Tag: Fiction

A Date

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It wasn’t that she never knew when men were hitting on her, it’s that she only knew when she was also interested in them. When she wasn’t the least bit interested in a man she had no idea he was flirting with her, and was always taken aback when they asked her out. “On a date?” she’d say, surprised. And if that shocked reaction wasn’t enough to cool their jets, she’d give them a try. Why not? She was young, single, and had no idea what she wanted out of life. Maybe these men could help her find the answer.

For some women dating a cop is a turn on. Something about uniforms and guns and power. The whole thing made her shudder. So when she was pulled over she rolled down her windows and tried to keep her anxiety in check.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.

She shrugged and said, “I figure I have a taillight out or something cause I know I wasn’t speeding.”

“License plate.”

She stared at him blankly, “License plate?” she repeated.

“It is illegal to set your plate in the window. You have to install it on the vehicle.”

“Really?” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. It had never occurred to her that such a thing would matter. If they can see it through the window what’s the difference.

“Is there a reason the plate isn’t installed?” the officer asked.

“I don’t own any tools,” she replied truthfully.

The officer laughed. “Alright, well I won’t write you up for this if you promise to get it installed today.”

“I promise. But not sure how I’ll fulfill it.”

“Head down to that auto shop two blocks ahead. They’ll have a screwdriver you can borrow.”

“All I need is a screwdriver? Huh, I thought it would be some wrench type thing,” she said.

The officer laughed again, patted her truck, and walked away with a “have a nice day” thrown over his shoulder.

She made good on her promise and just like the officer had said the auto shop was happy to install her plate for her, although they too laughed at the situation. The mechanic who installed it was at least ten years older than she was and once again a surprised “on a date?” was escaping her lips by the time he was finishing up. The man blushed and didn’t push it, so she went on her way with her social calendar unedited.

It was later that night at a local bar that she ran into the officer again. Out of uniform it took her a moment to place him. He knew her immediately, however, and asked her to dance. They were out there two minutes later with him pulling her in closer when she reached for his waist and felt his gun. She froze. He laughed, told her it was fine, the safety was on, he was required to carry it at all times. And that was that. She made an excuse to go to the restroom but snuck out through the kitchen claiming there was a man who wouldn’t stop harassing her and she needed help getting out so he wouldn’t see. She never went to that bar again.

It wasn’t long before she’d found someone to flirt with who was flirting back. It wasn’t long before the flirting became a little less general, a bit more focused. It wasn’t long before the flirting was a deep abiding attraction, the conversation devoid of banter and full of the present and the future. It wasn’t long before she’d found someone she wanted out of life. So when he didn’t ask her out she was a bit shocked. A bit taken aback. After drawing out the night as long as she possibly could she finally had to concede that this man was going to go home, without her, and without a plan for a future date.

Standing with him at his car, a position she’d never been in before, she finally asked, “so when are you going to take me out?”

“On a date?” he asked, smiling.

“Well, I dunno…” she kind of mumbled, shy and embarrassed for the first time.

“I kind of thought we were past the dating part, but if you need me to ask you I will.”

She was silent, thinking about this. Did she need a date? Were they past the dating part after only five hours of drinking and talking? Before she could reply he stepped towards her, lifted her face towards his, and smiled.

“I’ll kiss you when you’re sure. I’ll be here again tomorrow night if you need a date.”

He let go of her face, stepped back, and got into his truck. She was just standing there. She couldn’t think to move. Her arms and hands hung limply by her side. What was happening to her? She watched as he put the key in the ignition and started it up. She watched as he looked out at her again, “probably thinking what a weirdo I am,” she thought, as he drove slowly away.

Here, or rather there, was a man who maybe knew what she wanted out of life better than she knew herself. Had she wanted him to kiss her? Definitely, in the way of all things curious. But also, no. She wanted to savor the evening and think of him with butterflies and look forward to tomorrow. A kiss might have ruined all that anticipation. And he seemed to know that.

But “I’ll be here tomorrow” wasn’t any kind of date she’d ever heard of. And yet she found she liked the idea of that much better. There wasn’t any pressure or expectation. It was something she’d say to a friend. And yet he’d made it clear that he thought of her in more than a friendly way, he was simply waiting for her to decide what she wanted.

How very thoughtful. How very gentlemanly. How very unexpected.

She realized she absolutely did not need a date. She’d never needed to date. She needed this, right here. This understanding that had occurred between them. This acceptance that she was in control of what she wanted, even if he knew what it was. She would be there tomorrow. Not for a date. For the continuation of this way of being with someone. She wanted more. She very much wanted this man who knew how to help her find her answer, not by telling her when he knew it, but by giving her the space to hear it.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Dangerous Woman

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She always thought “dangerous woman” had something to do with the height of their heels or the fit of their clothing. She always thought “dangerous woman” had something to do with the state of their mental or moral health. So she always stayed away from “dangerous women” and eyed them heavily when she was with her man.

Until one day she was caught unawares by a dead battery and no one to call for help. The day a “dangerous woman” offered to let her borrow her phone. The dangerous woman wasn’t eyeing her. The dangerous woman wasn’t judging her. Cause that’s what it was, judging, not eyeing. And that was the day it all changed.

Angela and the dangerous woman, Deannie, became friends. Deannie introduced Angela to other dangerous women: Stacie, Halie, Connie.

“You’re all ie’s,” Angela mentioned once when they were all together.

After some giggles and the kind of laughter that turned several male heads, Deannie explained, “We’re all not ie’s. I’m DeAnn. That’s Stacy, with a y. That’s Haley with a y. That’s Constance. She’s actually the only one of us that’s even close to a true ie.”

“So, why all the ie’s then?” Angela asked.

“Cause ie’s have more fun, honey,” said Connie with a sly smile, a wiggle of her eyebrows, and a shimmy of her tits.

All the ladies cracked up, drawing another round of stares from the men in the room.

“We’ll turn you into an Angie yet!” Deannie cried, inciting another round of laughter and head turning.

Later, at home with her now husband, Angela thought about what the ladies had said. Clearly they were aware of the eyeing they received both from men and women. Aware and choosing to step into it. But why? Why choose to be a dangerous woman?

…

That Saturday night at her company holiday party, Angela was trying desperately not to yawn. “I just need to make it through the gift exchange and I can slip back home to my jammies,” she thought to herself as the plates were cleared and people drained what was left of the cheap wine from their glasses.

The boss stood up and gave his obligatory speech, painful as always, followed by the polite clapping and “ohs” and “ahs” of employees working for a paycheck. And then it was time for the gift exchange. Angela was near the end, a distinctly advantageous position usually, although at an employee gift exchange it was highly unlikely there’d be anything she actually wanted…except maybe what she’d brought. “Who would know if I opened my own gift,” she wondered.

And then it happened. The sweetest woman in the world, old Meredith from accounting, opened a present that was very clearly unacceptable. First, it didn’t meet the monetary requirement that had been set. Not even close. Second, it didn’t meet the company party whitewashing that was unstated but well understood. Third, it was downright juvenile, and these were all supposedly adults here. And of all the people to open it, it was kindly, elderly, quiet, Meredith.

“What is it?” people in the back were asking.

No one close enough to see what she’d unwrapped could say it out loud. Meredith’s face turned the brightest shade of red Angela had ever seen. A hush fell over the party as word finally spread and everyone realized what had happened.

The boss, finally being notified of the gaff, stood up, coughed and loudly asked, “where are we now? Eight? Who’s number eight?”

The party continued. People would have their number called and would open a present. There wasn’t any stealing. There was nothing here anyone wanted, not even the people who brought the gift to begin with. And next thing you knew it was Angela’s turn.

She stood up, walked towards the gift table to take something, and then turned toward Meredith. “I’m going to steal,” Angela heard herself saying. And she saw herself take the vibrator out from the bag Meredith had hurriedly shoved it back into, and say “my husband and I broke our last one.” Laughing the laugh of her friends and smiling the smile of her friends, Angela walked back to her seat.

The room exploded into laughter and after things calmed down a bit, Meredith picked a different gift and the game continued until all the gifts had been opened. The party finished winding down, everyone said their goodbye’s and see-you-on-Monday’s, and that was that.

…

Later, at home with her husband, Angela told him the story and after they’d both had a good laugh they decided what the hell….

Laying in bed with her husband snoring beside her Angela realized a dangerous woman has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with clothes, sanity, or compunction. A truly dangerous woman is one who has everything. She can’t be coerced because there’s nothing you have that she wants. She can’t be frightened because there’s nothing you have that she needs. A dangerous woman is one with nothing to hide; and it turns out, Angela was one dangerous woman.

…

Monday morning Meredith stopped by Angela’s desk. “I just wanted to thank you for…the other night,” she stammered, cheeks turning pink.

“Oh, Meredith, it was nothing. You’re welcome.”

“No, no, Angela, really, I couldn’t possibly have gone home with…” Meredith trailed off.

“Honey, it really was my pleasure. And call me Angie, my friends do.”

~~~That’s an hour~~~

Silence VII

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

Well now, after the doc took that call and I was free to heave a breath and move on with my work the darndest thing happened. The medics called that they were on their way with a family of three, car wreck. But get this, the family’s name is Easton! What are the odds? There’s no way it’s the same Easton as the old man we got in a drug fog coma in room 102, can’t be, God would never be so cruel. I mean, my God is a vengeful God to be sure, but He’d never lay all that on one man.

I tell you what, those two boys came through here quick as you like looking just like their mama who came through here just as quick. I didn’t hardly have a chance to consider whether those boys looked like old man Easton in 102, we were just so busy. The mama had a pulse that went all across the board, strong when she came in then all but disappeared a few minutes later. Medic said they almost lost her three or four times on the way over. And while those boys would be just fine once the trauma wore off, you never really knew what could be going on internally.

I wasn’t about to tell doc we needed him, not when I knew who he was talking to on the phone, but I also couldn’t not tell him. So I sent Curdish. He’s our weakest link on the unit and I wouldn’t feel a bit bad if he was reassigned. YOu wouldn’t know we were waiting for the doc with all the activity: lines being put in or swabbed and swapped from the medics, machines being turned on and adjusted and readjusted, and the whole time of course you’re trying to keep the kids calm. They’re in shock but not so shocked that they don’t have a thousand and one questions, most of them about where their mama is.

I don’t have any kids of my own. Never felt the need. Their okay, the future and all that, but they also need constant attention. Like a puppy. Only worse. Kids talk back. I’ve never had a puppy, never wanted a kid, and came this close to having a cat before deciding even that would just be too much. Still, I’m pretty good with kids in a nontraditional sort of way. They like my no-bones attitude, I guess. Most people talk down to kids, why? Talk to em like you’d talk to anyone else, only maybe explain a word here and there that they may not know. Easy.

By the time doctor Voss returned to the floor we had the kids settled and sharing a room (usually against the rules on our floor, but I knew the doc would bend em for this), and the mama…well, I just couldn’t tell. It doesn’t happen often this kind of thing where you can’t tell if the patient realizes their still alive or not. Some patients get the whiff of escape from the corporeal and that’s all it takes. They’re flatlined within twenty-four hours. Other patients are taking all your skill and energy and time and smarts to keep alive but you just can’t get em through and their gone, too, only not willingly.

This woman…I dunno. It’s like she she was already regretting all the things she was leaving behind not realizing she didn’t have to. Like she truly doesn’t understand that she’s still alive if she wants to be.

I could tell the call with Easton had shook the doctor a bit more than he’d expected and I wondered how it went. I could also tell the doc was impressed with how I’d handled the incoming Easton’s. He seemed a little surprised that I’d let the boys stay together, but surprised in a “that’s what I would have done” kinda way. Yeah, well, don’t I know it. I’m good at my job, that little dalliance in the break room not withstanding. Seems the doc remembered my worth.

I followed the doc into the mama’s room to await instruction and see where things were going to go. He grabbed her charts and walked up to the head of her bed. Reading and occasionally looking down at her, he finally asked, “is she stable now?”

“Seems to be for now, but medics almost lost her a few times. It’s not their machinery either. We’ve been having a hard time keeping her here. I haven’t notified her emergency contact yet as I wanted to hear from you first but the medic said he found one on her cell …”

“Did he call it?” the doc interrupted.

“He said he did and…”

The doc had dropped the paperwork on the bed and taken off at what we call a “hospital run” for his office. It just means he was going faster than a walk but slower than a jog; fast enough to get there but slow enough not to draw unwanted attention. It was all the answer I needed. This poor family.

In the silence of her room, as silent as it can be with all the beeping and whooshing and droning of iridescent lights, I stopped for a moment to pray for her and her family. In the silence of my prayer I could have sworn I heard her ask me to turn the television off. But when I looked up she hadn’t moved.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Irreplaceable

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She probably should have stuck it out, it was only four years after all, but it was just so exhausting. The reading and writing were wonderful, but the classes and the discussion groups and the mindless testing, were just too much. After a year and a half she decided to skip college and do something “else.” Problem was she had no idea what.

It wasn’t a problem for long. She knew a fellow student who was going to Spain for a year abroad. After kicking herself for not thinking of this option before dropping out, she decided to use the next eight months to work her ass off and earn the money to go abroad, too. Only not Spain. She had nothing against Spain, how could you: great food, great people, beaches, a language she already mostly spoke. But it just didn’t call to her. Italy. Italy called to her in a soft and subtle siren song she was eager to obey.

The next eight months were spent mostly waitressing and walking dogs with the occasional bartending shift thrown in. Anytime a job opportunity came her way she said yes, assuming it didn’t conflict with another job she’d already said yes to. She didn’t even check to make sure she was leaving enough time to sleep, she just said yes. And consequently there were days where she went without sleep. She learned to take power naps, which sounded horrible, so she called them ninja naps and felt much cooler. She discovered she could breeze through three full working days and nights with only 6 hours of sleep all garnered via ninja nap between jobs or while on break.

She bought the things she’d need as she saved up the money for them. Purchasing one thing and then saving up to purchase the next. She probably could have saved it all and then made all her purchases at once, but where was the reward in that? Or the excitement? First: an airline ticket, one way departing on exactly the eight month mark. Second: a backpack, one of those ridiculously big hiker packs. Third: hiking clothes that would be easy to wash and dry and wear without looking sloppy. Fourth: a good pair of hiking shoes, not boots. And then she just saved.

She’d take whatever she’d saved to the bank whenever she had some free time and change everything into twenty dollar bills. Then she’d stack the twenties into piles of five, then shove the five into an envelope and seal it. She labeled each envelope with a number 1, 2, 3, 4…she wanted to know exactly how much she had as she knew there’d be expenses for lodging, food, wine, museum entrance fees, and who knew what else.

The week before she was supposed to leave she advertised for a garage sale the coming weekend. She began labeling her meager belongings for sale. Surprisingly, her roommate bought the majority of her things: two-shelf bookcase, her favorite books (the hardest things to part with and the things for which she developed a mantra “replaceable”), the majority of her clothes and dishes. The rest she sold cheap the day before she left: a metal bedframe with mattress and boxspring, the few books and clothes and dishes her roommate hadn’t wanted.

Thanks to a notice she’d put up online she was able to get a free ride to the airport, the only catch being that she’d arrive a good five hours before her flight left. That was fine with her, she’d catch up on some sleep. She spent her last three hours before catching her ride stuffing that ridiculous backpack with the scant belongings she’d be taking with her, including a four-year-old guide to Italy she’d bought for a quarter at her local library book store (how outdated could a guidebook be when it was for a country built about a hundred years after Christ).

She thought about leaving a note for her roommate when the time came to leave, but decided against it. Better to send her a postcard when she arrived. She hoisted the unbelievably heavy pack on her back, set the lock on the door after double checking she’d left her house key on the kitchen table, and headed off.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Silence VI

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

This was not happening again. I’d already dealt with my father’s death once. I remember being a little kid, my aunt trying to make me understand that my dad was dead. I just didn’t get it. I kept asking if he’d be back in time for the fair that summer, or for dinner that night, or for my first day of school. She had to keep telling me over and over that dead meant gone forever, not an hour or a day or a year but for always. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I remember when I was older though and I finally did get it. I remember realizing he’d never be there for my ball games or my graduations or my wedding. I remember grieving the loss of a man I never knew. It felt kind of phony. How can you be sad about the death of someone you never knew?

I remember really grieving after my first son was born. Here I was a brand new father and I had no idea what I was doing. How was I going to be a dad when I had no idea what a dad was? I spent those first two years watching every parent-child interaction I saw with a stealthy intensity I wasn’t aware I had. I saw relationships I was envious of: had my dad been like that with me before he died? I saw relationships I was afraid of: had my daddy yelled at me like that before he died? I tried to forget all the bad stuff I heard and saw and focus only on the good stuff.

Then somewhere along the line my good buddy, Ted told me the best damn advice I have ever heard about parenting: “Be the parent you wish you had.” Well, hell, I could do that. And I did. Until that marriage went to hell and then I had to move in order to keep a job I needed and saw less and less of my kid. Bout tore me up. I never thought I’d be the type to give up my kid, but by the time I was able to fight for him he didn’t much want to be fought for and that was that.

The point is, my damn daddy had never been around that I could remember, and certainly not ever when I wanted or needed him, but now here he was fresh out the grave and at my local hospital? He had some kinda nerve asking for me.

“I’m here,” I finally said.

“Oh. Good. Thought I’d lost you. As I said, you’ll need to come in so we can discuss how to proceed.”

“I’m sorry doctor Voss but I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to proceed with the man you have in your hospital. You might just as well,” and here I was interrupted by my call waiting. Damn these phones and their features! I would have ignored it, too, except I saw it was my wife. Since I could count on one hand the number of times she had actually picked up a phone and called me and every one of them had been an emergency, I knew I needed to answer it. “You’ll have to hold on there a minute, Voss. I got an emergency call on the other line,” and I switched over.

“Glory, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Hello, sir, you’re the emergency contact in a cell phone we’ve just found at the scene of an accident. We just want you to know we’re taking the victims to Clark County Hospital and should arrive in the next ten minutes.”

“Accident? Is everyone okay? My wife? My boys?”

“I can’t tell you anything more, sir. I’m only authorized to look for and call an emergency contact. You’ll need to speak with the hospital to learn more. You’ll want to ask for Doctor Voss’ unit.”

The line went dead and I heard the phone beep at me about switching back to the other line. The other line! Voss!

“Listen here, Voss, that was someone sayin’ they’re bringing my family to your hospital and I need to speak to you about it. What’s going on? Is my wife okay? My boys? What happened?”

There was no answer.

“Voss!” I shouted.

Silence. And then my phone did that boop boop boop noise it does meaning I’d lost the call.

~~~That’s an hour~~~

Silence V

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

“Ma’am, can you hear me? What’s your name, ma’am?”

The voice was so far away. Why was everything dark? She must have fallen asleep under the weighted blanket cause she couldn’t feel her body. Why couldn’t she open her eyes?

“Unresponsive. I’ve got a pulse.”

It was that same voice. Ugh, did she fall asleep in front of the television again? Must have. Geez, it’s been ages since she’s done that.

“I’m gonna notify Voss we’re heading his way. Find a cell phone yet?”

“Got it! Under the driver’s side seat. Musta flown off the dash. Aaaaaand, yes, an emergency contact.”

What the heck was she watching? Maybe it was something Paul was watching? Whatever it was she was glad she couldn’t see it. Probably one of those medical dramas with blood everywhere and people being cut up in an operating room. How was that entertaining?

She felt a breeze on her face and heard metal and the sounds of something rolling.

“We’re all loaded up. Make the call from the road.”

There was the sound of doors being slammed, a siren coming from somewhere close, and then that voice again.

“Hello, sir, you’re the emergency contact in a cell phone we’ve just found at the scene of an accident. We just want you to know we’re taking the victims to Clark County Hospital and should arrive in the next ten minutes.”

There was road noise and that siren still wailing away.

“I can’t tell you anything more, sir. I’m only authorized to look for and call an emergency contact. You’ll need to speak with the hospital to learn more. You’ll want to ask for Doctor Voss’ unit.”

More road noise. More siren. Seriously, why couldn’t she open her eyes?

There was an exhalation of breath followed by some mumbling. She could just make out what sounded like “gonna be okay,” before everything went quiet again. Completely quiet. A unique kind of silence she’d never quite experienced before…no, wait, it was familiar. Newly familiar. Luxurious and terrifying.

She woke to prayer. What the hell? She still couldn’t open her eyes or move her body. She’d never felt so tired in her life. What in the world was Paul watching? He must have fallen asleep too, she realized, because he wouldn’t be watching any evangelical stuff on purpose. She tried to say something like, “turn the TV off,” but wasn’t sure if it actually came out or not.

Ah, silence. He must have heard her and turned it off. Maybe he’d carry her to bed or come snuggle up with her. Something was running. The fridge? The dishwasher? She couldn’t quite place it. A rhythmic mechanical noise. Familiar. Otherwise, it was quiet. Not that thick syrupy kind of silence she’d been experiencing lately, that dangerous kind of silence. This was more of a sounds-of-the-night-as-you-fall-asleep-quiet. Lovely. Heavenly. The perfect kind of silence.

~~~This is not an hour, but the end of this piece.~~~

Silence IV

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

I like to think I have the best team. All incoming nurses and interns vie for a position on my unit. I work my team hard but fair, and never ask them to put in more than I’m putting in. As such I’ve never had the energy to vet who I bring on. If I have to let someone go or someone actually quits, I have an immediate replacement. I never bother to screen them. If they think they’re good enough for my unit I give them a try. If they prove they aren’t I ask that they be transferred and someone else is placed with me. Easy.

And because it’s so easy and because my team is the best it’s been a very long time since I’ve had to let anyone go or lost anyone. So to say I was surprised by the gross lack of respect and sheer selfishness I saw on display in the break room tonight would be putting it lightly. It was especially surprising coming from miss Ditmire. I suppose there was something to that, seeing as how she could never stop talking. In fact, the only time I’d heard her quiet was for all of five minutes when she didn’t know I was there…which is probably why she wasn’t talking.

It was a few months back, when my insomnia was flaring up. I’d been unable to sleep at home and after accidentally waking my husband, who promised he’d start work on the addition to hold my exercise equipment that very day if I would just please go back to bed or leave before I woke the kids, I’d come back to the hospital to get an early start on the day. It was a relief really since my insomnia that night had more to do with a young patient than my usual unexplained bouts of sleeplessness. The girl was so young, just like my Janey before we adopted her, when she first came to foster with us. She had this look of nonchalance…no, more like she was unaffected, but really she was scared. So scared. I just had to make sure this little girl wasn’t scared, too.

After checking on her, she was sleeping peacefully among all the wires and tubes and beeping machines, I stopped by the nurses station to review my charts and there she was: nurse Ditmire. Silent. Sitting completely quiet in one chair with her feet up on the other eating what appeared to be a cupcake. I’ve never been so surprised. Until today. So while nurse Ditmire could talk a blue streak, I’d never before thought her cruel until that moment.

I’d all but decided to ask for her transfer later today when I was walking by the station and saw her give me a look. Her eyebrows shot up and she said “Easton” and I knew. Of course I wouldn’t make her handle that call. No one should have to handle those calls, but especially not a woman who’d just shown her complete lack of compassion. I motioned I’d take the call and hustled to my office. Taking a deep breath I clicked the button with the blinking red light.

“Mr. Easton? Dr. Voss. I’m going to need you to verify your identity by answering a couple of questions before we can proceed. Please tell me your fathers full name.”

“My fa,” there was the sound of a throat being cleared,” my father was Joesuf Paul Easton. With an f, not a ph.”

“Was?” I asked.

“I was told he died when I was young. Is there something…”

“And your mothers full name, please?” I interrupted.

“I, uh, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t raised by my parents. Only know my fathers name because of my aunt who raised me.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Easton, due to the nature of the situation I am going to take it on faith that you are the correct contact. Your father, Joe-s-u-f,” and here he spelled it out to be clear, “Paul Easton is here in the hospital now. His sister, Marlena Paula Easton, is his first emergency contact and we’ve been unable to reach her. You, his son, are his second emergency contact. I’m going to need you to come in as soon as possible to tell us how to proceed.”

It was silent on the other end. I didn’t hear the phone line disconnect, or the phone being dropped, or an intake of breath. There was nothing to indicate Mr. Easton was on the other end. Nothing at all. Just silence.

“Mr. Easton?” I asked.

But there was only silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

Trouble

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It wasn’t anyone else’s job to tell her the truth. She wasn’t sure anyone else even knew. As far as she knew, everyone thought she was the life of the party. A party girl. A good time girl. Trouble.

Part of that image was her own doing. She’d been told a rumor by a friend that word was she had gotten into some major trouble in the city and her folks had shipped her out to the mountains to get her life in order. Cause what kind of trouble could she possibly get up to in a small mountain town. Ha! As soon as she heard the rumor she decided to have some fun with it. She painted her nails black. She flooded her social media with posts about drinking at the local, sunbathing naked in her backyard, and partying til last call.

She wasn’t lying. She did those things. Happily did those things. But that wasn’t her and never had been. If anything her life before was a bit of a bore, if you don’t include her college years, which she didn’t. College was four years of making up for missing out on the partying she never did in high school. It was four years of being lonely, confused, and going completely fucking wild because there finally wasn’t anyone telling her she couldn’t. But everyone did that…didn’t they? So it didn’t count.

And after college life became boring. Predictable. Mundane.

She got the job. She got the boyfriend. She got the house. She got white picket fence. She got the 2.3 dogs, because seriously who even has children anymore? Who can afford to? And even if you could, who wants to give up their freedom? Their ability to be selfish? Not her.

And that was her life.

Until one day, her parents bought a place in the mountains. A beautiful place they could retire to in a couple of years. Ten acres, no neighbors, a horse property, with four seasons, and honest to goodness snow in the winter. It was a dream. They needed a caretaker. She offered to do it. Immediately. Begged to do it.

So here she was: Trouble.

It was hilarious. Until it wasn’t. It was fun. Until the rumors got out of hand. Suddenly she was sleeping with peoples husbands. Suddenly she was into drugs. The rumors were out of control. And they would be horrifying if they were true.

She did the first thing she could think to do to solve it: she took a boyfriend. The first single guy she’d met who made it clear he wasn’t afraid of her. The first single guy she’d met who was tall and hopefully intimidating enough to put an end to the rumors. And it worked. She didn’t hear another rumor again for nearly a year.

By then she’d broken up with that guy and fallen in with another. By then that second guy had ended too. And since a week had gone by without her hitching her star to someone else’s sky, the rumors began again. Only now her phone was ringing with fearful wives. Damned if she was gonna jump in with any old soul to calm the waters though. No way no how. She’d learned it did nothing but cause her to leap before she looked.

Ignoring the rumors and trying to ignore the phone calls she went back to her life as best she could. Her life. Her real life. The life of animals to care for: chickens, ducks, geese, and goats. Books to read: the myriad tomes that had filled her living space for a year gathering dust. Bingeworthy shows to watch: shows with dragons and zombies. Volunteering to continue: raising money for the local school. A new job to start: her dream job at a book store.

Slowly her life began to slow back to that boring, predictable, mundane only this time around it was pretty near perfect. Pretty near, if it weren’t so lonely. A dog is a great companion during the day, but at night the dog could only participate in a monologue. The dog couldn’t pick a clan or a character to root for. The dog couldn’t interrupt her reading to bring her a cup of tea.

She had hired a man to re-do her bathroom once and she called him again to do some work in her barn. And then some work around the grounds. And then some more work to the house. He was there every morning telling his workers what they were to work on that day and then again every afternoon to check their work and their progress. He’d always give her a run down after the workers had knocked off for the day. And the rundowns slowly took longer and longer to finish each day.

She’d occasionally borrow a tool from him: a drill or a pitchfork. Something she should own, did own, but that broke and hadn’t been replaced yet. She’d borrow his and then return it, if she hadn’t broken it. Like the pitchfork. How do you break a pitchfork? She managed it. He insisted the damn thing had been old and worthless long before she ever got her hands on it and it was no big deal. But she felt terrible. Offered to buy him a beer at the local to make up for it.

Next thing they knew they were hanging out at the local together every night. But there was nothing going on. Not yet. Lots of long looks and intimate conversation masked in loud laughter and gatherings with other friends.

~~~That’s an hour~~~

Silence III

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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~~~

Meme Courtesy of Enlightened Consciousness

The List

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It was the loneliness that did it. She could have handled just about anything, but being alone in a relationship broke her. For a woman used to needing loads of alone time it was a bit of a shock. She knew she’d never be a good military wife, but she never thought of herself as needy or one of those women who had a new relationship started before the old one ended just to ensure she’d never be alone. But here she was in a relationship with a man she loved but rarely saw and it was breaking her.

It’s not like she didn’t know what she was getting into. He’d been a workaholic from day one. In fact, she respected his work ethic, was proud of it. But after ten years, three careers, and absolutely no change in his sixty to eighty hour work weeks she was coming undone. How many plans had been cancelled? How many dinners ruined? How many nights spent drinking just a little bit more to numb the loneliness?

She woke one morning, mouth dry, head throbbing, bed empty and realized this was her life. Realized it wasn’t going to change. Realized her drinking was getting excessive. She needed a plan.

She got dressed and brushed her teeth. At least she’d look presentable if he came home. She began making coffee, breakfast, enough for two, just in case. She sent a text, hopeful but not expectant: “Breakfast?” it said.

A couple minutes later as she was plating the food her phone buzzed. The reply was typical, brief: “Can’t.”

She ate her meal in silence and formulated a to-do list. It included all her normal Saturday chores: laundry, cleaning, bathing the dog, grocery shopping. And then, surprising herself, she wrote “make a plan to leave.”

That hadn’t been what she’d meant rolling out of bed feeling like hell. She’d been thinking more along the lines of finding a new hobby. Maybe quilting? Or was it knitting that was all the rage now? Well, whatever, that’s where she’d been leaning until she saw it in print. But she knew it was right.

If you love someone, let them go. She knew she loved him and knew he’d never change. She also still had some love left over for herself and apparently it was time to let herself go.

It was odd that day. Doing the chores as though it were just another ordinary Saturday. But it wasn’t. At all. Next to her grocery list she also maintained a list of the things she’d need in order to leave: make a budget, look into buying a home, where to live in the meantime, leave dog?

That one gutted her. She saw the dog more than any other creature. Took care of it, fed it, bathed it. But a dog would make it harder to find a place to live. And a dog would increase expenses. And taking the dog would mean he’d come home to an empty house. She loved him still and couldn’t do that to him. Not when she knew how much it hurt. Plus, maybe her leaving would be a turning point for him and having the dog as an excuse he’d start being home more.

Every Saturday after breakfast she’d start a load of laundry and begin cleaning the house. Today was no different. The first load of laundry went in and by the time it was done, she was done cleaning and could move the first load of laundry to the dryer. Then she’d start the second load of laundry before going to bathe the dog. By the time she was done washing the dog, cleaning herself after washing the dog, and cleaning the bathroom, the first load of laundry would be ready to fold and put away, the second load of laundry would be ready for the dryer, and the third load of laundry consisting of dog towels and blankets and cleaning rags would be ready to start.

After folding the first load of laundry and putting it away, she stopped, debating: if she went to the grocery store she’d be spending money she’d need on food she wouldn’t be around to eat, or would she? Was she really going to leave?

She finally decided that whether she left or not she’d at least need to eat lunch and seeing as how it would be cruel to leave the kitchen devoid of food, if you don’t count the things they almost always had like lasagne noodles and panko crumbs, she decided to head to the grocery store for something for herself as well as boxes, cans, and freezer food for him.

She headed to the grocery store like it was an ordinary Saturday. As she shopped the aisles, pushed the cart, and crossed things off her list she found herself picking up the ground beef she’d normally purchase and putting it back. Old habits. He wouldn’t know what to do with a package of ground beef. She spent more time than usual in the frozen food aisle selecting one of each flavor of TV dinner available.

Despite having come to the same grocery store every Saturday around 1pm for ten years, she always had a different checker and bagger. For the first time it made her happy. The anonymity. No one to ask about the lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. No one to ask about the mountain of TV dinners. Just the regular small talk about the weather.

By the time she’d returned to what she was already calling “his house” the second load of laundry was dry. She switched the loads around, did a quick rinse to clean the washer drum of dog hair, and then proceeded to put the groceries away. It was remarkably easy and quick. Painless really.

She folded and put away the dry laundry. All of her clothes were now clean, dry, and hung or folded. How easy that made it. She knew she’d never have room in her car for all of her things, so she decided the first trip would be all of her clothes, toiletries, jewelry, and whatever else she could smash in.

It was here that she realized she didn’t have a place to go. Going back to the kitchen she threw a TV dinner in the microwave and pulled out her phone. There had to be several options what with the military base nearby. Apartments must come available all the time. She did a quick search for “apartments near me” as the microwave beeped. Peeling the plastic off and scorching her knuckle in the process she sucked the marinara off her fingers and realized she’d heated the spaghetti dinner. Damn. The least appetizing of the bunch.

Selecting the first result off the list on her phone she saw that even if they had any vacancies she wasn’t interested. Puke green and two to three bedrooms. No, thank you. She briefly considered the idea of a roommate as she hit the back button on the phones browser. Then selected the second list result and thought “no. No roommates. I’m lonely for my man, sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to give up my freedom or space.”

The second and third results on the list would have been fine but both websites noted the existence of a waiting list. She was beginning to consider that this plan may not be going into effect anytime soon and she’d have some explaining to do about the groceries when the fourth result loaded. It would do. Not ideal, by any means, but no major red flags.

“Call for vacancies,” she read aloud as she pressed the link.

The phone rang twice before a recorded voice told her some unremarkable information and then informed her she could speak with someone in the sales office by pressing two. Doing so connected her with some more prerecorded and unremarkable information followed by something someone somewhere considered music. By the time her dessert was gone, much better than expected and loads better than the entree, a polite man had answered the phone.

He’d clearly been in customer service for several years as he had the studied diplomacy that only ages of handling assholes gives you. In no time flat he had confirmed the vacancy of a studio apartment, “no one bedrooms available currently, I’m afraid,” taken her details and informed her he’d be in touch shortly as the credit check would take roughly an hour to complete and would she “like to come take a tour in that time?”

~~~That’s one hour~~~