Spots

Spots

It's the bathroom up a floor, to the left, down the hall - the one with the private stall.

On the stairs from the parking lot to the road outside, next to the flowerpot without any flowers, especially when the weather is so cold you can't feel your fingers.

The resident's room - warm, no windows, running low on snacks. 

They tell me about their spots.

Past the lab, to the right; if you get to the office you've gone too far. You can see downtown from the window.

Try the sculpture garden. 

His photo is next to the water fountain. Class of ‘81, face right under the M. I wish he were still here. You can see him on your way back to the library.

They tell me about their spots - and the pain, joy, sorrow, happiness, numbness, energy they have bathed in there.

That's where I found out I would be a grandma.

I wonder if they're still alive now. 

When I got the call, I knew.

Spots in the hospital where life happens.

Life. 

As I sit on the sidewalk bench, watching cars go by, tires slick and squeaking, rain slapping off trees.

I think to myself.

People-watching in the waiting room, highlighter green clipboard and new patient paperwork in hand.

Everyone has a spot.

Are you lost, honey? What are you looking for?

I wonder how to find mine.

Description:

Spots is a piece about familiarity, belonging, and searching. It is written from the perspective of an individual who is in the process of finding their place – both physically and emotionally – in the world of medicine. While this story is set in the hospital, I feel that anyone who enters a new, unfamiliar situation may feel similarly out of place – and similarly hopeful that they will find what they are looking for.