FF: Waiting for the 196
Title: Waiting for the 196
Author: Ellie
Rating: G
Summary: “He tried to remember the last trip he’d taken with his mother.”
****
Foreman sipped his coffee, too hot still, and watched the people flow past him. The revolving doors of Union Station admitted a flurry of commuters and Congressional employees in bland colors and tourists in tube socks. With a glance at his watch, he twisted his wrist and ate a bite of his sandwich as he watched two boys with bright red backpacks try to drag their mother through one of the revolving doors; he smiled as she deftly maneuvered the trio through the central door, which swung open to the bright sunshine.
He tried to remember the last trip he’d taken with his mother. It had been high school, he thought, maybe the summer before junior year, when they’d crossed the Bay bridge and gone down to Maryland’s eastern shore for a week. During college he’d worked every summer, as she started slipping away, then he started medical school and hadn’t come back.
Twice in the last year he’d taken her on little trips in the area, out to Mount Vernon for the afternoon or Annapolis for lunch. She hadn’t remained lucid enough to appreciate either effort. This visit he hadn’t tried.
It wouldn’t have been worth the effort. She barely recognized him even in her good moments, and most of the time didn’t remember that she had a son. Three times in the first hour he’d spent with her, watching some pointless talk show with angry, fat women, he’d had to remind her who he was and why he was there.
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to forget. Things would be so much easier if he could just forget everything, the way she had. It wouldn’t be so painful if he forgot about her as often as her memory failed her. Instead, he felt a constant nagging reminder, every time House made a smart comment about him being a neurologist, or he saw his own business card. So much knowledge, and none of it could help her.
She hadn’t wanted him to be a doctor. Even after a lifetime in this corrupt, filthy city, she’d wanted him to go into law, to help people that way, or to be a politician, administrate a better life for others. He could have done it, intellectually, but he didn’t have the heart to put on a contrived façade every day he went to work. It was the one thing he admired about working for House-there was no façade at all. His mother had appreciated the polite veneer of courtesy, but Eric preferred the stark truth.
Honestly, he knew she’d be lucky to make it another year. He figured he had two or three more trips down to see her, maybe four if he could get off for Thanksgiving. When his father had called Thursday, he was worried this would be his last trip down to see her. All his knowledge did was reassure him that she had at least another six painful months ahead of her, and her doctors confirmed as much.
He took a gulp of the cooling coffee, trying not to grimace at the taste and his mother’s prospects. He tried to tell himself that the sting in his eyes was just the hot liquid burning his throat.
Over the bustling humanity broke the disembodied announcement that “the 196 with regional service between Washington, D.C. and Penn Station, New York” was now boarding at gate G3. Foreman crushed the remnants of his sandwich in their wrapper and tossed them in the nearest receptacle. Slinging his red backpack over one shoulder, he left the enclosed dining area and joined the sea of people, long habit guiding him toward the departure gate.
****
End
****
Author: Ellie
Rating: G
Summary: “He tried to remember the last trip he’d taken with his mother.”
****
Foreman sipped his coffee, too hot still, and watched the people flow past him. The revolving doors of Union Station admitted a flurry of commuters and Congressional employees in bland colors and tourists in tube socks. With a glance at his watch, he twisted his wrist and ate a bite of his sandwich as he watched two boys with bright red backpacks try to drag their mother through one of the revolving doors; he smiled as she deftly maneuvered the trio through the central door, which swung open to the bright sunshine.
He tried to remember the last trip he’d taken with his mother. It had been high school, he thought, maybe the summer before junior year, when they’d crossed the Bay bridge and gone down to Maryland’s eastern shore for a week. During college he’d worked every summer, as she started slipping away, then he started medical school and hadn’t come back.
Twice in the last year he’d taken her on little trips in the area, out to Mount Vernon for the afternoon or Annapolis for lunch. She hadn’t remained lucid enough to appreciate either effort. This visit he hadn’t tried.
It wouldn’t have been worth the effort. She barely recognized him even in her good moments, and most of the time didn’t remember that she had a son. Three times in the first hour he’d spent with her, watching some pointless talk show with angry, fat women, he’d had to remind her who he was and why he was there.
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to forget. Things would be so much easier if he could just forget everything, the way she had. It wouldn’t be so painful if he forgot about her as often as her memory failed her. Instead, he felt a constant nagging reminder, every time House made a smart comment about him being a neurologist, or he saw his own business card. So much knowledge, and none of it could help her.
She hadn’t wanted him to be a doctor. Even after a lifetime in this corrupt, filthy city, she’d wanted him to go into law, to help people that way, or to be a politician, administrate a better life for others. He could have done it, intellectually, but he didn’t have the heart to put on a contrived façade every day he went to work. It was the one thing he admired about working for House-there was no façade at all. His mother had appreciated the polite veneer of courtesy, but Eric preferred the stark truth.
Honestly, he knew she’d be lucky to make it another year. He figured he had two or three more trips down to see her, maybe four if he could get off for Thanksgiving. When his father had called Thursday, he was worried this would be his last trip down to see her. All his knowledge did was reassure him that she had at least another six painful months ahead of her, and her doctors confirmed as much.
He took a gulp of the cooling coffee, trying not to grimace at the taste and his mother’s prospects. He tried to tell himself that the sting in his eyes was just the hot liquid burning his throat.
Over the bustling humanity broke the disembodied announcement that “the 196 with regional service between Washington, D.C. and Penn Station, New York” was now boarding at gate G3. Foreman crushed the remnants of his sandwich in their wrapper and tossed them in the nearest receptacle. Slinging his red backpack over one shoulder, he left the enclosed dining area and joined the sea of people, long habit guiding him toward the departure gate.
****
End
****