The ICU waiting room is never a joy to be in. The uncertainty and fear are palpable as loved ones wait to hear any bit of news they can from those who are in the know. Every time a doctor, a nurse, hell even a janitor passes by the door, every eye follows them. Every code on the loudspeaker bores into the minds of the people awaiting some sort of resolution. Tension is omnipresent, but discussion is absent. Any words spoken in the waiting room are cheap. The speculations, the comforting words, the pleas for some sense of normalcy are useless. The only words that can relieve the tension filling that small, white, fluorescently lit room are the ones that come from those white-coated individuals with their metal encased charts. Thoughts and speculations are silenced by fact. The truth of the matter is then exposed. However, hours elapse between each burst of fact from the medical personnel. The facts bring little comfort, and the tormenting silence returns.

It was quite a scene to behold in the UCLA Medical Center that Saturday night in late May. Girls decked out in prom dresses, boys in tuxedos. Beautiful clothes, beautiful kids. That is until one looks a bit closer and notices the blood staining the brunette’s off-white dress, or the bandage visible on the blonde’s blood-stained shoulder with its match found upon her forehead. Glazed eyes, emotionless faces, so many words unspoken. They all sit waiting for some sort of news, something to free them from the gloom of this night, a night that was supposed to be one of the happiest of their short lives. Now, they sit praying for it to be over. Most of them wishing it had never happened to begin with.

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Spencer’s head was throbbing. As was her shoulder. Well, to be honest, the majority of her body was in pain, but she felt only a small portion of it, partially due to the pain medication she had been given a couple hours before, but mostly because she was still in shock. She had been lucky. She made it out of the tragic prom night with just a bullet-grazed shoulder and a pretty hard hit to the head from where she had made contact with the concrete. Many others were not so lucky. One of the unfortunate ones was her brother, Clay. He was shot two times, and the last report was that he was undergoing emergency surgery to remove the bullets. Spencer’s mind was racing with thoughts of the baby that he had on the way, the future he had ahead of him, the kind heart that was currently struggling to stay beating. She needed to walk. She could not stay in this stifling room a minute longer. She stood up and the dizziness overtook her. Bracing herself on the wall, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Shortly after, she felt a hand on the small of her back, a familiar hand with a familiar touch. A touch she most definitely could not handle feeling at the present time.