The Candy Striper

Lance 

     Another hospital, that's all I could think as we pulled into the parking lot. For the past two years I have been pulled in and out of hospitals all around the country. Each of them claming to have the best treatment center, best nurses, best doctors, but to me, I haven't seen any difference between them. Each of them possessing white floors and white walls. The musty smell of disinfectant and illness drifting though each hallway, no matter in what state it was in. All the rooms I have been in have two white, uncomfortable bed, a small television, and a side table next to the bed. As I walked into the doors of the hospital, my nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of a hospital.

     A tired looking nurse walked up to me, a forced smile plastered on her face. "You must be Lance Timpltion." I nodded in response. "Let me show you to your room," She said though her teeth as she began to walk down the hallway, grumbling something under her breath.

     I couldn't blame her for her grumpiness. One thing I noticed about nurses at my never-ending stay at hospitals was they worked for long hours, caring for countless patients, and don't get many breaks. If anything, I actually appreciated her attitude. So many hospital works act so cheery and happy around you, acting like nothing is wrong, when you know something is. I would rather be told the hard truth than an hopeful lie, because you learn it's a lie, your heart breaks and it takes everything you have to not give up fighting.

      "Here is its." The nurse said, putting on her fake smile again. She pushed the door open and lead me over to the bed. "If you need anything," She pointed to the big green button on the inside of the railing around the bed, "Just push that button and on of the nurses at the station will be here as soon as possible." With that she left the room.

      I laid down on the bed, sifted and moved around until I got comfortable, then stared at the television set. I didn't pay much attention to what was actually on. I was zoned out, preparing myself for the countless operations, medical exams, test. Then, went the test result don't come out with a positive result, my parents pull me out and ship me to another hospital.  

     "Who you rooting for?" A male voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder to see a guy that appeared to be a little younger than me, with one leg and one arm rapped in a plaster cast. His dark hair was shaving in a buzz cut, and his tan skin gave away that he came from along line of southerns, if the twang in his voice wasn't a big enough hint.  

     I shrugged in response for the question. "I don't really follow teams. I just like to watch the sport. It's better than reality TV at least."  

      He nodded in agreement as the sounds of the baseball game filling the room. After a few moments of silence he said, "I'm Buck by the way."  

    "Lance." After awkward silence fell over us again, I decided to strike up a conversation since the game wasn't that interesting. "So how did you break your arm and leg?"  

       Buck sat up straighter, puffed out his chest and said in a proud voice, "I'm an award-winning dirt bike racer. I was doing a victory lap for qualifying for state regional, when my dirty bike flipped over, throwing me off." He chuckled a little before continuing. "I'm famous in this hospital. About once of week I come in with some kind of injury. The staff even calls me Bad Luck Buck. So that's why I'm here. My doctor decided it would be easier to keep me over the weekend, since I would probably be back by Monday."  

     I chuckled under my breath. "It sounds like you have a smart doctor." He chuckled and nodded his head as we both returned our attention to the television. It wasn't long before I began to hear murmurs outside the room. A loud shh quieted the conversations right before a loud choir of voice began singing, "Happy Birthday." Candy stripers, nurses, and a doctor came in, all singing the song in a different key. The first person in the door was a candy striper with a birthday cake in her hands. She had a sunny disposition to her for a person who worked in a hospital, and not fake happiness. I genuine smile displayed on her face as she sang. She looked about my age, her curly brown hair framing her face, green eyes shinning in joy.