The Misunderstanding

The waiting room smelled of Iodine and diaper plastic. I really don’t know what I was doing there.

In the corner, a battered mini playset wavered, faded colors as tired as the mothers watching their toddlers attempt to re-enact the cold war. In one corner, the three year old equivalent of Stalin rained destruction down from his wobbly Olympus, hurling block after wooden block at a rather confused looking two year old. Beside me, what I took for his mother murmured excuses for him, not glancing at the dog-eared Good Housekeeping magazine in her lap.

“Tired.” She murmurs. “He’s had allergies, too. Poor thing.” The poor thing in question ricochets a plastic spatula off a girl’s ear. She cries.

I look down at my magazine, and then up again. How are these rooms so oppressive? I feel so out of place, a twenty-something male in a predominantly young female domain. Even the children know I don’t belong.

A mother is called, gathers her child and leaves. I fiddle with my phone, check my inbox (empty), start up angry birds (Beaten), open facebook (nothing new). Baby Stalin appears to have another child in a headlock. The mother’s excuses are growing more farfetched.

“The economy.” She murmurs. “Hurricanes. Global warming. Microsoft.”

“Matthias Ransom.” The nurse looks at me. I rise, straighten my jacket, and follow her down the hall.

The doctor is a weary looking man in his early sixties, sad grey eyes staring from behind a slender pair of spectacles.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need to know if a young woman by the name of Selena Blaire came in here a few days ago.”

“People come in all the time, Mr. Ransom. I can’t be expected to remember all of them.”

“About six feet tall? Stunningly beautiful? Early twenties, bright red hair?”

“Oh, her.”

“She had a child with her.” I said. “A little boy. I need to know how he was.”

“He was healthy. There was something about him…” the doctor tapped his stubbled chin with his computer stylus.

“His eyes were mismatched. One was green and the other was yellowish. A golden color.”

“That’s impossible, the boy I’m talking about has dark eyes.”

“Believe what you want. This kid had two differently colored eyes. And he was big, for five.”

I thought for a moment. Had Selena already started on him? Was I too late?

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Mr. Ransom. Is the child in question kidnapped?”

“No sir.” I said quickly. “Just a small misunderstanding.”