The Candy Striper

Chapter 2

Mary

     I walked thought the cafeteria, causally waving to the nurses and doctors on break. I always try to have a smile on my face around here. So many people are gummy around here or they try to hard to act happy. Patients don't want to hear that everything is going to be ok or that nothing is wrong with them. All they want is a person to talk to and be real with them, not some fake, over-enthusiastic person. I mean, if I was cooped up in a room all day with nothing to do but sleep or watch TV, I would just want someone to talk to.  

     Pushing the swing door to the kitchen pantry, I made my way over to the refrigerator and place the small amount that remanded of Buck's cake. I looked at the cake, and licked my lips, remembering the sugary, sweet taste of the butterscotch icing on my tongue. I closed the refrigerator door, looking around the room, checking to see that there aren't any witnesses. Once I scanned the room twice with my eye, I whirled around fast, reopening the door and running my finger over the smooth surface of the cake, my finger picking up some of the sugary delight. I plopped the finger in my mouth and smiled as my tongue licked of the icing.

     "Mary." I heard Marcus say, attempting to whisper. Because of Marcus's old age and bad hearing it was literally impossible for him to whisper. I mean, I was all the way across the room from him and I could hear him crystal clear. I turned around by natural reaction, my finger still in my mouth, Marcus began to laugh at this. When I finally realized what he was cracking up about, I blushed and removed my finger from my mouth.  

     After he had stopped his laughter, he looked at me, old, blue eye twinkling with mischief. "I got something for you." He walked over to a cupboard, opened it and removed two liter bottle of Diet Coke.

     I gasped in happiness. "You smuggled in Diet Coke for me?" I ran over to him taking the bottle and cradling it to my chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. In this hospital, it was forbidden to have soft drinks, since half of the patients who come in here have externally high blood sugar levels.

     "Well," He said gently, "I know you have been putting in extra hours, so I though you might need a little caffeine to keep you running." Truth be told, he was completely right. It was utterly draining come here from school, staying until the night shift started, then going home and doing an hours worth of homework. If it wasn't for the wonderful gift of caffeine, I probably would have collapsed from exhaustion by now.

     Smiling at him, I place the Diet Coke on the ground and hugged him. "Thank you." I said with a smile.

     "It's the least I could do for my unrelated granddaughter." He replied as I smirked as I giggled at our little inside joke. When I was about five-years-old, both of my parents were employed at this hospital. Since my mom had just graduated from medical school and got her license to be a doctor, we had dept up to our necks and unable to hire a baby sitter for me everyday. So, to save money they brought me to the hospital. Not wanting to me to be scared by the patients' appearances, they brought me to the cafeteria and left me here. At the time Marcus was the head cook, so being a friendly, little girl, I began to talk to him and tell him about my day. Everyday until I was in 6th grade and my parents trusted me to stay home alone, Marcus would listen to me blabber on about nothing. It wasn't long before I thought of him as a grandfather, and since both of my grandfathers died, he fit their place perfectly.

     After I released my embraces off of Marcus, I walked over to the cupboard grabbed a cup and filled it to the rim with Diet Coke. Handing the bottle back to him, "Keep this well hidden." I told him seriously. Taking my cup, I walked out of the pantry and got in the line to get a plate of dinner. Tonight, it was spaghetti and meatballs, my favorite. Marcus came out of the pantry a few minutes after me, grabbed a plate of food and handed to me even though I was still the last one in line.

     "You know, you're not suppose to do that." I informed him, taking the plate out of his handing smiling at him.

     "I can do whatever I want." He answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm the head chef, this is my kitchen and I can let someone skip if I want to."

     I walked away, smirking and shacking my head at the crazy old man. I sat down in the closes available seat at an empty table, and finally relaxed for the first time since I started my shift. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back and rubbed my neck, trying to relieve the tension. After the knots in my neck did not subside, I set my head straight up and opened my eyes. A familiar looking young man sat by the window staring out, blankly as if in deep thought. I studded his strong looking face, and messy thick hair. Then, it hit me, he was Buck's new roommate.

     Sighing, upset I haven't even touched my food and I had to go back to work, I rose from my sit and walked over to him. With his gaze still fixed on the horizon, I slipped into the sit across from him at the table. "You're not suppose to be out of your room." I told him. His head snapping back to face me, eye wide in surprise.  

     He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally saying, "Please let me stay. I'm not that sick and being trapped in that room all day makes me feel like prisoner rather than a patient." I paused for a moment, thinking about the situation. For one thing, it was against the hospital policy. But, then I did see where he was coming from.

     So against my better judgment, I nodded my head, "You can stay."

   He breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you."

    "Just from now on," I told him in a stern voice, "Let me know so I can go with you. I don't want you to get hurt and it be my fault because I told you, you could come here." He nodded in agreement and then returned his gaze back toward the window. I began to eat my spaghetti, when I noticed the bruises on his arms and frowned. Now a days, it wasn't uncommon that the bruises were self-inflected or that he is a victim of domestic abuse, but both of those reason didn't seem to fix.

     "Do you get in a lot of fights?" I asked, letting my curiosity take over the common sense of my mind. One thing my mom told me before my first day of being a candy striper, was not to get too involved in the patients' life. Listen to them talk, meet their family, but never, ever, ask personal questions. If you do get involved, there is a possibility that, a, the person might die of whatever ailment they are in the hospital for. Or, b, they will leave the hospital and forget all about you. Both ways, you end up hurt and alone.

     "Huh?" He stared at me confused. I motioned to the bruises on his arms. "Oh," He replied coldly, "No."

    "Then what is with all the bruises?"

     He gave me a chilling look before answering, "Its part of my illness." After blinking, confused, at him, he sighed. "I have leukemia." He said in a monotone voice.

     "Oh." That's all I could say. I have never meet a person who had leukemia before. This was a small hospital, in an equally small town. Most of the more serious illnesses were treated at the regional hospital a few towns over. Unable to say anything else, I looked down at my face and continued to eat my spaghetti. I could feel his eyes on me, wanting a reaction I guess, but I just couldn't think of what to do. After I finished, I threw my plastic plate in the trash and walked back to his room, with, of course, him following behind me. The door was closed and I opened it to find Buck a sleep.  

    The young man was just about to head to his bed, before I said, "What's your name?"

    "I'm Lance," He replied coolly.

     "Ok, Lance. Tomorrow, when you want to go to the cafeteria, press the nurse's paging button and when the intercom comes on ask for-"

     "Saint Mary." He interrupted me with a sly smirk on his face. "I know."

    After giggling a little, I regained my composer. "Goodnight, Lance."

    "Goodnight dear saint." He joked. I turned around and headed to the nurses' station, unable to stop smiling and thinking about him.