Most of the patients were waiting quietly their turn at the consulting room on the first floor. There were people of course that slipped carelessly forward taking advantage from the absentmindedness of those before them. The queue often shook with arguments but sometimes everybody just bowed their heads with resignation as when a fat, obviously quite intoxicated man with a superficial cuts on the belly and swollen nose elbowed his way to the door.
A man in his early twenties was sitting slightly stooped on the bench opposite the emergency room, his palm pressing his chest, his lips twitching nervously. His face was pale and haggard, the eyes darkened with pain. No one paid him any attention, and he paid attention to no one as well, because he had enough problems. He didn't react when the fat men thrust past him although he wanted to very much. But his ribs hurt so badly that he wasn't sure if he would be able to inhale enough air to curse him. Maybe a robust curse would have done a good job in this case but he just could not produce one. He felt awful, everything was swimming before his eyes and he wondered if, when his turn came, he would manage to stand up and totter to the cherished door. He was already waiting more than an hour.
At one time a white-haired woman appeared, her arm hanging down, twisted at a sickening angle. She leant on the wall and burst out crying, stopping at nearly ten seconds intervals just to emit a piercing wail. The people at the queue exchanged glances. Someone asked her to stop making noise, because it had been unbearable. The others had been in pain too, but they had been keeping calm. The young man looked up, blinking the dizziness away, and then proposed that she should be let in immediately. A murmur ensued but at the end everyone agreed that her case was of utmost emergency, all the more that no one wanted to listen heartrending shrieks.
Something was rattling along the corridor and the man slowly turned his head. A young woman, dressed in jeans and t-shirt was moving on with great difficulty, propped heavily on the handles of a battered metal wheelchair. Her left foot was dragging along the tiles, obviously unable to support the weight of her body. The man wondered why a hospital attendant hadn't sat her and wheeled her to the emergency room. It seemed improper to him – injured woman to be left by herself. Due to the agonizing rib pain he felt too weak to even stand, let alone help her. He stared at her face. It looked familiar, though the suffering had made it ten years older. Then memories flashed into his mind.
She stopped her torturous dragging for a moment and stared with her eyes half-closed, apparently unable to recognize the man who had called her by name.
"I am...", the man started as he rose to his feet, puffing like a locomotive.
The man smiled and nodded.
"I thought you would not recognize me. Me too at first ... naturally ... we haven't seen each other ... about ten years", the man uttered, breathing heavily.
"It was a long time ago," Nina said, then bent her injured leg, giving it some rest.
"Sit here, I can stand for a while."
"No, no, no problem. I will sit on the wheelchair. Just hold it, please, so it not slips off my hands.
Peter reached out to help her, forgetting for a moment the pain tearing his chest.
"Well, we got together again", said Peter as he lowered himself cautiously on the bench, accompanying his words with a wry smile.
They knew each other from high school. Although they attended different classes, their mutual sympathy got them in a same circle of friends. They liked each other, were even intimate for nearly a month, before Peter's father moved to work in a different city, taking his son with him. They carry on a correspondence for a year or two, then their bond grew cold, mainly due to the long distance separating them.
"I'm happy to see you, regardless of the circumstances," said Nina, staring in awe at the enormous queue.
"How did you get injured?"
.... There is more of this story ...