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.

Carla havde skåret sig i hånden, mens hun vaskede op. Det var ikke dybt, men det blev ved med at bløde, så hun tog til klinikken. Receptionisten bad om hendes sygesikringskort og gav hende et nummer. Syvogfyrre.

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.

Skærmen over døren viste "Nu betjenes: 31." Venteværelset var fyldt. En mand havde læst den samme side i et blad i ti minutter. En ung far holdt en sovende baby. En teenager stirrede på sin telefon.

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.

Carla satte sig ned og så numrene skifte. 32. 33. 36. Numrene kom ikke i rækkefølge. Hun spekulerede på, om de havde glemt hende.

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."

Efter en time viste skærmen endelig 47. Hun gik gennem døren til det lille kontor. Lægen kiggede på hendes hånd i to minutter. "Det er ikke noget," sagde han. "Rens den to gange om dagen. Ingen sting."

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

Da hun gik, var venteværelset næsten tomt. Teenageren var væk. Babyen var vågen. Manden havde endelig vendt siden.