Waiting room stories: Mark

This is Mark. I got an unfortunate glimpse of his belly when i first saw him a couple of weeks back. He was scratching it, his red shirt lifted for everyone to see. I was reading my book at the waiting area of the neurologist my mom told me to see about my back. I looked up because he was loud and very caustic to this old lady, whom i assumed was his grandmother. i couldn’t abide with rudeness, much more with the elderly. i shook my head in disgust and went back to my book.
People moved seats all the time in waiting rooms. I don’t really like doing it as long as i’m within earshot from the door. since i was one of the three people who were there early, i had already secured a spot beside the door. I had a couple of newly vacant spots beside me and Mark and his mother took them. The grandmother had come back from the restroom and she saw that she didn’t have a seat anymore. i waited for Mark to stand up and offer his seat to her. after several beats, he didn’t. i started getting up to give her my seat, but the old lady found a spot further down the hall. i sniffed in disgust and scooted a few centimeters away from Mark. he smelled of stale cigarettes and rudeness.

what are you reading? he asked. I looked up, he was talking to me.

without looking at him, i showed him the cover. A Case for Faith by Lee Strobel. Awesome book, and i didn’t want to be interrupted.

what is it about?

i sighed inwardly and smiled as politely as i could (fake). it’s about all the arguments about the existence of God. i said in halting Tagalog. it’s really intellectual, but it’s good. my tagalog embarassed me so i stopped talking.

he didn’t say anything more and i thankfully went back to my reading.

“talk to him.” the still small voice in my head said.

“argh. why?”

“because. you can’t keep on saying that everyone’s got a story and not take the time to hear it from the person himself. Smellyrude guy’s got a story.”

“but… but…he smells bad! he’s rude! look, he just spit on his shirt! there’re obviously something wrong with him!”

“just talk to him. you don’t have to do the whole gospel presentation. but hear him out.”

“but i’m not good at talking to people!”

“good grief. you do it for a living! now go!”

i closed my book again and turned to mark. he was staring at me. creepy. i forced a smile and casually asked, do you believe in God?

he nodded his head. of course he does.

ok. i didn’t have follow up questions.

are you a patient? he asked.

i nodded.

me too.

really?

you sound like you don’t believe me.

no, i just thought the doctor only sees older people. he’s my lolo’s neurologist, i’m just here about my back. it’s been weird lately.

i just need to see him about getting into rehab, he said quite casually.

oh. i stopped. and before i could think, i blurted out, rehab for what?

for drugs.

oh.

they won’t let him in without an endorsement from a psychiatrist. his mother said, leaning forward to talk to me. Dr. M– is a psychiatrist too.

i nodded. i fidgeted on my seat because Mark was staring at me again. i blinked and focused my attention to his mom. she had frizzy, peroxide bleached hair. she must have married young, or she just dressed young for her age. she wore a tank top and skinny clam diggers. she had silver rings on each finger on her left hand, a few bangles on each wrist.

he’s been in and out of addiction for three years. she said. she seemed glad to have someone to talk to. she continued, i should have taken him to rehab first instead of Home Care. shabu is hard to shake off. i nodded and tried to remember my report on drug abuse and addiction back in junior year in high school.

He’s my youngest. she said.

I looked at Mark, who was still staring creepily at my face. i wished i hadn’t worn a tanktop to the doctor’s. i asked him how old he was. I thought I was 26, he said, but only because i had forgotten my birthday.

He’s 29, his mom answers for him. Whenever he got out of Home Care, he would be sober for a month before going back to drugs. But he’s been clean for two months now.

That’s great. I didn’t know what Home Care was, but it sounded different from a real rehabilitation center. I smiled at Mark, who didn’t look all that clean.

We have to lock him up in the house. He has a room with the metal bars around it. He used to have everything in there– a TV, an electric fan, a bed. But he’s wrecked it all. It’s hard when you’re addicted to shabu pala.

I nodded. I remembered the drug widrawal symptoms I had read about over a decade ago. beside me, Mark spat on the floor. he reminded me off a child who wasn’t all that aware of his surroundings, more less standard public protocols, such as one should not spit on the waiting area floor.

But he goes in there willingly, Mark mother hurriedly adds, handing Mark a handkerchief and looking so apologetic for her son’s behavior. When we get home later, he will just go in and tell me to lock the door and not listen to him when he wants to get out. Before, he would plead, and cry, and i would let him out and he’d come back high on drugs again. He’s the one who told me to get him into rehab.

that’s good. i said lamely, feeling like a response was required of me.

his mom talked about the cost of a private rehab center vs. the DOH one in Tagaytay. about the activities that would help Mark get clean. I just listened to her while Mark kept on staring at me.

when his mom paused for breath, i patted his shoulder and said, “I’ll pray for you.”

Are you from abroad?

I laughed, embarassed, i mumbled, “sometimes.” which was a fib. i don’t really go out of the country that often to count as “sometimes.” that was when i remembered that i didn’t even know his name. i asked and introduced myself.

just then the nurse called Mark into the office. i shook hands with him and his mom. i smiled at his grandmother who had stood up from her seat from the down the hall. mark sat back down again and kept on staring at me. his mom, his lola and the doctor’s assistant were waiting by the doorway.

you’re pretty. Mark said. and i forced a smile.obviously, drugs had damaged his brain. he finally stood up and went in.

ok. that was over. i sat back on my seat and prayed for Mark as promised. after a few minutes, the family stepped out of the doctor’s office. that was fast. Mark’s mom was smiling, they got the endorsement for his rehab.

It was my turn with the doctor. I shook hands with Mark who assured me that I shouldn’t be scared of the doctor even if he has a loud voice. that’s just how he is. His mom started to ask for my number. i hesitated for a second, and the assistant called my name for the second time.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Mark’s mom, I never even got her name. “God bless you.” I’ll be praying for Mark, i said. I patted Mark on the shoulder again and said good bye.

i have no idea where Mark is now. likely he’s at the rehab in tagaytay.

i hope he’s ok.

i wish i had gotten his mom’s number.

i still pray for him once in a while.

i wonder how he is now.