I look at that picture – I can still smell the starch. That uniform was so stiff, if I turned this way or that, I would go this way and it would go that. Lord, Jesus. Hmm. My sister Ardella took it. My first day on the floor at People's General. She said, “Corrine, you look like an angel sent to save the world.” I believe I believed her too. Look at me. So proud. So young. Lord, Jesus. Hmm. Fool.

I heard tell carpenters measure twice before they cut. I’d been on my feet ‘bout nine hours. Had to pee so bad. No food. I stopped to get a drink at one of the fountains by admissions, earlier, on my way back to emergency. Didn’t get much though. You see, I chose to soak a little water into a hand cloth – dab off a little of the blood that had spurted on me. Pretty white girl slit her wrist with a broken 45. Kept screamin’ ‘bout how if she couldn’t see Ringo, her life wasn’t worth livin’. Maybe wipe some of the upchuck from that colic Johnson baby; their third in what I hear was a string of nineteen. All I know was I wanted to get back to clean and get a drink. I wiped and smeared puke yellow and brown blood together – Lord, Jesus. Hmm. What a mess! I stand there cryin’ ‘bout how my uniform was soiled, and I heard my name down the hall –

“McCullough! Respiratory 3 Stat!”

I leaned over to get a drink, I still – so cool – sweet like spring water in Tennessee heat. Been 50 years and there’s been no drink like it since. Then I hear, “Nigger bitch!” Right in my ear. So loud, so close, I jumped back like a cat, cut my lip on the metal spout.

“You cain’t drink there! Don’t care you is a nurse, that’s for White’s Only!” Becca Johnson. Holdin’ that sick baby over her shoulder, yellow slime soaked into her husband’s undershirt, nipples leakin’. Guess I must have felt she looked worse than me cuz I said, “Mrs. Johnson, I needed a drink and as an employee, a Nurse’s Assistant here at People's General, I’ll drink what and where I like.”

“Uppity bitch.” She says. “Your lips bleedin’. Gonna get fat. But, sheeit, who’d notice?” Then she swaggered off laughing – cackling. I swear to this day, just like that green witch from Oz. You know? Just like it! That little boy, feverish and blue-eyes lookin’ over her shoulder, lookin’ at me as if to say he was sorry. Then he coughed up another gob of goo on the floor.

“McCullough! Resp. 3!”

I turned, by now the sweat and all kept my outfit turnin’ with me and ran down the crowded hall. When I got to 3, I pushed the door hard. Big ole’ oak door then. The only light on was an x-ray deck on the wall. I went to flick on the light and from the far, dark corner, “Don’t.”

Look, I’ve told this story a thousand times. Gene Otto and I met when I was Candy Stripin’. We never dated. We kissed a couple times. But it didn’t mean nuthin’ then and it sure doesn’t mean anything now. I didn’t know he was married, when I was in stripes. But I knew that day. I knew six months before when he sat on the hiring board. And he knew I knew. He crossed the distance between us quicker than a cat to cheese. I moved away from him, over to the deck light. He asked me if I liked my new job. He told me he missed me. Missed kissin’ with me. He got close. Close enough for me to see he was outta his trousers and close enough for him to…

“Your lips bleeding.” He says.

He reaches up, licked his thumb and swabbed what musta been some of the blood from my chin and lip. He leaned in and kissed my broken mouth smelling of rubbing alcohol and Chicklets. By now, he had pushed up against me. He lifted up my left hand, turned it up and spit in it. Then he brought it down and wrapped it around him, tight, holding my hand around it like you would grip a fish you just caught and planned on keeping. Funny that. Come to think of it, he moved like an old flippity fish too. Didn’t last long. Finished off in my hand and on my uniform. Breathing heavy in my ear how he was gonna enjoy having me at PG. He pulled away and I remember lookin’ down; the fresh blood from my mouth, the shine of spittle and slime in my hand and across the white buttons of my uniform, the smear of baby Johnson and the white girl. I remember wanting to, needing to be clean. I opened the drawer to find a cloth, something. And, well, Lord Jesus. Hmm. I guess those scissors in that drawer must have smiled bright enough to get my attention. His too. They tell me I stabbed him 47 times. Cut off his thing too. You know, they tell me I let go during. I think that’s the worst. You remember how I said I had to pee before? Embarrassing. Really. Maybe I should have stopped to go before. Anyway…

They don’t like to kill women in this state so, here I sit. Been a long time since I've seen that picture. I miss Ardella. She used to come visit every week ‘til the cancer ate her lungs ten years ago. She said I looked like an angel. Maybe I did. Maybe not. I think, maybe, I shoulda been carpenter. Hmm.

End

By Shawn Cassidy

From: United States