//creative//
Spring 2018
Countdown
Nikki Kaiser
Sixty minutes earlier, Henry entered the small stone cottage with the bright red door, and placed his briefcase on the worn hook by the stairs. “Honey, I’m home!” he called eagerly, making his way into the kitchen. No scent of roasted beef wafted toward him, no promise of cold iced tea awaited him. “Honey?” He walked into the living room, was met with silence. He sprinted up the stairs and into the bedroom, down to the basement, out to the backyard and frantically ran back into the kitchen as if he may have missed his wife the first time around and would now find her peeking out from behind the pantry. The kitchen was empty.
Fifty minutes earlier, his sister-in-law finally answered the phone. “Which hospital?” Henry inquired, his voice breaking. “How bad is it?” His voice turned frenetic as he clutched the phone to his ear. The cell phone dropped from his hand upon the news.
Forty minutes earlier, Henry had forgotten to lock the door in his haste to amble into his Ford, remembered five minutes down the highway, and decided it certainly did not matter now. He honked loudly as a nearby car refused to let him merge.
Thirty minutes earlier, he was sweating profusely, sending up prayers to a god he never believed in until this moment. His foot was pressed to the accelerator, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
Twenty minutes earlier, a cop passed by, but did not stop him for speeding. Henry nearly cried with gratitude.
Ten minutes earlier, he burst through the hospital doors so loudly that no less than a dozen people turned to stare. “Where is my wife?!” he demanded. A nurse in blue calmly asked him to lower his voice.
Five minutes earlier, Henry ran down the shiny white floor, the pale blue halls a blur in his peripherals. He wasted no time with the elevator, but took the stairs two at a time, accelerating his breathing. He refused to stop until he reached her room, whispered pleas under his breath, his stomach churning at the thought of what he might see.
One minute ago, Henry barrelled into the 10x12 hospital room, where his wife lay hooked to an IV, her face ashen.
“Congratulations.” the doctor told him softly. “It’s a boy.”
Sixty minutes earlier, Henry entered the small stone cottage with the bright red door, and placed his briefcase on the worn hook by the stairs. “Honey, I’m home!” he called eagerly, making his way into the kitchen. No scent of roasted beef wafted toward him, no promise of cold iced tea awaited him. “Honey?” He walked into the living room, was met with silence. He sprinted up the stairs and into the bedroom, down to the basement, out to the backyard and frantically ran back into the kitchen as if he may have missed his wife the first time around and would now find her peeking out from behind the pantry. The kitchen was empty.
Fifty minutes earlier, his sister-in-law finally answered the phone. “Which hospital?” Henry inquired, his voice breaking. “How bad is it?” His voice turned frenetic as he clutched the phone to his ear. The cell phone dropped from his hand upon the news.
Forty minutes earlier, Henry had forgotten to lock the door in his haste to amble into his Ford, remembered five minutes down the highway, and decided it certainly did not matter now. He honked loudly as a nearby car refused to let him merge.
Thirty minutes earlier, he was sweating profusely, sending up prayers to a god he never believed in until this moment. His foot was pressed to the accelerator, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
Twenty minutes earlier, a cop passed by, but did not stop him for speeding. Henry nearly cried with gratitude.
Ten minutes earlier, he burst through the hospital doors so loudly that no less than a dozen people turned to stare. “Where is my wife?!” he demanded. A nurse in blue calmly asked him to lower his voice.
Five minutes earlier, Henry ran down the shiny white floor, the pale blue halls a blur in his peripherals. He wasted no time with the elevator, but took the stairs two at a time, accelerating his breathing. He refused to stop until he reached her room, whispered pleas under his breath, his stomach churning at the thought of what he might see.
One minute ago, Henry barrelled into the 10x12 hospital room, where his wife lay hooked to an IV, her face ashen.
“Congratulations.” the doctor told him softly. “It’s a boy.”
//NIKKI KAISER is a junior in Barnard College. She can be reached at [email protected].