for ‘attitude.’ It gets them off the hook, legally.”
“You’re really burned out, aren’t you, Wanda?”
“You know, even if someone resigns they can change the record to say they were fired. Who’s to know?”
“Why don’t you just quit? Do something else?”
She looked surprised. “I can’t, Monika.” She stopped and pulled herself up. “I’m a nurse,” she said, looking me in the eye. “It’s who I am.”
Tim returned when Wanda went back to Milburn’s booth, and for a few minutes we had a rush on brochures. A couple of students asked questions but none wanted to give us their names and addresses. The room was clearing out. A voice on the loudspeaker invited everyone to the program beginning in the next room. I told Tim I was going to see what they had to say and he nodded his agreement.
Out in the hallway three models, wearing the latest in uniform fashion, pirouetted on a small stage. With their perfect makeup and equally perfect figures, they sashayed back and forth, displaying snappy scrubs in sun-splashed prints under crisp white jackets and lab coats. None had any blood on them.
“Monika!” Lisa said, grabbing my arm. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, her round baby face marred by dark smudges under her eyes. “Please.”
Shaking off her arm, I said, “Come on. I’m going in here.” I started toward the crowd heading into the auditorium.
“No, no, someplace we can talk.” Her eyes darted back and forth. “It’ll just take a minute.”
I looked at my watch. The program was due to begin in five minutes but, judging by the size of the crowd still lined up to get in, they’d be late starting.
“We could get a Coke or something,” I said, nodding toward a refreshment stand doing a brisk business in hot dogs, ice cream and soft drinks.
After we bought our drinks we found an empty table among the few scattered along the wall. We settled ourselves, carefully balancing our cups on the black grill-work top of the wobbly ice cream table.
“I wanted to ask you about Bart,” she began, stirring her drink with a straw, its paper cap still on. She stared at the dark liquid swirling in the ice. Finally, she looked up, her green eyes serious. “He’s a good nurse, you know,” she began as if I’d argue with her. “He really is.” She stirred some more.
Her knit top looked a size too small for her, or maybe it had shrunk in the wash. But that had been a while ago; perspiration stained the underarms and the front showed the remains of more than one food group.
“I was still living at home in Louisville and working my first nursing job on nights in the E.R.,” Lisa said, looking off in the distance. “Bart came in with his father.” She turned to me and shook her head. “Nothing we could do. Alcohol and pills. Looks like he did it on purpose. Bart said he’d just been fired from another job.”
Inwardly I sighed. I never have been able to understand suicide. Life was just too damn precious, no matter what.
“Bart was upset, his mom, too, of course. He told me he was a nursing student but he said the instructors had it in for him, him being a man.”
I knew what she meant. Tim and other men in nursing had told me how difficult some women made it for them. The ones who stuck with it were all the more noteworthy, I’d always thought.
“You’ve been together since then?”
“Most of the time. I got hurt lifting a patient. He came up here for school, and I came a month later when I finished physical therapy. It still hurts, though,” she said, pressing a fist into her back and straightening up. A smile spread across her little-girl face. “We got this cute little house in Dogtown I’ve been trying to fix up when I feel up to it.”
I finished my drink and looked around for a trash can.
“Wait,” Lisa said, her hand on my arm. “He’s a good nurse, you know that, he just made a mistake. We’ve all made mistakes.” She ducked her head and looked up with a
“You’re really burned out, aren’t you, Wanda?”
“You know, even if someone resigns they can change the record to say they were fired. Who’s to know?”
“Why don’t you just quit? Do something else?”
She looked surprised. “I can’t, Monika.” She stopped and pulled herself up. “I’m a nurse,” she said, looking me in the eye. “It’s who I am.”
Tim returned when Wanda went back to Milburn’s booth, and for a few minutes we had a rush on brochures. A couple of students asked questions but none wanted to give us their names and addresses. The room was clearing out. A voice on the loudspeaker invited everyone to the program beginning in the next room. I told Tim I was going to see what they had to say and he nodded his agreement.
Out in the hallway three models, wearing the latest in uniform fashion, pirouetted on a small stage. With their perfect makeup and equally perfect figures, they sashayed back and forth, displaying snappy scrubs in sun-splashed prints under crisp white jackets and lab coats. None had any blood on them.
“Monika!” Lisa said, grabbing my arm. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, her round baby face marred by dark smudges under her eyes. “Please.”
Shaking off her arm, I said, “Come on. I’m going in here.” I started toward the crowd heading into the auditorium.
“No, no, someplace we can talk.” Her eyes darted back and forth. “It’ll just take a minute.”
I looked at my watch. The program was due to begin in five minutes but, judging by the size of the crowd still lined up to get in, they’d be late starting.
“We could get a Coke or something,” I said, nodding toward a refreshment stand doing a brisk business in hot dogs, ice cream and soft drinks.
After we bought our drinks we found an empty table among the few scattered along the wall. We settled ourselves, carefully balancing our cups on the black grill-work top of the wobbly ice cream table.
“I wanted to ask you about Bart,” she began, stirring her drink with a straw, its paper cap still on. She stared at the dark liquid swirling in the ice. Finally, she looked up, her green eyes serious. “He’s a good nurse, you know,” she began as if I’d argue with her. “He really is.” She stirred some more.
Her knit top looked a size too small for her, or maybe it had shrunk in the wash. But that had been a while ago; perspiration stained the underarms and the front showed the remains of more than one food group.
“I was still living at home in Louisville and working my first nursing job on nights in the E.R.,” Lisa said, looking off in the distance. “Bart came in with his father.” She turned to me and shook her head. “Nothing we could do. Alcohol and pills. Looks like he did it on purpose. Bart said he’d just been fired from another job.”
Inwardly I sighed. I never have been able to understand suicide. Life was just too damn precious, no matter what.
“Bart was upset, his mom, too, of course. He told me he was a nursing student but he said the instructors had it in for him, him being a man.”
I knew what she meant. Tim and other men in nursing had told me how difficult some women made it for them. The ones who stuck with it were all the more noteworthy, I’d always thought.
“You’ve been together since then?”
“Most of the time. I got hurt lifting a patient. He came up here for school, and I came a month later when I finished physical therapy. It still hurts, though,” she said, pressing a fist into her back and straightening up. A smile spread across her little-girl face. “We got this cute little house in Dogtown I’ve been trying to fix up when I feel up to it.”
I finished my drink and looked around for a trash can.
“Wait,” Lisa said, her hand on my arm. “He’s a good nurse, you know that, he just made a mistake. We’ve all made mistakes.” She ducked her head and looked up with a
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