I see Ernest slowly make his way around the hospital floor. He is (I’m guessing) on his first lap, and it’s shaky. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s not even five a.m. or because his condition is worsening.
When you stay in a hospital, time becomes something strange. For me, a visitor, it’s defined by the moments I get to sneak away and the hours the café is open. The café reminds me of being in school. You know, that window between classes, pretending you’re relaxed, but you’re still there?
This morning, I’m waiting for the café to open when Ernest sees me. He says, “G’morning” gruffly, and I smile at him. My smile is supposed to say: You’re doing good.
He stops suddenly to ask if I’ll walk with him. When I agree, since I’m waiting anyway, he says dryly, “It’s not gonna be as fast as I’ve seen you shoot around here.”
I laugh, a little embarrassed. “You’ve seen me shoot around here?”
As we walk (or shuffle) beneath harsh lighting, to the sounds of mechanical humming and beeps, Ernest asks me what I’m always “pecking about” on my computer. Is it work? he wonders.
I tell him, “Yeah, mostly. Answering emails.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I decide to add, “And I write.”
Ernest is probably 6’3”, but because he’s so hunched over, he’s closer to my tiny, not-quite–Sabrina Carpenter size. He stops and looks at me with humor in his eyes and makes a sound like he’s thrilled.
“Fiction?”
“Sometimes.” I’m laughing again.
In the rooms we pass, there are more patients asleep than awake, but the few who are awake have the news turned on. I ask Ernest, rather intrusively, “Why does everyone watch the news in the hospital?”
“What do you wanna see when you’re miserable? A happy movie or a disaster?”
I look at him and say I’d want to see a happy movie.
“Then you’ve never really been miserable,” he tells me. We walk quietly after that, and I’m about to ask if he wants anything from the café when he says, “If I was about twenty years younger, I’d take you out for breakfast.”
I get into the elevator and try to make out my reflection in the stainless steel, but I’m blurry and distorted. I wonder about him, twenty years younger.
(Daily Writing 042)
Thoughts?