"Like looking to see whose name comes up on your Caller ID."
"Exactly."
"That's good, Claire."
"Tryouts are next Tuesday. I'm figuring that if I don't land a gig soon, I'm going to have to start stripping again. You know me, right - pussy power. It's not exactly that I don't want to do that. You know, strip. I mean, I could, but I just feel like I'd be so much more artistically fulfilled if I was caste as a blind woman from Mississippi. Do you know what I mean?"
I nodded. I had to trust that she would endeavor to use whatever extra-sensory instincts she was developing to fill in the gaps. I wasn't in the mood to bother understanding or agree with her using conventional speech. All of the subtextual conflict with Dale had left a fowl taste in my mouth.
"So good to hear from you, what's going on?" she asked.
"I'm out with Dale, and it's just..."
"Ugh, Don't even get me started on Dale again. I don't know what you see in him. You know for a while, I thought maybe he was just a stag in bed. You know I like to do my research. I talked to Diane whose friends with Marcy, and she says that she used to be roommates with someone who used to have sex with Dale."
"Annette," I rolled my eyes.
"Yea, that's the one. Anyways, Marcy could hear them talking after they had sex, and I guess one time he had this breakdown..."
"Claire, you told me this story before."
"Well, it didn't stick, otherwise you would've dumped him months ago. I mean, I can't help you if you're not willing to help yourself."
"Dale doesn't cry after we have sex."
"Look, all I'm saying is that you deserve better and I want good things for you. If he was rocking your world, then it might be okay if he was kind of a bore."
"Well, he's not."
"Which is exactly why you should dump him tonight. That way, we can go backpacking across Europe for a year or something."
"I thought you had a gig in that musical about the blind woman from Mississippi?"
"You know I'd get off on busking and traveling with you," she confided. "Let's go!"
"You always fun way to make me feel better about things, Claire. Thanks."
"Psh! Dump him already. Did you call me to try and feel better about your life, or did you call me to make a change!"
Claire was one of my favorite people for that exact reason. Still, I wasn't sold on actually doing anything besides calling her up to complain. It may have been that I was subconsciously trying to get rid of Dale. However, if I had learned anything about myself over the years, it was that I would go to a near endless amount of masochistic pain, just to avoid making any major changes in my life.
"I'm just using you to feel better, girl. You know I can't make decisions to save my... Holy shit."
"What?" she asked, her entire attention on the conversation.
"A shooting star...”
Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and the phone was pulled down away from my ear. I heard Dale's voice close behind me, and I felt an immediate mixture of anxiety and guilt.
"Did you make a wish?" he asked, sincerity ringing through in his voice.
I turned around, finally ready to let him have a piece of my mind. What he was doing, coming out here to spy on me was wrong. I didn't care how smart he thought he was. When a person wants space, it's rude to track them down and…
My thoughts were cut short from my tongue as soon as I turned around.
There, in front of me, was Dale - down on one knee, with a huge diamond ring extended up toward me as a peace offering. Hope was in his eyes, and I saw then, that he was laying it all out for me in that moment. Whatever complaints I may have had about Dale, ‘coward’, could never be one of them.
Though I was speechless, Dale found enough resolve to verbalize the only question that needed to be asked.
"Did it come true?"
5
Roma
Nine Months Later...
I took a job at a long-term care facility about a month ago. The clinic is mostly a place where old people come before they get transferred into long-term hospice, but there are a few exceptions.
I do what I can to be helpful, but I have a lot of downtime. As unproductive as you might imagine it to be, actually really enjoy making the rounds in the facility. Essentially, this means checking in on each patient to make sure they have what they need, and to be available if there are any emergencies. However, there are no emergencies, in patients rarely need anything beyond what they've already been given. The result is a lot of roaming the halls, looking busy.
Still, even if I wasn't saving lives or being some spectacular nurse, this new job had given me an opportunity to define myself. I needed an external source of stimulation to separate myself from my childhood acting career; in that, Dale had been correct. While working at the clinic, I actually felt like my merit was based on activities I was engaging in at the time. Value offered in an existential context is wonderful compared to value based on a previous life. Dale doesn't ever stop reminding me of how valuable his insight has been to my finding meaning as an adult. If you believe Dale, he saved me from a lifetime of recovery from childhood exploitation.
I looked down at my hand, my eye cut caught on the light of the diamond right on my finger.
Dale was right about a lot of things, I thought to myself,
I didn't exactly feel fulfilled, but there was a very real type of satisfaction that I experienced working at the facility. Likely, the same level of satisfaction that I felt being in a relationship with Dale.
There were things that I wish could have been different. I did my best to tell myself that those different things were future possibilities that did not happen. I had made certain decisions in my life, and this clinic was where those decisions had taken me. Now, I was free to walk the halls at a long term care facility, and endlessly reflecting on what might have been.
A phone rang, and I realized that I had finished walking the entire length of the facility, and was back in front of the administration room. It was a Sunday afternoon, and nobody else was on shift. It was my responsibility to answer the phone. I walked into the office, and placed the archaic corded phone by my ear.
"Star of Hope, how may I help you?"
"I understand that you’re very busy," came a voice from the other end of the line. "I'm going to have to inform you that should you cancel on me again, I don't think we're going to be able to keep the chapel for the spring date you had selected."
It was the wedding planner.
"About that," I said, trying to come up with some reasonable excuse as to why the dates had continued to shift in my mind.
"I don't want to hear it. It's not my job to provide counseling for couples that haven’t even made it to the chapel yet. I would rather just focus on clients who are serious, and keep their commitments."
If I had not already canceled and changed the final dates four times, I might have taken her statement personally. As it was, I knew that she was being honest with me. She had a business to run, and my inability to stick to a final date for the wedding had likely already cost her a great deal of money.
"Yes," I said, feeling confused and powerless. "I understand. I'm really confident about this one, I don't think I'll be changing my mind anytime soon."
"Roma, I'm certain you and I have had this exact conversation at least twice before."
I didn't respond.
"Look, It's not my place to tell you whether or not this is something that you should be doing with your life. I just wanted to let you know: If you change the dates again, I'm going to start charging you. Time that I spend working out your indecision could be spent on clients that are actually interested in getting married. Sorry to be harsh, hun, but I've been in this business a long time. You're a big girl, you can handle it."
"Thanks," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll make it work."
I hung up on her before she could respond. I would have liked to be able to be mad at her, but she
was right. I pulled my lunch out of my backpack, and resolved to sit down and take my break.
I eat my lunch in the same room everyday. The location was a bit unconventional, but nobody had given me any grief about it so far, so I didn't see a reason to change. Instead of eating in the staff room, or in the office, I took my lunch and one of the patient rooms. Not just any of the rooms, mind you, but one of the patients who had not been conscious the entire time that I had worked at the facility.
He was a comatose man, who I guess had been involved in some kind of accident, and didn't have any family to take care of him. The facility gets a certain amount of grant money every year in order to be able to take on patients like this. The owner of the facility is, as you can tell, more progressive than most. My decision to take lunch in this room was actually interpreted as a sign of compassion.
I was grateful that my actions were not interpreted in any negative way, because being in that room made me feel peaceful. For some reason, this unconscious man felt safe in a world where everything else seemed to be conspiring to agitate.
The patient was certainly handsome, but there wasn't anything perverse about my desire to spend time with him. I just felt an implicit level of trust with the unconscious man. To that end, I had been 'talking to him' every day for months.
Trust problems, I know, but a woman has to have some kind of confidant.
6
Roma
The great thing about talking to a man who is unconscious is that you don't have to worry about them cutting you off when you're trying to speak your mind.
I admit, it might be the case that my social skills could use a bit of work. Regardless of my anti-social tendencies, it was nice not to have to hear some sarcastic remark about a point that 'should have been obvious' to me. Dale was notorious for such bullshit interjections, while Patient 888 did nothing of the sort. I was able to express myself clearly, and get everything off of my chest that once.
"So, I know you and I haven't spoken for some time," I began. "It's probably been at least a week, and even then I feel like I've been holding back something from you. Here it is…"
And so the confession began.
We hashed out the back-and-forth of my life. We talked about how things have been going at the long-term care facility. I brought up different administrative updates that would inadvertently affect this man's life. The conversation also included the fact that we had switched from conventional applesauce to an organic variety. Apparently, the lead administrator allowed the sympathies of one of a large local commercial grower to be directed. The daughter of the grower had been hospitalized here multiple times for drug related accidents. I suppose he thought organic applesauce would help his daughter, as well as the other patients.
We all do what we can.
"I personally believe it has to do with some type of loss in the family. People tend to be capitalistic and selfish until some kind of tragedy hits. Once the low point arrives, they usually see the light and try to make things better in the world for people who are less fortunate than themselves. I don't blame them, and I'm grateful. You won't be eating any of the applesauce, but the people inside of facility who are conscious will. I believe that even the smallest things make a difference in the lives of people who need help."
The conversation drifted onward, past topics relating to the facility, and toward my personal life.
"So, I'm still dealing with a bit of fire for accepting Dale's marriage proposal. Even today the wedding planner called and give me grief over the phone. Don't even get me started about Claire. She's still pissed at me, and I'm not sure that she'll ever get over it. I thought that relationship would last forever, but I guess things change. I've changed, or at least I think I have."
Speaking to him about the things that are going on in my life was so relaxing for me. I felt like he was really there, and that he cared for me in a way that no one else in my life at that time; not even Dale.
Forty minutes passed in no time at all.
"So," I laughed, "I ended up canceling the wedding for the third time. The worst thing about it is that the more excuses I give, the more complicated my life becomes as a result. Now, I have bi-monthly meetings with a psychiatrist. I might have to convince him that I am coming down the case of agoraphobia. Otherwise, there will be no reason why I should've canceled the venue in the park. One lie feeds the next, huh?"
I shook my head, and was about to continue, when there was a knock at the door. I turned, and saw the smiling face of the relief nurse. My shift was almost over.
"I should have known you'd be in here," she smiled, and then gave to glance over at the comatose man. "Not a bad lunch date, though he'd be a little quiet for my taste."
I blushed, and stood up, trying to compose myself once more.
"Don't you worry about a thing," she continued. "Most clinics have problems with sexual abuse and comatose patients. I should imagine a little extra tender loving care and conversation never hurt anyone - even if the conversation is a bit one-sided."
"Thanks, Louise."
"Not a problem. By the way, I got here about twenty minutes ago. When I arrived, there was a patient waiting to be admitted."
"I'm so sorry," I replied.
"No," she shook her head dismissively. "You were on your lunch. He waited outside in the lobby. You did everything that you were supposed to do."
I nodded, and let out a sigh. While everything else around me seemed to be falling apart, I didn't want my job to fall apart as well.
"That’s good, I'll go take care of him," I said, packing what was left of my lunch back into the brown paper bag.
"No need to worry," she said. "I've already taking care of his admission process. The reason I bring it up to is that he asked for you by name."
I paused in my tracks, wondering if something terrible had happened to an acquaintance of mine. After the paranoid imagination of tragedy passed, I wondered if perhaps some fan had tracked me down. I didn't want to assume the worst, so I let out a deep breath, and gave Louise a smile.
"Not a problem," I said, “I’ll go see what he needs.”
Louise didn't miss a beat, though.
"Strange, Isn't it?" she offered, as though she could read my expressions as easily as though I had spoken my concerns out loud. "I mean, you're a brand new CNA, and you're not very high up on the food chain. I know you had that whole actress thing in your past life, but I was under the impression you were busy trying to put that behind you."
"Well, maybe the word got out through admin," I smiled.
Louise shook her head, totally dismissing the idea.
"Personnel records are sealed. Either you put it out that you were here, or it's some personal friend of yours," she said with affirmation.
I nodded, wishing to dismiss the conversation and get on with the day. Louise was a good woman, but she could be a bit forward at times.
"I'll go take a look and see what they want."
As I walked past her, prepared to face the day once again, I heard her gasp.
"Did you see that?" she said.
I shook my head.
"What?"
"I think I saw his finger twitch."
The patient hadn't moved since he had first arrived, and if Louise was right, this was a breakthrough indeed.
"One thing at a time, Louise," was all I could offer in response.
If the man in a coma had moved, that would be a newsworthy event. Unfortunately, my attention was already directed elsewhere. I had said "one thing", and I meant it - these days, I didn't have room for much more than that.
7
Roma
I walked into the admittance room to find an old woman and a young man still waiting. Their appearance looked worn down, though that wasn't unusual for a couple of people looking to admit themselves. Most of the time, when people admitted themselves to the clinic, it had to do with mental health issues. Judging by the looks of these two, it was probably some type of severe anxi
ety disorder.
Most of the anxiety disorders we served here had psychosomatic elements. In reality, there was not much you could actually do for them except provide them with anti-psychotic medications. The pains in their bodies would never be found by any tests. I was only venturing a guess, but the two looked stressed.
I did my best to be accommodating in my manner.
"Louise informed me that you were looking for me."
I tried to imagine where I had seen either of them before, but I couldn't place them.
"Do I know you?" I asked, as the trying to settle something in my mind.
The woman shook her head, and wrung her hands together. The man in her company stared at me with such intensity that it was difficult for me. I saw in his eyes something that I interpreted as desperation. He needed help, and the two of them believed that we were going to provide that help for them.
It was a lot of pressure, but I knew that they would get what they needed sooner than later. I laughed, relieved.
"Then it must be something to do with my previous job. I get recognized by a lot of people. I suppose I met a stronger impact than I thought. Is that where you know me from?"
Silence.
No response at all except for the man shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then stood.
"Of course," I nodded.
I had to eliminate the ideas that they had come here specifically for me. I knew that they had likely come here seeking treatment, and not simply because they were fans of mine. Otherwise, what was the reason to be admitted? The only part that confused me was how they had known to ask for me by name.
"If you'll follow me this way, I'll be happy to get you what you're looking for," I said. "I can see the two of you are looking for help."
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 296
