of his sister and his niece. Failed to read the caption, but gave it a thoughtless thumbs up. Another satisfying noise, like the pop of a bubble, reached his ears. He scrolled. He stumbled upon a video of a woman playing the Super Mario Bros. theme song on a banjo. Thirty seconds later, with a fresh heart stamped onto the random video, he scrolled on. Read a couple memes, inspiring a small chuckle. Found an article that a friend had shared and almost passed it by, if it hadn’t been for a word he caught before moving on. The headline read, Child Rapist Final Court Sentence: Eighteen Months. The man hesitated on which emoji to give it. His thumb slid over and hovered above a sad face, then he thought better of it. He went with the angry face. 

The man scrolled on.

A particular meme made him laugh a little too loud. He made sure to give it a laughing emoji and comment something he thought to be humorous.

A little bell rung inaudibly and it caught the man’s attention. He switched to the notifications page. Theo Carter and two other people reacted to your post! The man tapped the notification to see the post and who else reacted to it. As he viewed it, a second notification sprang forth, letting the man know that his sister reacted to and commented on his post. She wrote, “I hope nothing is wrong! I’ll be thinking about you today.” The man made sure to give her comment a heart and a reply of, “Thank you!” 

He went back to browsing.

A post from an old high school friend caught his eye, as his thumb made the routine thrust upward to keep scrolling. The word, tumor flashed by and he had to double check to see if he had read right. 

He did indeed. 

His friend had written, Hey guys! I’m getting my third MRI to make sure the tumor has not enlarged more before the surgery next week. I would really appreciate your prayers! The post had over a hundred reactions and about fifty comments on it. The man tapped the comment bar, not knowing what he would write, but he knew he had to say something. A few suggestions came up. He chose the one that said, “Praying!” It had three emoji’s beside it; hands forming the praying teepee. He added on to it, saying, “I’ll be thinking about you!”

He left the post and kept scrolling.

 “Adams?”

The man lifted his head. It was like a rude awakening or coming up after being submerged underwater. He was suddenly aware of his sore throat and headache again. His pulse quickened and he pressed the power button on his phone, immediately forgetting what he had just read. 

“Yes?” said the man.

“Doctor Williams can see you now,” informed a woman standing in an open-door way. 

“Wonderful.”

The man stuffed his phone back into his pocket and walked towards the open door. Before he walked through, however, he looked back to make sure he had brought everything with him. His phone was nowhere in sight. The man patted his jean pocket just to make sure. He breathed a sigh of relief. Taking a last look around the white-walled, fluorescent room, he noticed that each person was immersed in their own world. 

A world of comfort and disconnected community.