Number Forty-Seven

Carla had cut her hand washing the dishes. It wasn't deep, but it kept bleeding, so she went to the clinic. The receptionist asked for her insurance card and gave her a number. Forty-seven.

The screen above the door said "Now serving: 31." The waiting room was full. A man was reading the same page of a magazine for ten minutes. A young father was holding a sleeping baby. A teenager was staring at his phone.

Carla sat down and watched the numbers change. 32. 33. 36. The numbers did not move in order. She wondered if she had been forgotten.

After an hour, the screen finally showed 47. She walked through the door to the small office. The doctor looked at her hand for two minutes. "It's nothing," he said. "Clean it twice a day. No stitches."

When she left, the waiting room was almost empty. The teenager was gone. The baby was awake. The man had finally turned the page.