I’ve spent my whole life waiting. Waiting in the hospital for weeks before my mother could hold me. Waiting for fights to stop so I could go to sleep. Waiting for dad to pick me up after soccer. Waiting for mom to stop crying. Waiting for dad to answer the phone. Waiting for test results. SAT, and EKG. Waiting for dad’s child support. Waiting for class to start.
Waiting. Waiting for life to start. Waiting for grades to mean something, for a career, for a partner, for friends. For mom to stop crying.
She did one day thanks to pills and alcohol. I waited at the funeral, waited for him. Waited for an apology, and explanation. Her note hadn’t had one.
Waited to find out he was dead in an alley, an OD.
Waited for life to mean something. Waited though a career. Waited for an Epiphany, for a message. Waited though sermons, though meditations, though pilgrimages.
Now I’m just waiting for the clock to tick it’s way to lunch. It’s roast beef and ham with a side of pills and water-downed apple juice. Just like when I was kid.