This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

Mr. Easton. Of course I knew who Mr. Easton was. We’d all been waiting for him to call back for what felt like forever but was probably less than ten minutes. Still, as soon as he said his name I blanched. I never was a good poker player, can’t hide my emotions at all. It can be hard being a nurse without that ability to just become a wall when your shift starts, but I’m good at my job even so. Still, I sure was glad there was a phone line between us and not a desk.

The doc was walking towards me so I looked at him, raised my eyebrows and said “Mr. Easton,” and rifled some papers, pretending like I had to look for this guys info but really just waiting to see if the doc wanted me to handle the call or not. Boy howdy, I was not looking forward to handling that call. None of us were. We’d all done a rock-paper-scissors when we got the call that the ambulance was coming in. I’d won and had just taken a deep breath to let out a sigh of relief when the doc came in to tell us the ambulance was here and to knock it off, he knew what we were up to. He said he’d handle calling Mr. Easton himself. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so ashamed as I was that minute.

When he told us a few minutes ago that he’d had to leave a message and to expect Mr. Easton to call in sometime today, why I thought to myself, “Virginia, here’s your chance to make up for that despicable display.” I was eager and almost hopeful to be the one to take the call. Until I heard his voice. Suddenly he was a real person who didn’t know terrible news and I was going to have to tell him. A man I’d never met. Over the phone. It just wasn’t right.

But the doc nodded his head and pointed toward his office; he was going to field the call. Hallelujah and thank you Jesus, cause I would have done it, and I would have done a fine job, but woo wee was I glad I didn’t have to. I put that Mr. Easton on hold so fast I was about as worried as I’d hung up on him on accident. But no, there it was, the blinking red light that told me he was still there waiting. Poor man.

A few minutes ago this place had been hopping, I mean really something to see. Sounds of sneakers scuffing the floors as they ran with gurneys, people speaking all kinds of medical jargon kinda like you see on television but without the chaos, tubes getting run here and there and machines being turned on. All the beeps and clinks and the shuffle of efficiency. I loved my job.

My favorite part was when I had graveyard shift, although we don’t call it that here…bit morbid for a place that’s supposed to be healing people. Still that late night to early morning shift when patients are sleeping, doctors are at home, and it’s just me and maybe a couple other nurses and a janitor. That twenty minutes or so between bed checks and chart updates when I’m wolfing down some sugary thing I got out of the machine down the hall (those chocolate cakes are the perfect jolt I need to get me through that three to four a.m. bit, but unfortunately they haven’t stocked the machine yet this week and the chocolate cakes are out and I’ve had to make due the last two nights with those snowball things. Yuck. Still, the only other choice is pretzels right now and what the heck am I supposed to do with pretzels at three o’clock in the morning?).

Everything is so quiet. Well, compared to the daytime anyway. At three in the morning, as I’m eating my chocolate cakes, it’s just me chewing and sipping on stale breakroom coffee. There’s the beeping of machines coming from every room, just about, but still and all…it’s almost quiet. It’s a silence I’m not used to and the closest to silence I can stand. I mean normally during the day I’m talking a mile a minute and my coworkers are everywhere and the patients are pushing those buttons needing pain meds, needing to pee, needing nothing but a bit of company rolled up in a request for water. But at three…silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

If you’d told him at twenty that he’d be starting over at forty-five and be remarried with two not-yet-teenage boys at fifty-five he’d have called you a liar while slapping you heartily on the back and offering to buy your next round. He was still known to buy the occasional round, though no one ever saw him drink anymore. It would usually be a birthday. He’d turn up early the night of a buddy’s birthday, walk in like he owned the place, throw down a wad of crisp twenties, bang the gong, and holler “first round’s on me; Happy Birthday!” before clapping the birthday boy on the back and laughing that laugh.

He had the best laugh. Women of course loved it. But even the guys had to admit they lived for the sound of it. The laugh made everyone else laugh and brought out a light in even the darkest corner of that shitty small town bar. It was the laugh he’d be known for. The laugh they’d all talk about at his funeral (the one they had even though he’d expressly forbidden it in his will). But that wouldn’t be for another thirty-two years. At fifty-five he was still in his prime and very much the incredulous and grateful father of two as yet pre-teen boys and the husband of one soon-to-be-dead wife. And he was happy.

Sure, he sometimes found himself thinking what life would be like if he’d never had more kids. He’d still be drinking at the local every Friday night before slipping away when the evening crowd arrived, tab paid in full with a tip and his drink nearly empty. He probably wouldn’t have married that gal if he’d never knocked her up. He’d like to think they’d still be together though, even without the ring or the kids. Hell, he loved her before the kids but isn’t sure she would have stuck through some of his nastier traits without the little ones to consider. Still. He liked to think they’d still be together.

But that quiet life really wasn’t for him. He couldn’t think of anything he liked more than the sound of her whistling some tune he could never place as she pulled out dishes and directed the boys to set the table. All the sounds of life happening all around him. This was what he’d always wanted and he did his best to make sure they all knew it every day.

He’d just finished reading through his emails for the day, deleting most of them with no reply, and had wandered into the kitchen to scrounge up a snack which his phone rang. He could hear the damn thing clear across the house and he cursed as he realized he’d once again left the mobile phone immobile by his desk.

“It’s a good thing she’s gone or she’d be laughing at me,” he thought as he tried to make his lumbering into more of a jog so he could catch the phone before it went to voicemail. Realizing he’d never get there in time he considered just grabbing the snack he’d come in for first but continued toward the phone anyway.

Just as he took the turn through the doorway towards the desk his toe caught the door trim and the immediate blinding pain made him rock back.

“God damn it!” tore out of his mouth as he reeled about trying to plant his ass in the rolling chair so he grab his foot, as though through sheer power of massive hand squeezing he could stop the pain.

Sure enough the phone had stopped ringing and he heard the familiar tone indicating whoever had called had left a voicemail. After ensuring there was no blood and his toenail probably wouldn’t fall off, he picked up the phone and proceeded through the motions of discovering who had called and why. The area code was local but he didn’t recognize the number. He hit the button that would play the voicemail and listened to the strange emptiness all messages seemed to have before they got started.

“This is Clark County Hospital. Please contact us immediately at four-five-oh-six-two-two-one-three-two-five and ask for doctor Voss’ unit. Thank you.”

His first thought was that this was a mistake. His family had only just left, they were fine. None of his friends would use him as an emergency contact as they all had spouses or immediate family in town. The only other option would be his brother, who had lived in town his whole life too. But his brother was away on a fishing trip, some big river thing in Montana, and the voicemail had come from the local hospital.

Pressing the link that would return the hospital call he heard it ring once before a voice answered, “Clark County Hospital, is this an emergency?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Please hold,” a voice said crisply. Before he could argue he heard a loud boop and then silence.

He waited patiently for about thirty seconds, then pulled his phone away to see how long he’d been on the call. He made a deal with himself that if the phone didn’t get picked back up in the next thirty seconds he’d hang up and call again. Just as he was about to make good on his deal, the loud boop came again followed by, “thank you for waiting. How can I direct your call?”

“I’m returning a call for Dr. Voss’ unit?” he said. He’d meant it to be a statement, but it came out like a question.

“One moment.”

The loud boop. Silence. Again. Funny thing this kind of silence though. It’s not the complete lack of sound. Is there ever a complete lack of sound? This silence was more of a technological silence. There was the strange whisper of being connected to someone somewhere.

“Dr. Voss’ unit, Nurse Ditmire speaking. How can I help you?”

“I’m just returning a voicemail from this number?” again, it came out like a question. He was irritated with himself and realized he sounded like his wife when she was confused.

“Yes, sir. Your name please?”

“This is Paul. Paul Easton.”

“Easton,” he heard her say under her breath as he heard what sounded like papers being moved around. “Ah, yes, Easton. Sir, I’m going to need you to hold for Dr. Voss please.”

And there it was again. Boop. Silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

This is the first part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

Sometimes she’d look back on her life and miss the days when she could lay in bed reading, breaking the sound of silence and the occasional turned page by getting up to pee or grab a cup of tea or a bottle of beer. Sometimes she’d look back on her life and see days, months, years: wasted.

What if she’d started this whole “mommy” thing earlier? Would she be a better parent with all the vitality of youth or was she a better parent now with the patience of age? Would she have married “someone” to co-parent with or would she have been a single mom? Would she have had two boys or just one child? A girl maybe?

There wasn’t any point to these daydreams, these questions. They didn’t change anything. She didn’t regret her wasted youth and she certainly didn’t regret her current status of wife and mother of two. If anything, these things were still a happy surprise. But still the questions occasionally came.

“Jesus,” she thought to herself, “I can’t even think like an interesting person.”

She put the last dish on the drain board and rinsed her hands. Turning the water off, wiping her hands and throwing the towel under the sink among the pile of soiled rags kept in the bucket until laundry day. At least the kitchen would be tidy for a red hot minute before her husband came in looking for a snack. Although she hoped to have the kids in the car before then.

“I’m leaving in five minutes!” she hollered into the house, “anyone wanting a ride into town better be getting shoes on and seat belts buckled!”

She couldn’t help but smile as she heard the crashing and sliding of her boys as they juggled to get out of their rooms and down the stairs. She’d never actually left without them before but they knew from other events that it was better to assume she’d follow through than risk that she was bluffing.

She heard them calling “bye, Dad!” as they raced down the hall and their father call back “bye, boys! Be good!” as she slipped into the hall behind them and down to his office door. He sat in front of his computer, hands steepled over the keyboard, reading the monitor from was she was sure was an unsafe closeness.

“Hey,” she said softly, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he said, his body slowly swiveling his chair in her direction as his eyes remained glued to the monitor until the last possible second.

“Love you, bye,” she said all in a breath, giving him a kiss on the lips. She started to pull back then changed her mind and said “more,” before kissing him again.

She couldn’t believe her good luck. Still in love with a man after ten years and two kids. And not only that, they still saw each other, appreciated one another, and consequently still had sex more than twice a week, unlike the other married couples they knew.

“Have a good day,” he said, meeting her eyes before smiling and turning back to the computer.

She hop-skipped down the hallway stopping briefly in the kitchen to grab her keys off the hook under the calendar and her water bottle off the counter. Whistling something that might have been Bach was probably Beethoven she put her shoes on in the garage, jumped into the car and called out “belts on?” as she started the car.

Hearing grunts that she translated aloud to “ye, mother, of course,” she backed out of the garage and also snuck a peek at each boy to be sure they did, in fact, have their belts on and that they looked presentable and had shoes on their feet.

Satisfied with her boys, her husband, and her life, she put the car in drive and began moving down the road.

“This is forty-five,” she thought, smiling.

And then everything was loud. So loud. How could things be so loud? Metal on metal, glass shattering, screaming. Was that her screaming? Or the boys? Would she even be able to hear them over the metal if they were screaming? The thought, “they’d better not have a scratch on them,” flit through her mind and then silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

This became a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read the rest in order.