Patient

   In the doctor’s waiting room, the seven-year-old boy traced the large and small circles of the carpeted floor with his finger, noting where the lines intersected. He was shaking his leg.
   His father sat in the wooden chair next to him reading a Time magazine, legs crossed and head slightly bent.
   “Stop that, please,” his father said.
   “What?” the boy said.
   His father pointed at his knee. He stopped and felt the anxiety become heavier.
   “Dad.”
   “Yeah buddy?”
   “Why do we have to wait so long?”
   “Because the doctor’s seeing other patients.”
   “Is that why you need patience to wait?”
   “No, that’s a different kind of patience. These patients are people that the doctor treats.”
   He thought about this but didn’t understand.
   “Dad.”
   “Yes?”
   “Why can’t the doctor see everyone at the same time?”
   “Because he needs to pay special attention to each person.”
   He thought about this but didn’t understand.

   A telephone rang.
   “Good morning, Doctor Cho’s office,” the woman at the front desk said. “Yes, let me check.” She thumbed through the rolodex. “Tomorrow at ten will be fine. See you then.”
   This is the way it should be, he thought. He and his dad sitting together like this.

   “Dad.”
   “Mm?”
   “Why didn’t Mom come home last night?”
   His father stopped reading but kept his eyes on the magazine page that blurred into meaningless shapes.
   “I don’t know,” his father said brightly with effort, licking his finger and turning the page he had not read.
   “Do you know where she is?”
   “Not sure,” still not reading a single word.
   “Right when I woke up, I knew she wasn’t home.”
   “How’d you know?”
   “Because of breakfast.”
   “But I made you breakfast.”
   “I know. I heard you frying eggs. But I didn’t smell butter. Mom always cooks eggs with butter.”
   His father uncrossed his legs then crossed them again. He was still looking at the magazine and not reading.
   “I’m sorry I forgot the butter,” his father said quietly.
   He thought about this and understood.
   “That’s okay. I like your eggs too.”
   “Thanks buddy.” His father closed the magazine and set it aside, no longer having to pretend to read.