Excerpt from “Some Day I’ll Write About This”
The waiting room is like a vacuum chamber. The air so vacant, it draws the moisture from your tongue and lips, the silence so penetrating that you think you can hear molecules rustling against one another in the space between you and your spouse. He busies himself with his iPhone, and for the moment, he looks almost at home.
But not you. The padded chair is too hard, the room too warm even though it’s too cold, and you wring your hands and flip through magazines that you don’t intend to read, because through the door and down the hall, away from the two of you, is your child. Behind closed doors, a team of experts is studying her—evaluating the way she talks, the way she plays, whether she will look them in the eye. All so that you and your husband can rule in, or out, her placement on a spectrum.
To read the entire piece, please visit The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts by Matter Press.