‘You are late again!’ alarmed my amygdala repeatedly, ‘the doctor would have scores of others fighting for his time’. Although my stomach let a sheepish rumble, I ignored it glancing at the loaf of bread on my cupboard, will bite it when I return from the hospital.
Grabbing my wristwatch and tinkering with my belt, I bolted out, closing the door shut and pressing for the lift.
The local metro was crowded as usual, but no matter what the crowd, the gentlemen in the first class compartment wouldn’t occupy the seat for the handicapped. Even when the train is packed, that one seat near the door would stay vacant as if occupied by a ghost that everyone acknowledges.
The doctor didn’t look angry when I entered his cabin half-an-hour late, instead he looked morose, he asked me to sit and started presenting the test results sequentially.
At the point he said, “It’s stage IV.”
My ears switched off at that point as if on mute.
I couldn’t remember hearing anything of what he said after.
After the visit, I returned home, the rumble in my tummy grew louder, I reached for the bread. Light-green mushy fungal mass had spread to almost every loaf.
For a moment, the loaf of bread looked like a mirror, reflecting my whole life. Should not have wasted an entire loaf of bed, should have enjoyed it to the fullest when I had the time.
I got back into the metro, to get some groceries, and a loaf of bread.
I stood next to the ghost seat, but something written on its signboard caught my attention, a detail I never noticed in all these years,
Seat reserved for handicapped and cancer patients
Just then I got a call from my mother, I picked it up,
“Ma, I have good news and bad news for you,”
“Okay…. What is the good news?”
“I would no longer have to stand in the metro again.”
With a chuckle, she replied “Oh, that is wonderful, now what is the bad news?”
THE END