While He Waits

By K.F. Black

“Patience is virtrue.”

“What?”

“Patience is virtrue!” Wally said again, louder this time. Papa had told him to collect smiles while he was gone, and Wally was very good at following directions. “Papa says so!”

The man barely looked at him. He just turned back to the receptionist and slapped a hand against the counter.

“Where are this kid’s parents?” he raised his voice. “And it’s been damn near an hour and a half. Why are we still waiting?”

The receptionist dropped her eyes to the papers spread across her desk, as if, by staring hard enough at the black lines and little boxes, she might disappear into them.

Before she could answer, Wally tried again.

“My papa is right over—”

“Please, kid,” the man snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Wally’s eyes began to sting. “I’m sorry, I wanted to make you happy.”

That made the receptionist look up. She leaned over the counter a little, softening when she saw him.

“Go sit down, Wally. Your dad will be out soon, okay?”

“But Papa said—”

“I know what he said.” She remained gentle. “Go find your seat. Maybe go play with the octopus.”

Wally nodded and turned away.

His chair was still there, right where he left it. So was the clock above reception, ticking one second at a time. Wally liked that clock. It always sounded the same. Tick. Tick. Tick. Nothing in this room had stayed nice for long except that clock.

He was almost back to his seat when he overheard a family talking too loud. Two sisters sat beside their mother. One of them asked if her head still hurt. The other kept making a face at a paper cup, saying the medicine was too big.

Her head hurts? Wally knew about head pain.

He stopped and turned to them.

“Hi,” he said. “Sometimes my head hurts too! I like to—”

“Excuse you.” The mother didn’t even look at him at first. “Don’t interrupt.”

Wally stood still.

“But when my head hurts, I—”

Now she looked at him.

“You think you know my kids better than I do? You want to be their mother for a day? You want all this?”

Her voice made the smaller children sink back in their seats.

Wally swallowed. “Sorry. I just wanna help.”

“If you want to help, why don’t you get us in quicker?”

“I can ask—”

“No, you can’t. Go find your parents and sit down.”

“Okay.”

He climbed back into his chair and curled forward until his chin nearly touched his chest.

Another lost smile.

After a moment, he looked toward the toy corner.

The beanbag chair had gone flat a long time ago, overused by the understimulated children forced to wait there. The bead maze on the table was sticky-looking, the wires bent crooked. There was a bookcase along the wall too, missing a shelf, with a collection of picture books shoved in sideways and torn pages hanging out like tongues. The train rug underneath it all had once been bright, maybe, but now all the tracks looked the color of old mop water.

Wally scanned the whole corner. No octopus.

He straightened up and spotted it in someone else’s arms.

A little girl was holding it, squeezing its oblong head while she ate bright orange chips from a crinkled bag. The octopus’s fuzz was matted flat in places, one tentacle half-empty, its bright purple faded from too many greasy hands. Wally knew every part of it. It was his favorite.

The girl wore a blue T-shirt with a giant octopus swimming across the front. Above it, in rainbow letters, were the words Stevenson Aquarium.

He slid out of his chair. He would have to get it back.

“Can I play with that?” Wally asked. He pointed to the octopus in the girl’s arm. 

The girl hesitated.

“Ummm…”

She hugged the toy tighter, then slowly held it out.

“Okay, here.”

Her eyes watered a little as she offered it.

Wally almost took it, but then saw her mouth slanting down.

“Never mind. You can keep it.”

He started to turn away.

“You’re really nice.”

Wally turned back. The girl held out her hand.

“I’m Shelby.”

“I’m Wally.” He shook it carefully. “I’m waiting for my papa.”

“Is he getting an opreation?”

She began to fidget with one of the few remaining tentacles, rubbing it between her thumb and index finger.

He shook his head.

“No, he’s—”

“My mom needs her brain checked,” Shelby said. “They said she’s termlinal.”

“Term…li…nal?” He tried his best. “What’s that?”

Shelby thought hard. She lifted one of the octopus’s tentacles to her chin.

“I dunno. Mom never tells me.”

Her mother sat beside her, a magazine lifted just high enough to hide her face. The pages trembled slightly, and a small sniff came from behind them.

Shelby brightened suddenly.

“But maybe it means she’s getting better!”

Wally nodded right away.

“Yeah!”

The word made him cough. A thick lump of mucus caught in his throat. He swallowed it down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then, he pointed toward the toy corner.

“Wanna come play with me?”

Shelby looked up at her mom. The magazine lowered just enough to show tired hazel eyes, a narrow nose, and the clear plastic tubing running beneath each nostril.

“Mom, can I play with Wally?”

Her mother could only muster a fatigued nod. The oxygen tank beside her hummed softly.

Both kids rushed to the toy corner.

“Why does your mom have that tube?” Wally asked while digging through a cracked plastic bin filled with mismatched toys.

“It helps her breathe,” Shelby said. “She says it makes her feel all better.”

“I want one!” Wally pulled out a groan tube and stuck it under his nose, squinting his face to keep it in place. “See? Now I can breathe better!”

Shelby giggled.

She wandered to the bookcase and flipped through the picture books, tossing them aside when she didn’t like them. Her orange chip fingerprints marked the covers.

“Let’s play hide and seek!” Wally said suddenly. “I’m really good at it.”

Shelby looked around the room.

“This place is too small.”

“I’ll hide! I do this with my friends all the time. They never find me.”

He pointed to the wall clock with the cat face.

“Just count to ten.”

Before Shelby could answer, he ran.

“One… two… three…”

She covered her eyes and matched the ticking of the clock, the cat eyes moving side to side.

“No peeking!” Wally shouted from somewhere.

“I’m not!”

She was.

“Four… five…”

Shelby thought hard, the gears in her head struggling to turn.

“Eight… ten!”

She opened her eyes and laughed. The lights buzzed overhead as she ran through the waiting room, the octopus dragging behind her. One empty tentacle brushed the floor like it was trying to crawl back to the toy corner.

“Wally! Where are you?”

People began to glance up from their chairs.

She looked under the table near the water fountain. Behind the vending machine. Even around a door left slightly ajar before a staff member guided her away.

She finally spotted him. He was crouched beneath a small desk covered in pamphlets.

“Found you!” Shelby jumped up and down.

“Dang!” Wally said, bumping his head on the desk as he crawled out.

A pamphlet slid off the pile and landed on the floor beside him.

Living with Cancer, the cover read.

They didn’t notice, instead they rushed off laughing. The octopus bounced behind Shelby as they chased each other between chairs and side tables.

Wally ran until his chest burned. 

Then he crashed into someone’s leg. It was an older man sitting with one ankle crossed over the other, flipping through a magazine. He lowered it slowly, removing his glasses and leaning forward.

“Where are your manners, young man? We don’t need two shouting kids running around this place.”

The sudden bark made both children cry at once. Shelby’s mother overheard.

She tried to stand, her legs trembling as she pushed herself upright, but the receptionist hurried over and gently guided her back down into the chair.

“Please, Mrs. Adams, don’t get up.”

The receptionist’s eyes flicked toward the kids.

“But we do need them to be supervised. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Mrs. Adams shook her head and forced herself to stand anyway. The oxygen tank rolled behind her as she walked over, its wheels clicking across the polished tile.

She took both kids by the hand.

“You owe these children an apology.”

The man scoffed.

“An apology? For teaching them how to behave?”

He looked Mrs. Adams up and down—the tubing, the tank, the pale skin.

“I don’t care what your situation is,” he said. “We’re all waiting here. At least keep your kids under control.”

Her breathing grew sharp. The plastic tubing beneath her nose fogged with each troubled breath. Her chest rose and fell sporadically, the oxygen machine struggling to keep pace.

Then the machine sputtered. The steady hum paused.

She struck the top of it with the side of her fist, growing frantic when it stalled. She dropped to one knee as she tried to fix it. Shelby and Wally stood frozen, snot leaking from their noses.

A second later the machine kicked back on. The steady stream returned. She took a deep breath and pushed herself back to her feet.

The old man had already gone back to his magazine.

“Don’t start thinking you’re winning mother of the year,” he muttered. “Just keep them quiet.”

He slid his glasses on and continued reading, only sparing the kids a tired glance.

Mrs. Adams knelt beside the children.

“Don’t listen to him. You two should have fun. Don’t let miserable adults stop you.”

Wally and Shelby wiped their eyes.

“Mrs. Adams?” the receptionist called. “Could you come up here for a moment please? With your insurance?”

Shelby’s mother squeezed her daughter’s hand.

“Come on, honey. You can play with Wally another time.”

She led Shelby toward the desk.

“We can play next time!” Wally called after her.

“Yeah!” Shelby shouted back with a grin. “I’ll bring my favorite toy! I got it at the quarium with all the fishees! My favorite is the octopus!” 

“Me too!” Wally yelled.

But she was already too far away to hear.

Wally sat back down. He had one smile.

One more would make things even.

Across the room, a tall boy with a limp walked away from the reception desk. As he moved, a small card slipped from his pocket.

Wally hopped down to grab it.

It had the boy’s picture on it, along with an address and a lot of other information Wally didn’t care about.

The teenage boy was absentmindedly lost in his phone when Wally reached him.

“This is for you.”

The boy glanced up and took the card.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Are you waiting too?” Wally asked.

The teenager sighed, still focused on the game on his screen.

“Yeah. Just waiting like everyone else—”

“What game is that?”

Wally plopped down into the chair beside him, leaning over the screen so much his head blocked half of it. The boy tilted the phone away.

“It’s called Ruins to Riches. You collect stuff and build a town. Then monsters attack it.”

“Can I try?”

Wally’s sticky fingers hovered over the screen.

“You can watch,” the boy said.

“Okay!”

Wally’s legs began swinging from the chair. For a moment he stopped watching the game altogether, staring off somewhere else.

“Why are you here?” the teenager asked.

“I’m waiting for my papa. He’s in the back room.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“Why? I love papa!”

The game continued playing quietly between them.

“N-no reason. They do good work here.”

His eyes flipped back to the screen. A loud Game Over flashed red across his face.

“Mr. White?”

A nurse stood at the far end of the room holding a clipboard.

“Laurence White?”

Laurence froze.

“Ugh.”

He stood up with uncertainty. For a moment, he almost slipped the phone back into his pocket. But instead, he looked over to Wally. 

“Here,” he said, handing it over to the young boy. “You can have it.”

Wally blinked.

“For me? But it’s your phone.”

“Everything’s wiped, all that’s left is the game.” Laurence shrugged. “It was my little brother’s favorite.” He looked at Wally for a moment—like he was seeing someone else in his place. “I won’t need it anymore.”

“Thanks!”

Wally got up and hugged his leg. Laurence awkwardly patted his back.

“Thank you… for watching me play. I know it sounds dumb, but—”

“You’re welcome!”

Laurence smiled, wiped his eyes, and followed the nurse back down the hallway.

Two smiles. Wally would tell Papa.

A sharp citrus smell cut through the room. The janitor was mopping the floor.

“I like that smell,” said Wally.

The janitor chuckled. “Yeah? It’s Virex.” He ruffled Wally’s hair. “I always try to clean when I know you’re coming in.”

He held out the mop.

“Want to give it a go?”

“Yes!”

Wally grabbed it with both hands and pushed it across the floor, though the mop barely moved and his trembling arms struggled to push it any farther.

“Great job, Wally! Now get that spot over—”

“I’m waiting for my papa.”

The janitor nodded.

“I know. You’re a very patient young man.”

“Yup! Papa says patience is virtrue.”

The mop bumped the wash bucket and spilled soapy water across the floor. Wally dropped the handle.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense! You just helped me clean.” The janitor took the mop and moved around the excess water.

He gave Wally a big smile. Wally returned it with one of his own.

Three smiles. A net positive.

The staff door opened. A man in scrubs stepped into the waiting room.

“Wally? You in here?”

Wally jumped to his feet and ran to him.

“Papa! I waited for you!”

He wrapped his arms around his father’s legs, pressing his face into the fabric of the scrubs. Tears soaked into the cloth.

His father rested a hand on the back of his son’s head. He glanced toward the janitor.

“Good seeing you, Bill. Thanks for keeping him busy. It ended up being a longer surgery than we expected.”

“Anytime. Your son brightens this place up.” He patted his pockets. “Oh! Almost forgot.”

Bill pulled a small plastic bottle from his back pocket and handed it to Wally.

“It’s a surprise for you.”

Wally opened up the empty bottle and sniffed. The sharp citrus smell hit him immediately; his eyes watered a little, but he grinned regardless. The bottle had once held Virex.

“Thank you!”

Bill nodded and returned to mopping, though the floors had already been cleaned for hours.

“Papa, I made three people smile!” Then his voice softened. “But some didn’t. Some got mad at me.”

His father leaned down.

“That’s alright, son. Not everyone can be happy all the time.” He squeezed Wally’s shoulder. “Your job is just to try your best and collect what you can.”

Wally beamed, but a sudden fit of coughing caught in his throat. Red specks fell onto the white tile. He covered his mouth with his thin hand and, when he pulled it away, blood glistened in his palm.

“Papa…” He rested on the cool floor. “Am I okay?” His knees curled to his chest. “I haven’t seen the quarium yet. I wanna see the fish with Shelby.”

“Shelby?” 

“My new friend. She likes the octopus too.”

“Wally…” his father lowered himself beside him. “There are things you haven’t done yet, but there are so many things you have done. You make your mother and me very happy. And think about all the people you make smile.”

He helped Wally up again, steadying him when he wobbled.

“There will be time for all sorts of things. Maybe the aquarium can be your reward this time.”

Wally turned and looked back toward the waiting room. Shelby stood beside her mother, still holding onto the purple octopus. She waved. The orange chip stains were still on her fingers.

Wally waved back with his red-stained hand.

Shelby walked over after noticing the blood. She had seen that before, with her own mother.

“Here.” She held out the octopus. “They have three hearts; you can take one for the opreation.”

Wally took it. “You pinky promise we can play next time?”

Shelby nodded.

“Yes. We’ll play hide-and-seek again. Then we’ll go see the quarium.”

To Shelby’s surprise, Wally hugged her. She hugged him back. 

She didn’t know why she suddenly started to cry.

A nurse appeared.

“Mrs. Adams?”

Shelby’s mother waved in acknowledgment, taking Shelby by the hand and walking down another hallway. They gave one last goodbye before disappearing behind the doorway.

Wally and his father walked the other direction, into the staff-only doorway.

“Remember what Papa says before surgery?”

Wally had to think for a moment. “No—”

“Just… keep—”

“Smiling!” 

“Exactly,” his father sighed. “It’s that time again, buddy.”

They started down the hall.

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you crying?”

His father wiped beneath his eye.

“I guess I’m just thinking too much.”

“Can we get ice cream after?”

His father stopped walking.

“Of course. Anything you want.”

Wally held the octopus close to his chest.

“I’ll hold onto this guy for you,” his father said, reaching for the toy.

Wally held it closer. “But I like him. He’s my favorite.”

“But Wally—”

A nurse knelt beside the boy.

“Does your friend have a name?”

Wally dipped his head. “He used to be Mr. Dr. Octopus. But now I wanna name him Shelby. It’s a girl now too.”

The nurse laughed. “That’s a lovely name.”

She gently reached for the toy.

“We’ll just keep her safe while your dad helps you, then we’ll give it back after.”

She pointed down the hall.

“See that fish tank? She can wait there with all her fish friends.”

Wally looked between his father and the nurse to the tank. He cautiously handed it over.

His father leaned closer to the nurse.

“You don’t have to keep it,” he whispered. “Wally… won’t be needing it.”

“Don’t say that,” the nurse replied. “He’s been so strong. Let him have this.”

She carried the octopus to the fish tank and sat it beside the glass. Its single stitched eye faced the water. Fish drifted through the tank.

Wally and his father walked past it. Wally couldn’t help looking back as it faded from view. A row of nurses stood quietly on either side of the hallway.

Wally squeezed his father’s hand.

His wait was finally over.

Still wearing that same smile, he walked toward the surgery room, wondering what flavor of ice cream he might get.

Patience is a virtue.

Wally had been very patient. 

K.F. Black is a fiction writer whose work explores psychological realism and grief, with an emphasis on the interior struggles of his characters. He lives in the United States with his wife and, when not writing, can be found laboring through piano practice or playing chess.