When the security guard slammed him against the outside of the waiting room window for the first time, it sounded like a bird hitting the pane. The man was shouting and upset, and when the guards put hands on him his agitation grew. The waiting room window was partially frosted – for my privacy, no doubt, what with HIPAA and all – so I could only see the tops of heads clearly. Torsos were blurry and haloed behind the glass’s foggy bottom.
Five more guards walked out through the hospital door. Six against one. For a second it sounded like the man was crying, but then the shouting started up again. I saw, silhouetted, the hands of guards on waistbands. The guards were quiet as they took him inside. Beyond the glass, through the thin strip of clarity at the top of the window, all I could see was water falling, but I don’t know if it was rain or melting snow.