Virus

Her heart was thumping in her chest, her ears were ringing, her hair was flying everywhere, whipping her neck when it flew back. She saw everything but did not register it. Not the emotions on people, the man, the woman, fighting, the former resigned, the latter angry. Not the tears flowing from the eyes of the girl on her phone, not the joy twinkling in the eyes of the skipping boy, as he chewed on gum. She saw all, but nothing registered, the darkness inside of her was loud, insistent, and demanded all her attention. The air tasted metallic, its touch was warm, like that of a concerned friend who knew you needed help but did not know how to provide it.

She cycled furiously, urgently gasping in large volumes of air. In. Out. In. Out. Her head was sighing, her heart was bursting, she did not understand why.

She cycled onwards, ears ringing faster and faster, in perfect harmony with her feet that tried to cycle away from the sound.

At a doctors office, a few dozen blocks away, patients waited in silence, the heavy curtain of stillness punctured only by babies crying, some softly, some wailing. It smelled sterile, clean, too fresh, colorful, impressionist pieces hung on the walls, adding splashes of color here and there, each showing their true forms at different times of day. Otherwise, everything was in muted tones, the grey carpet, the white walls, the black, shining bookshelves, the dark grey scrubs of the nurses scurrying around, like frightened rats.

A doctor droned on in one of the rooms, his monitor lighting up his glasses. The boy in front of him was holding his stomach, grimacing in pain, trying to be brave, because ‘brave boys don't cry.’ His mother sat next to him, worry lines on her forehead, he was in real pain, he didn’t show it, because his father had whispered something in his ear the night before. But she could tell. She was his mother after all.

The girl cycled onwards, blood rushing through her head, but not enough through her heart, feeling nauseous.

The doctor finished his summary of the boy’s condition, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, and pressed a button.

The girl winced, the pain was becoming too much, the nausea was rising, bile in her throat.

The doctor explained what was needed to the nurse who came in, her hands folded in front of her. She ushered the boy and his mother out, the former holding back tears of pain, the latter eyes full of worry.

She docked her rented bike, and staggered a little, briefly. It felt like there were voices in her head, more than one pair of eyes.

The doctor rubbed his hands, and started typing on his computer, giving his program commands.

She gulped in one huge breath of air, and felt better.

In the waiting room outside his office, patients heard a cackle. Some sat up straight, concerned, alerted. The cackle continued, then a nurse rushed in, and came out soon with the name of another patient, who went in, a little confused. When that appointment was over, the doctor made sure the door was closed and unlocked his bottom drawer. He pulled out a cellphone painted black, turned it on, and dialed a number.

“It works.”

His screen showed a pair of hands gripping the handles of a bike, docking it.