One Day

Invitation to Write #5

Not gonna lie. This was a really tough one for me. I have never waited this long to complete one of our writing prompts, and I even considered not doing it or just writing whatever I felt like instead. As I pondered over it, I even felt physically uncomfortable, like almost a little anxious or panic stricken and nauseated. I had my husband give me all of the parts and pieces and then I randomly selected them from the piles in each category. I still sat and stared at the screen for awhile and thought once again about not doing it. Clearly, I am not a fiction writer. Here is the start to my story. Not sure where it's headed next.

Place: Hollywood Memorial Hospital
Plot: Rags to Riches
Strange Element: election
Tone: Morose (seems like it's a plant with hospital, but I assure you it was not)

One Day
By Laurie J. Kemp

It was time to make the rounds through the east wing of 9th floor, both Mike's favorite and least favorite time of the day. His work day was just beginning, but he always started his shift with a visit to his favorite person. He wheeled his utility cart into the elevator and hit the 9 button. He was relieved to have the elevator to himself. These brief quiet rides in the elevator throughout the evening gave him time to think. There's nothing glamorous about emptying trash and mopping floors in a hospital. But it was a good job. Consistent. It helped him pay rent and one of the benefits to full time employees was tuition assistance, something he needed desperately.

The elevator reached the ninth floor with a familiar ding, and the doors opened to the nurse's station. "Hey Mike."  The day nurse smiled and waved. He held the elevator door open until she got on, and he hit the Lobby button for her.

"How's my girl?" he asked before letting go of the door.

"Not much has changed," the nurse replied. They exchanged concerned smiles and said goodnight, and he let the elevator go. Every night as Mike arrived for the evening shift he asked the same question. Every night he got the same answer. Jane Doe in room 9210 was still in a coma, and no one had been by to see her. At least until 7 when Mike arrived. He always started his shift in 9210. Maybe it was because he knew she couldn't judge him or respond to him, or maybe it was because he had no one else in his life either. But talking to Jane became a daily ritual.

In a way, he could identify with her, alone and hanging on the edge. Sure, he wasn't hanging on the edge of life or death, but sometimes it felt like it. Jane was probably alone because her family was unaware of the accident and where she was. Mike's family on the other hand, had chosen to cut him off. Whatever the circumstances, he found great comfort in visiting with her, and heck it beat paying for therapy.

"How are you feeling today, beautiful?" He always called her that. And she was. Never mind the tubes and contraptions, her face was angelic. Chestnut brown hair framed a peaches and cream complexion. Last week, Mike caught a look at her glassy green eyes for the first time when the doctor pulled them open and flashed his pen light for a look. Gemstones. "Can I get a look at those beautiful green eyes?" One day, he thought to himself. One day.

He emptied the trash bins in her room, mostly just rubber gloves and tube caps from new saline pouches. She didn't get up and she didn't have company, so there was little change in her room from day to day. He thought often about bringing her flowers, but talked himself out of it every time. Instead, he gave her what everyone really wants- time. It was the perfect opportunity for him to stop awhile. Most of the patients were finishing up visits with their loved ones who stopped by on the way home from work. It made it easy for him to tuck away in Jane's room and stay out of every one else's way. He would attend to their rooms later.

Once he finished up, he sat in the chair by the window next to her bed. In the beginning, he would ask her who she was, where she was from. He would assure her that her loved ones would be there as soon as they heard. But now those words seemed empty. She had been there almost a month, and as far as Mike knew, he had been her only visitor. Instead, he began telling her about his own life. He had some secrets, and he knew she was the one person he could trust not to tell.

"I made a choice, ya know, " he told her. "I wanted to make something of myself first, so they didn't think I was just after their money. It would be easy to make that assumption, and it couldn't be further from the truth." He could see the movement of her eyes beneath the lids. He knew enough to understand it wasn't a reaction to him, but it sort of made him feel like she was listening. "Look at them." He motioned over to the TV that hung from the corner of the room. The nursing staff would put it on from time to time throughout the day to break the silence. It was the evening news, and there in a press conference talking about his campaign for governor was Charles Dobson, the frontrunner. "That's right beautiful. That son-of-a-bitch is my dad."