More Poison in Your Coffee?

Chapter 17

             After speeding almost blindly through traffic and parking Douglas on the third floor of the garage directly adjacent to the main building at St Theresa’s, I made my way to the seventh floor of the second tower.

            Walking tersely out of the elevator I was greeted by a dimly lit corridor. I moved quickly, feet pattering anxiously on the ceramic floor and almost barreled into the tall counter at the nurses’ station.

            “Where’s Henry Cho’s room, please?”

            “I’m sorry ma’am, visiting hours are over.” The woman behind the desk was short and squat. Her face was pulled in an unimpressed almost bored sulk. Her name tag read Sally.

            “I don’t care about visiting hours. I just want to see my friend.”

            “I’m sorry but at this time of night I’m only allowed to admit persons who are closely related to the injured.” Her eyes raked over me slowly, taking in the casual slacks and blouse I’d been wearing at work today, coupled with my worried almost wild expression.

            A scowl was etched sharply into her face. This woman dealt with whiny patients, domineering doctors, and pushy visitors all day. My pleas to see my hurt friend were falling on unsympathetic ears, but I was well beyond caring what some grouchy night nurse thought of me.

            “I don’t care what the rules say. I’ll go through every room on this floor until I find him, or you can make this easy and just tell me where he is!”

            “How about I call security and have you forcibly removed from the building, or you can make this easy and come back tomorrow at nine o’ clock during visiting hours.”

            “Ugh! Why won’t you just let me go?”

            “It’s a simple question. Are you family?” She gave me the once over again, this time with a noted insensitive scrutiny. In this woman’s mind she couldn’t possibly see how a Black woman was in any way related to an Asian man; at least not without a wedding band.

            But how could I explain to a stranger the complexity of our relationship. Yeah, we obviously weren’t blood related, but she didn’t know I’d spent countless nights having dinner with his family as a child; that I considered his parents my parents too. Or the hundreds of letters sent from summers we had to spend apart. Or that he was always the first person I called when something exciting or sad or scary happened. 

            Family wasn’t just about the blood we may or may not have between us.  It’s about knowing that when I need him, he’s there. And I’ll be damned before I let some surly old woman keep me from my best bud when he needs me. There’s a reason they call me hurricane Evelyn.

            But just as I was rolling up my sleeves, fingers primed and itching to choke a bitch if necessary, Han walked down the hall.

            He was a slightly older more somber version of Henry, thin and tall with his hair often shaved short. He walked over to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

            “Hey, glad you came. His room’s this way.” He started herding me down the hall then caught a nasty glare from Sally the crotchety nurse. “It’s fine. She’s family.”

            Nurse Sally frowned but kept her mouth shut. I turned around and stuck my tongue out at her over my shoulder. She stuck her tongue right back out at me. Well, so much for professionalism or having some sort of sensitivity to people when their loved ones are hurt.