The staircase is so narrow, it’s almost claustrophobic. The eggshell white walls are bare, and look tired, as if they have not been painted in over a decade. The generic carpet is a maroon color and frayed around the edges. Turning the corner, I see a decent sized waiting room. The seats, also a maroon shade, are almost completely filled, so I quickly take a seat. The room is mostly filled with young females, many accompanied by, I’m assuming, their mothers. Though there are a variety of races, all of the faces have the same exact look of fear and uncertainty. The mother’s faces are filled with anger and discomfort. Directly across from me is the reception area. The small cubicle is filled with countless folders and files. The three women, dressed in different colored scrubs, have impatient scowls, as if they want to be somewhere else. Every few minutes, girls walk through the large metal doors, returning with cotton swabs and band aids covering their arms, and sit down to anxiously await the results of a blood test-THE blood test.
It seems as though every one of these places is the same, or so I’ve been told. I have only heard recollections through friends of friends who have been here before. It is not the most pleasant place to be, but it gets the job done, without costing you your whole paycheck. While I’m sitting here, I don’t feel better than any of these people, nor do I feel disgust. Instead, I try to empathize and be supportive Emily. She’s the reason why I’m here this morning.
Emily and I have not been friends for very long. In fact, up until this point, I think I’ve only known her for about a year and a half. We don’t have too much in common, besides the fact that we work together and like some of the same music. Pink, to be exact, is our absolute favorite, and I can’t help but think that she is the reason why we initially began talking.
Emily, at first sight, can come off as a bit tough, and most definitely exudes an attitude of being streetwise. She has more than ten tattoos, including the most dominant and noticeable one, a butterfly, across her upper chest. She has a few on her wrists, and two large ones on her arms. She also has numerous facial piercings, including one on her lower lip. Either way, it does not take away from her beauty. She is strikingly beautiful, her light green eyes one of her most likeable features. Emily is a sweet person, but a part of me can’t help but feel kind of sorry for her. I feel guilty for even thinking this, but it’s the truth. Over the last few months, I have gotten to know her so well, and she has shared things with me that no one else, not even my life long friends, has ever shared.
She dropped out of high school in her late teens, but ended up going back a year or two later and graduating. She became pregnant in her mid teens, but lost the baby due to the fact that she was being threatened at school. This caused her to become so stressed, she had a miscarriage. Emily had never told her parents, and to this day, even more than ten years later, they still have no idea.
A few weeks after we began working together, she revealed to me that she had a 2 and a half-year-old son. When she spoke of him, her face magically lit up, and I found it beautiful that he had such an amazing and positive effect on her. Through our discussions, I learned that she has a live in boyfriend, Freddie (also the father of her son), and that they have been together for about four years. That was the extent of the discussion when it came to him.
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