“How many victims?” A nurse holding bags of bandages and gauze ran past me as if I wasn’t even there.
“They don’t know,” the other nurse replied. “Apparently the truck’s tire went down in a sinkhole and caused a ripple effect on the highway, but it wasn’t the only one. A summer camp bus flipped trying to avoid—”
“Bunhead!” Eli yelled, lifting a little boy onto the bed.
The girl, who did indeed have her blonde hair pulled into a bun, ran toward him.
“Did you look him over?” Eli questioned, looking into the boy’s ears.
“He said he was okay. His nose was hurt, but I checked and it was fine. His sister was worse—”
“Stop talking.”
She jumped, closing her mouth.
“Breathe. You said his nose was hurting. Sinus pressure. His eardrums are ruptured, you need to…”
“Page EMT and administer antibiotics for the cuts, and check up every 30—”
He gave her a stern look.
“15 minutes to make sure that was all.”
“Dr. Davenport!” another doctor called from the door.
“Bunhead, keep an eye on him,” he ordered, already walking over to another room. He and the rest of them were everywhere, moving from one patient to another. Some who were in far worse condition were rushed right out of the room toward surgery. Eli stayed back for most of it.
Even in the chaos I focused on him, running back and forth as wave after wave of new bloody, crying, screaming patients were brought in. It was like he was on autopilot—he had to be. Nothing fazed him, not even when an older woman threw up all over his tennis shoes. Instead of jumping back, he held her gray head until someone brought over a small bucket.
“Sorry. I am so—”
“There is no need to apologize, Mrs. Miller. Do you still feel like the room is spinning?”
I didn’t think I would ever admit it to him, but that day I thought he was pretty amazing. All of them were. It went without saying, but seeing it with my own two eyes—and though I loved what I did for a living—in that moment I kind of wished I was a badass doctor, too.
At least now I can think of a way to apologize to him, and a sketch.
Eli
I dropped my shoes in the trash, along with my socks and the gloves I still had on, before falling onto the couch in the attending’s lounge. My whole body ached, and not in the way I liked. It had been one of those days that just kept kicking you when you were already down. I had been feeling like crap for a week and I had no idea why.
“God, what is that smell?” I heard someone say as they entered.
I didn’t lift my arm from over my eyes. “That would be the trash and my shoes.” More from my shoes than the trash, but whatever.
“Yep.” He must have sniffed. “Aftermath of the highway accident?”
Nodding, I tried to drown out the voice of Dr. Ian Seo, a plastic surgeon attending of both Korean and American decent whose calm and relaxed voice frustrated me to no end. Every day he enjoyed a fresh, home-cooked lunch he'd had time to prepare…because, well, he was a plastic surgeon. He would take his time, walking through the hospital as if nothing was going on, sucking fat from women who barely had any to begin with, doing a few breast and butt lifts before calling it a day. Every time I saw him, I wondered why I too had not chosen the path of serenity that was plastics.
Because I would gouge out my eyes from boredom, that’s why. I laughed at that, sitting upright, then rolled my eyes at him eating his banana-flavored yogurt, his black hair pulled into a small ponytail and his dark-eyed gaze on me. “Why are you still here, anyway? You're usually gone by five.”
“Aw, you noticed?”
“How can I not? That’s when my headaches stop.” I got up and headed to my locker.
“You are hurtful.”
“I know.” I smiled, pulling open the door. No longer paying attention to him, I was surprised to find a pair of navy and white Nike men’s tennis shoes waiting for me.
What in the hell? The note on the laces read:
Dr. Davenport,
Here. Sorry for judging you.
You did well today.
You were kinda cool today.
I won’t be calling you Dr. Asshole again.
If the shoes don’t fit, sorry again, I guessed, receipt is in the box.
See you at home.
See you back at the apartment.
Bye,
Gwen.
She could not be serious. Had she even thought this through before writing it? Oh dear god, why hadn’t she used a new piece of paper?
“What is so funny?” Dr. Seo said when I looked up.
“What?”
He pointed his spoon at me. “The smile on your face right now, it’s blinding me. What is so funny?”