Contrary to my username, I am a female. But anyway, onto the story.
Basically, this story revolves around Carter and his problem. Only two
characters in this story belong to me, and they are Laura Jones and "Peg".
All the rest are Crichton's. The time is around the beginning of the third
season.
IT was a brisk, sunlit afternoon in March, although the sunlight doesn't carry through noticeably from about thirty feet through the emergency room doors. This is only because the people working madly around the clock can focus only upon one form: on their patients. The patients are the sole purpose of the ER because everyone deserves another chance.
"We've got a suspected suicide!" Carol Hathaway's voice echoed as far as possible through the filled hall. The radio had just rung in it's first of the day, thus beginning a day in the ER at Cook County General.
"Suicide? Who called an ambulance on a suicide?" Chimed in Doug Ross, his mind half engulfed in a paper on his clipboard.
"The lady who hit her," she replied. Doug's only reply was a confused look.
"What? What's happening?" came Carter's voice. He closely followed his mentor, Peter, as they made their way to the ambulance entrance.
"It's a suicide, weren't you listening, Carter?" Peter answered sternly. "What's the catch?" Hathaway responded immediately, "She did what any person could do... she ran out in traffic, I guess."
As Peter and Carter hastily scrubbed in, Mark Greene cleared the second trauma room. As soon as the ordeal had started--or so it seemed-- the ambulance doors slammed open. A younger looking paramedic made his way to Peter to give him the information.
"Left ulna looks to be fractured... left tibia, too. Some bruising on her right arm. We haven't confirmed anything internal yet, though. It looks like she was doing some kind of a volleyball tomahawk move or something when she was hit. It's pretty bad," he said.
"Yea, thanks," replied Peter. "Carter!" Carter came running to his aide.
"Yea?" he inquired.
"Could you get a nurse to call upstairs and tell them that as soon as we stabilize this girl we're going to need a CT scan?"
Carter paused, then answered, "Uh, sure." He quickly left the trauma room, his hands still dripping from the soap and water, glancing behind him to see that Mark had scrubbed in just in case... well, just in case this would happen.
"Carter, scrub in. Carter, call the trauma team. Carter, call upstairs. And while you're at it, make a call to Bosnia and see if they would possibly have Chinese food!" He said to himself as he made his way to the front desk.
"Could someone reserve a CT upstairs for Benton?" A nurse looked at him and gave him a nod that told him, "Sure thing, John."
After fussing with a pair of latex gloves, which turned out to be quite a project, Carter made his way to the table. Of course, by the time he got to do something, there was no one to keep him from contaminating his own two hands. Right away, he was started on a task. Greene filled him in.
"Alright, Carter. I'll tell you what you missed. There's some minor internal bleeding in the abdominal cavity, but we're still going to have to flush it out. Just take this," he said, giving Carter a giant syringe, "And..."
"Don't worry, I know what to do," Carter snapped.
Greene stepped back a bit. "Okay, okay," he said, sounding a little startled.
Carter started on his task. He began with the needle. Unfortunately, there was a slight problem. He was too late with the tube, and things only got worse as a bloody sort of fountain made its way onto his jacket.
"MINOR?" Carter yelled, jumping back into a supply table and toppling it along with himself.
Benton shot in his say, "Well, don't just stand there! Get him some tubing!"
As he tried to get untangled from the scalpels that had just ripped into his scrub jacket, Carter tried to make his way back to the table, but was shoved out of the way by Peter.
"You know what," Peter turned to him, "I think we should handle this."
"But I can help, I kno..." Carter started, but stopped himself.
He dejectedly took off his gloves and started to leave the room when he heard the familiar EKG beeping of V-FIB, accompanied by a nurse shouting the problem. Knowing that he had a fat chance at redeeming himself, he continued to head out the room. Suddenly, he stopped himself, whirled around, and shoved his way to the table.
"Carter, what are you doing?" Shouted Peter over the volume in the room.
"Saving a life, what does it look like?" He asked back. "Someone get me some paddles, please!"
He must have shocked the girl three times, the energy level increasing with each hit. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the girl went to a normal rhythm. There was a hush throughout the room as everyone turned to Carter (who had not noticed until know that he had taken over a high stake situation with nothing to back him up but a residency) and stared in a scared sort of amazement. Then, slowly and quiet enough that he could hear his own heartbeat, the majority of the room cleared out.
"Nice work," Greene whispered as he passed Carter. "You saved her."
A look of self-amazement swiped over his face.
"Thanks, Mark," he said. He turned to the bed where the girl laid as two nurses started to move her out of the room, and looked vacantly into space rather than at the bed itself. "Yea, I guess so."
ABOUT an hour later, Mark Greene was sitting in the locker room, trying to get some quiet. He glanced at the watch hanging in his locker. It read 1:21. It was at that time that he remembered the patient that was moved to room 2 after her CT scan. He decided to get himself moving, when Carter walked into the room, his left sleeve rolled to his elbow just above a bandage that indicated where one of the scalpels had pierced him, and went to his locker. He didn't open it; he just stood there staring at the door while a small, confused tear welled in each eye.
"What's the matter, Carter?" He inquired.
"Oh nothing," Carter replied, wiping under his eyes.
"Oh," He said back, trying to get him to say what was on his mind. "Well, I have to get going."
"Alright, alright. I'll tell you. Right after the girl was moved to her room, Benton said he wanted to talk to me. So, we went to the lunchroom where he had the nerve to tell me that I was 'out of line'," he said, mimicking Peter.
"Uh," Mark started. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you were out of line."
Carter looked offended and confused.
"But that doesn't mean that the behavior you demonstrated wasn't spontaneous."
He stopped the offended look, but continued a look of utter perplexity.
"What I'm trying to say is that your. spontaneity. saved her life, and that even though you were out of line, it was the best decision I've seen you make so far in the ER. Of course, I'm sure Benton told you that."
Carter looked offended again. "Actually, no. No he didn't."
Mark thought for a few seconds. "I'll have to talk to him. Anyway, do you want to go talk to the girl? I mean, she might want to meet her hero."
Carter's emotion changed once again, only this time to embarrassment. "Well, I don't want to sound like a prick and say, 'Hey, be thankful kid. I saved ya.' You know what I mean?"
"Well, she deserves the truth. Just tell it to her straight. And she's not much of a kid," Mark pointed out.
"What do you mean?" Carter asked.
"She's about your age," He answered.
"How do you know that?"
"Well." He explained, ".When we were trying to get a coherent response, we asked for her birthday. She said a few unintelligible things, and then said that the year was seventy-four."
"No kidding," Carter said. "I'm a seventy-three!"
"So. go talk to her. Give her a little comfort, you know? Tell her everything's okay now."
"Okay," Carter agreed, then set out at a slow pace out the door.
"Oh, and Carter," Mark started.
"Yea?" he replied.
"I don't think heroes wear scalpels. Look down." Carter scanned around with his eyes until he saw the metal tool that had ripped through the bottom of his pant leg near his shoe. He reached down and pulled it out, throwing it into a sterilization bin near the door.
"Lookin' good!" Mark called after him.
In room two, a thin girl with dusty blonde hair and brown eyes was sitting up in a hospital bed. Her right arm was in an ACE® bandage, her left in a cast that stopped above her elbow. Her left leg was confined in a brace. She sat alone, looking bored and depressed, until Carter walked in.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey to you," was her response. Her face lit up just a little.
"Uh, how are you? Oh, sorry, that was a stupid question," he said sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair.
"No, it's okay." she started, pushing her own hair out of her face. "I'm actually feeling pretty good, considering what happened."
"So, what actually happened?" Carter asked, trying not to sound nosey.
"Oh, uh."
"And don't tell me nothing," he advised.
"I was just about to cross the street, and some idiot ran into me."
Carter didn't look like he was buying what he was hearing. "Ran into you?" he said sarcastically.
"Okay, okay. he pushed me."
Suddenly, a flush of rage ran down Carter's spine. The girl could tell by the way that he looked. "Who did that?"
She moved her glance to the floor and remained silent, then shook her head.
"I could help you, you know," he told her.
"I'd rather think positively," she said to strike up a different conversation. "And what happened to you?" She asked, nodding to his arm with the rolled sleeve. Carter's face flushed pink in embarrassment. He found a stool, pulled it up to the bedside, and pulled a bed tray in front of him. He folded his arms on the tray and rested his head on top of them.
"To be completely honest, I fell trying to help you," he said, leaving out the detail about the strange fountain that caused it.
"I'm sorry about that. I was wondering if you could tell me something a little bit strange. did I, well, you know. flat-line or anything like that?" she asked.
"No," he admitted, "but you went into V-FIB, which is."
"I know," she interrupted. "Go on, how'd I get out of it?"
"We used paddles."
A smile went across her face. "We?" she said.
"Uh, well. actually," he started, trying not to make a fool of himself.
"You used the paddles?" she suggested.
"Yea, I did," he answered humbly. It was then that his watch started to beep. "Oh, crap! I forgot about this meeting I have with the other residents. I, I have to go. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, you're busy. I know how it is."
"One last thing before I leave. what's your name? I mean, you look so familiar, but I just can't think of who you might be."
"Oh right," she started. "I'm Laura Jones. and you are?"
"Uh, John Carter. man, I know that name!" His watch beeped again. "Alright, okay!" He turned to the Laura. "Okay, I have to go."
"See you, Doctor Carter," she said with a snicker.
"Yea, I'll see you a little later," he answered as he left the room in a hurry.
"Nice work, John-ay!" he told himself sarcastically as he sped down the hallway.
A FEW hours later, Carter was woken up by a loud crash from down the hallway. He sat up slowly, trying to remember just where he had decided to take a nap after a nearly sleepless night for the past few nights. Of course, he had nobly chosen a supply closet. He glanced at his watch. It was about 4:30. He had gone to talk to Laura about a half-hour ago after he had helped in performing a spinal tap, but she was asleep. Before he decided to return, he figured it would be best if he got out of the supply closet to see what the crash was and ask if anyone needed help.
He poked his head out the door, squinting at the fluorescent lights overhead. The only thing that had gone wrong was a stepladder falling out of place, although no one was on it.
"Slow day," he reminded himself.
As he stepped out of the room, he thought of what the name Laura Jones might mean to him. It hit him like a brick. He ran to the locker room, trying to skillfully avoid the usual obstacles in the hallway, which he did well now. It was like a game. Take off one point for the usual running into a box at while rounding the corner, but otherwise his run had gone very nicely. He unlocked his locker, whipped the door open, and pulled out a large gold envelope. He ran it over to the nearest table, kneeled down, and emptied it of its contents, which consisted of photographs, notes, drawings, and the occasional flashcard that he had trouble remembering in the past.
"I still have these?" he asked the empty room as he threw them into a wastebasket.
He dug through the pile of papers until he reached a small crumpled photograph with jagged edges. He looked on the back. In a preteen type writing, the phrase 'L.J. AND ME: '86' was scribbled in black pen. He flipped the photo over to see a girl with dark blonde hair, about twelve years of age, sitting on a curb. She was not alone, however, when he saw that her arm was around the shoulder of a boy that looked about 13 on the right side of the photograph. The boy, too, had his arm around her. It was Carter himself. A smile lit up his face as he suddenly realized who the girl was.
Carter stood up, shoved the crumpled photograph in his pocket, and swiped the remaining papers back into the envelope. He threw the envelope in his locker, slammed it shut, and ran out the door, nearly knocking Carol over as she walked down the hall, reading a usual paper stuck to a clipboard.
"In a hurry?" she shouted after him.
"Yea, kind of!" he shouted back. He ran into room two and sat down on the stool. He wheeled himself to the bed and put the photo on the bed tray.
"Remember this?" he asked.
"No, not really," a male voice replied. Carter looked at the face of a slightly terrified middle-aged man.
"Wait, you're not Laura," he told the man.
"I know," he said, chuckling a bit. Carter's face flushed this time to a rose color.
"I am so sorry," he pleaded, taking the photo and running to the front desk.
"Could someone tell me where the Jones girl is?" he nearly shouted to the nurses.
"She was moved to curtain two," Jerry answered. He thanked Jerry and ran to the curtained area, and went into curtain 2.
"You're Laura, right?" he asked.
"I think so," she answered with a smile.
"Oh, good. Two must be your lucky number," he said to her.
"In a freaky sort of way. Thanks for coming back."
"I would have come back sooner or later," he began. "Do you happen to recognize this picture?" he asked, handing her the photograph. She looked at it for about a minute as Carter pulled a visiting chair to the bed and sat down, panting but smiling a toothy, satisfied smile. She flipped the photo to the back and whispered,
"Nineteen eighty-six."
He tilted his head eagerly to the right like a small puppy would, and leaned closer to her.
"Yes, I know this picture. I have one just like it! Could you get my personals and check my coat pocket? I think it's in there."
He quickly got out the coat and searched every pocket. The last one, the small one inside the coat, contained something papery and folded. He pulled it out, trying not to be nosey, and gave it to Laura to unfold. It turned out to be the exact same picture, a double, but taken from a slightly different angle. Carter pointed this out.
"It must have been taken by two different people," he suggested, which was a no-brainer, he realized after he said it.
"I recognize that face. I'm guessing the 'me' on the back is you, right?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered hastily.
"It must have been right before junior high, in the." There was a pause. Then, in perfect unison:
"East Chicago School District."
There was a strange silence as they looked at each other awkwardly and smiled slowly.
"I can't believe we didn't figure that out earlier," he said, almost stupidly.
"Yea, I know," she said in the same way.
"I mean, we've been friends since we were. what, four?"
"That sounds right."
"Well then," he started, "long time no see."
After a long talk with Laura, Carter decided that it was time to talk to Peter again. "Maybe," he thought to himself, "just maybe, I'll get an apology." As he headed to the front desk to ask where Peter had gotten to, he found him conveniently located at his very destination.
"Oh, hey Carter," Peter said solemnly, his hands in his pockets.
"Hey. I was just looking for you," he answered.
"Yea, I was looking for you." After that, there was an awkward pause.
"So," they said in unison. Carter went first.
"You know, I really thought I was doing good back there. But I guess I was just 'out of line'," he said, once again mimicking Peter. Carter was expecting a response, but Peter remained silent. After waiting a few seconds, Carter laughed in frustration. "Alright. I don't know what you want. Look, I'll make you a deal. How about." he said as he made a sarcastic thinking gesture. ".How about this; I'll never do it again. Would that make you happy? Because anything to make my mentor happy is good by me." Peter still remained silent, at a loss for words. "Fine," Carter said. "Fine." It was then that he gave up and slowly turned around. He drew in a long breath and let it go, and then started to walk away. About twenty feet down the hallway, Peter finally answered.
"Carter, wait," he called as he ran to him.
"What?" he asked.
"You and I both know that it's not your place to jump in front of doctors like that, but." he said, followed by a sigh. ".I'm proud of you. And, uh. I'm sorry about the way I acted. In which case I guess I should be thanking you. So, thanks."
Carter smiled a small smile and laughed a little. "Well," he started, "to me it seemed like. you know, it looked like you were just standing there. I mean, there was something about her that made me do that."
"I understand," said Peter.
"And you know something."
Peter shrugged in response.
"She turned out to be one of my best friends. I've known her forever. but I haven't seen her since, uh, forever."
"Well, I have to go," Peter said.
"Yea, I should go get some sleep."
"You do that. And thanks again."
Carter's smile widened. "No problem."
Carter turned around to head back to his supply closet (but he was beginning to think that the morgue would be a quieter place) when he saw Mark standing there, smiling.
"Thanks for talking to him, Mark," said Carter.
"You're very welcome. but I never said a word to him," Mark said in slight confusion.
"Oh... well, I'm going to take a nap. Morgue or supply closet?"
"The morgue's quiet, but if you go to the supply closet all the way at the end of the other hallway, there's a cot in there with a few pillows and a sheet. But hey, it's your choice."
"Thanks, I think I'll take that closet idea. Whenever people come to wake me up in the morgue, it's so quiet they nearly scare the life out of me," Carter said, turning around and walking to the end of the other hallway.
"It should be," Mark said after him.
When he got there, he found a small cot. Sure enough, it had two pillows and a hospital bed sheet. He turned out the light, guided himself to the cot with his watch light, and situated himself in his makeshift sleeping place.
"Finally," Carter said.
It had been a while since he had gotten a good night's sleep. He would dream about the days when he and Grant were college buddies, just minding their own business and doing the usual things that they would do, or maybe they would be studying, when he would wake with a jolt to find his pillow damp with tears. But now he had something else to think about, and that was helping Laura.
IT was a brisk, sunlit afternoon in March, although the sunlight doesn't carry through noticeably from about thirty feet through the emergency room doors. This is only because the people working madly around the clock can focus only upon one form: on their patients. The patients are the sole purpose of the ER because everyone deserves another chance.
"We've got a suspected suicide!" Carol Hathaway's voice echoed as far as possible through the filled hall. The radio had just rung in it's first of the day, thus beginning a day in the ER at Cook County General.
"Suicide? Who called an ambulance on a suicide?" Chimed in Doug Ross, his mind half engulfed in a paper on his clipboard.
"The lady who hit her," she replied. Doug's only reply was a confused look.
"What? What's happening?" came Carter's voice. He closely followed his mentor, Peter, as they made their way to the ambulance entrance.
"It's a suicide, weren't you listening, Carter?" Peter answered sternly. "What's the catch?" Hathaway responded immediately, "She did what any person could do... she ran out in traffic, I guess."
As Peter and Carter hastily scrubbed in, Mark Greene cleared the second trauma room. As soon as the ordeal had started--or so it seemed-- the ambulance doors slammed open. A younger looking paramedic made his way to Peter to give him the information.
"Left ulna looks to be fractured... left tibia, too. Some bruising on her right arm. We haven't confirmed anything internal yet, though. It looks like she was doing some kind of a volleyball tomahawk move or something when she was hit. It's pretty bad," he said.
"Yea, thanks," replied Peter. "Carter!" Carter came running to his aide.
"Yea?" he inquired.
"Could you get a nurse to call upstairs and tell them that as soon as we stabilize this girl we're going to need a CT scan?"
Carter paused, then answered, "Uh, sure." He quickly left the trauma room, his hands still dripping from the soap and water, glancing behind him to see that Mark had scrubbed in just in case... well, just in case this would happen.
"Carter, scrub in. Carter, call the trauma team. Carter, call upstairs. And while you're at it, make a call to Bosnia and see if they would possibly have Chinese food!" He said to himself as he made his way to the front desk.
"Could someone reserve a CT upstairs for Benton?" A nurse looked at him and gave him a nod that told him, "Sure thing, John."
After fussing with a pair of latex gloves, which turned out to be quite a project, Carter made his way to the table. Of course, by the time he got to do something, there was no one to keep him from contaminating his own two hands. Right away, he was started on a task. Greene filled him in.
"Alright, Carter. I'll tell you what you missed. There's some minor internal bleeding in the abdominal cavity, but we're still going to have to flush it out. Just take this," he said, giving Carter a giant syringe, "And..."
"Don't worry, I know what to do," Carter snapped.
Greene stepped back a bit. "Okay, okay," he said, sounding a little startled.
Carter started on his task. He began with the needle. Unfortunately, there was a slight problem. He was too late with the tube, and things only got worse as a bloody sort of fountain made its way onto his jacket.
"MINOR?" Carter yelled, jumping back into a supply table and toppling it along with himself.
Benton shot in his say, "Well, don't just stand there! Get him some tubing!"
As he tried to get untangled from the scalpels that had just ripped into his scrub jacket, Carter tried to make his way back to the table, but was shoved out of the way by Peter.
"You know what," Peter turned to him, "I think we should handle this."
"But I can help, I kno..." Carter started, but stopped himself.
He dejectedly took off his gloves and started to leave the room when he heard the familiar EKG beeping of V-FIB, accompanied by a nurse shouting the problem. Knowing that he had a fat chance at redeeming himself, he continued to head out the room. Suddenly, he stopped himself, whirled around, and shoved his way to the table.
"Carter, what are you doing?" Shouted Peter over the volume in the room.
"Saving a life, what does it look like?" He asked back. "Someone get me some paddles, please!"
He must have shocked the girl three times, the energy level increasing with each hit. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the girl went to a normal rhythm. There was a hush throughout the room as everyone turned to Carter (who had not noticed until know that he had taken over a high stake situation with nothing to back him up but a residency) and stared in a scared sort of amazement. Then, slowly and quiet enough that he could hear his own heartbeat, the majority of the room cleared out.
"Nice work," Greene whispered as he passed Carter. "You saved her."
A look of self-amazement swiped over his face.
"Thanks, Mark," he said. He turned to the bed where the girl laid as two nurses started to move her out of the room, and looked vacantly into space rather than at the bed itself. "Yea, I guess so."
ABOUT an hour later, Mark Greene was sitting in the locker room, trying to get some quiet. He glanced at the watch hanging in his locker. It read 1:21. It was at that time that he remembered the patient that was moved to room 2 after her CT scan. He decided to get himself moving, when Carter walked into the room, his left sleeve rolled to his elbow just above a bandage that indicated where one of the scalpels had pierced him, and went to his locker. He didn't open it; he just stood there staring at the door while a small, confused tear welled in each eye.
"What's the matter, Carter?" He inquired.
"Oh nothing," Carter replied, wiping under his eyes.
"Oh," He said back, trying to get him to say what was on his mind. "Well, I have to get going."
"Alright, alright. I'll tell you. Right after the girl was moved to her room, Benton said he wanted to talk to me. So, we went to the lunchroom where he had the nerve to tell me that I was 'out of line'," he said, mimicking Peter.
"Uh," Mark started. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you were out of line."
Carter looked offended and confused.
"But that doesn't mean that the behavior you demonstrated wasn't spontaneous."
He stopped the offended look, but continued a look of utter perplexity.
"What I'm trying to say is that your. spontaneity. saved her life, and that even though you were out of line, it was the best decision I've seen you make so far in the ER. Of course, I'm sure Benton told you that."
Carter looked offended again. "Actually, no. No he didn't."
Mark thought for a few seconds. "I'll have to talk to him. Anyway, do you want to go talk to the girl? I mean, she might want to meet her hero."
Carter's emotion changed once again, only this time to embarrassment. "Well, I don't want to sound like a prick and say, 'Hey, be thankful kid. I saved ya.' You know what I mean?"
"Well, she deserves the truth. Just tell it to her straight. And she's not much of a kid," Mark pointed out.
"What do you mean?" Carter asked.
"She's about your age," He answered.
"How do you know that?"
"Well." He explained, ".When we were trying to get a coherent response, we asked for her birthday. She said a few unintelligible things, and then said that the year was seventy-four."
"No kidding," Carter said. "I'm a seventy-three!"
"So. go talk to her. Give her a little comfort, you know? Tell her everything's okay now."
"Okay," Carter agreed, then set out at a slow pace out the door.
"Oh, and Carter," Mark started.
"Yea?" he replied.
"I don't think heroes wear scalpels. Look down." Carter scanned around with his eyes until he saw the metal tool that had ripped through the bottom of his pant leg near his shoe. He reached down and pulled it out, throwing it into a sterilization bin near the door.
"Lookin' good!" Mark called after him.
In room two, a thin girl with dusty blonde hair and brown eyes was sitting up in a hospital bed. Her right arm was in an ACE® bandage, her left in a cast that stopped above her elbow. Her left leg was confined in a brace. She sat alone, looking bored and depressed, until Carter walked in.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey to you," was her response. Her face lit up just a little.
"Uh, how are you? Oh, sorry, that was a stupid question," he said sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair.
"No, it's okay." she started, pushing her own hair out of her face. "I'm actually feeling pretty good, considering what happened."
"So, what actually happened?" Carter asked, trying not to sound nosey.
"Oh, uh."
"And don't tell me nothing," he advised.
"I was just about to cross the street, and some idiot ran into me."
Carter didn't look like he was buying what he was hearing. "Ran into you?" he said sarcastically.
"Okay, okay. he pushed me."
Suddenly, a flush of rage ran down Carter's spine. The girl could tell by the way that he looked. "Who did that?"
She moved her glance to the floor and remained silent, then shook her head.
"I could help you, you know," he told her.
"I'd rather think positively," she said to strike up a different conversation. "And what happened to you?" She asked, nodding to his arm with the rolled sleeve. Carter's face flushed pink in embarrassment. He found a stool, pulled it up to the bedside, and pulled a bed tray in front of him. He folded his arms on the tray and rested his head on top of them.
"To be completely honest, I fell trying to help you," he said, leaving out the detail about the strange fountain that caused it.
"I'm sorry about that. I was wondering if you could tell me something a little bit strange. did I, well, you know. flat-line or anything like that?" she asked.
"No," he admitted, "but you went into V-FIB, which is."
"I know," she interrupted. "Go on, how'd I get out of it?"
"We used paddles."
A smile went across her face. "We?" she said.
"Uh, well. actually," he started, trying not to make a fool of himself.
"You used the paddles?" she suggested.
"Yea, I did," he answered humbly. It was then that his watch started to beep. "Oh, crap! I forgot about this meeting I have with the other residents. I, I have to go. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, you're busy. I know how it is."
"One last thing before I leave. what's your name? I mean, you look so familiar, but I just can't think of who you might be."
"Oh right," she started. "I'm Laura Jones. and you are?"
"Uh, John Carter. man, I know that name!" His watch beeped again. "Alright, okay!" He turned to the Laura. "Okay, I have to go."
"See you, Doctor Carter," she said with a snicker.
"Yea, I'll see you a little later," he answered as he left the room in a hurry.
"Nice work, John-ay!" he told himself sarcastically as he sped down the hallway.
A FEW hours later, Carter was woken up by a loud crash from down the hallway. He sat up slowly, trying to remember just where he had decided to take a nap after a nearly sleepless night for the past few nights. Of course, he had nobly chosen a supply closet. He glanced at his watch. It was about 4:30. He had gone to talk to Laura about a half-hour ago after he had helped in performing a spinal tap, but she was asleep. Before he decided to return, he figured it would be best if he got out of the supply closet to see what the crash was and ask if anyone needed help.
He poked his head out the door, squinting at the fluorescent lights overhead. The only thing that had gone wrong was a stepladder falling out of place, although no one was on it.
"Slow day," he reminded himself.
As he stepped out of the room, he thought of what the name Laura Jones might mean to him. It hit him like a brick. He ran to the locker room, trying to skillfully avoid the usual obstacles in the hallway, which he did well now. It was like a game. Take off one point for the usual running into a box at while rounding the corner, but otherwise his run had gone very nicely. He unlocked his locker, whipped the door open, and pulled out a large gold envelope. He ran it over to the nearest table, kneeled down, and emptied it of its contents, which consisted of photographs, notes, drawings, and the occasional flashcard that he had trouble remembering in the past.
"I still have these?" he asked the empty room as he threw them into a wastebasket.
He dug through the pile of papers until he reached a small crumpled photograph with jagged edges. He looked on the back. In a preteen type writing, the phrase 'L.J. AND ME: '86' was scribbled in black pen. He flipped the photo over to see a girl with dark blonde hair, about twelve years of age, sitting on a curb. She was not alone, however, when he saw that her arm was around the shoulder of a boy that looked about 13 on the right side of the photograph. The boy, too, had his arm around her. It was Carter himself. A smile lit up his face as he suddenly realized who the girl was.
Carter stood up, shoved the crumpled photograph in his pocket, and swiped the remaining papers back into the envelope. He threw the envelope in his locker, slammed it shut, and ran out the door, nearly knocking Carol over as she walked down the hall, reading a usual paper stuck to a clipboard.
"In a hurry?" she shouted after him.
"Yea, kind of!" he shouted back. He ran into room two and sat down on the stool. He wheeled himself to the bed and put the photo on the bed tray.
"Remember this?" he asked.
"No, not really," a male voice replied. Carter looked at the face of a slightly terrified middle-aged man.
"Wait, you're not Laura," he told the man.
"I know," he said, chuckling a bit. Carter's face flushed this time to a rose color.
"I am so sorry," he pleaded, taking the photo and running to the front desk.
"Could someone tell me where the Jones girl is?" he nearly shouted to the nurses.
"She was moved to curtain two," Jerry answered. He thanked Jerry and ran to the curtained area, and went into curtain 2.
"You're Laura, right?" he asked.
"I think so," she answered with a smile.
"Oh, good. Two must be your lucky number," he said to her.
"In a freaky sort of way. Thanks for coming back."
"I would have come back sooner or later," he began. "Do you happen to recognize this picture?" he asked, handing her the photograph. She looked at it for about a minute as Carter pulled a visiting chair to the bed and sat down, panting but smiling a toothy, satisfied smile. She flipped the photo to the back and whispered,
"Nineteen eighty-six."
He tilted his head eagerly to the right like a small puppy would, and leaned closer to her.
"Yes, I know this picture. I have one just like it! Could you get my personals and check my coat pocket? I think it's in there."
He quickly got out the coat and searched every pocket. The last one, the small one inside the coat, contained something papery and folded. He pulled it out, trying not to be nosey, and gave it to Laura to unfold. It turned out to be the exact same picture, a double, but taken from a slightly different angle. Carter pointed this out.
"It must have been taken by two different people," he suggested, which was a no-brainer, he realized after he said it.
"I recognize that face. I'm guessing the 'me' on the back is you, right?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered hastily.
"It must have been right before junior high, in the." There was a pause. Then, in perfect unison:
"East Chicago School District."
There was a strange silence as they looked at each other awkwardly and smiled slowly.
"I can't believe we didn't figure that out earlier," he said, almost stupidly.
"Yea, I know," she said in the same way.
"I mean, we've been friends since we were. what, four?"
"That sounds right."
"Well then," he started, "long time no see."
After a long talk with Laura, Carter decided that it was time to talk to Peter again. "Maybe," he thought to himself, "just maybe, I'll get an apology." As he headed to the front desk to ask where Peter had gotten to, he found him conveniently located at his very destination.
"Oh, hey Carter," Peter said solemnly, his hands in his pockets.
"Hey. I was just looking for you," he answered.
"Yea, I was looking for you." After that, there was an awkward pause.
"So," they said in unison. Carter went first.
"You know, I really thought I was doing good back there. But I guess I was just 'out of line'," he said, once again mimicking Peter. Carter was expecting a response, but Peter remained silent. After waiting a few seconds, Carter laughed in frustration. "Alright. I don't know what you want. Look, I'll make you a deal. How about." he said as he made a sarcastic thinking gesture. ".How about this; I'll never do it again. Would that make you happy? Because anything to make my mentor happy is good by me." Peter still remained silent, at a loss for words. "Fine," Carter said. "Fine." It was then that he gave up and slowly turned around. He drew in a long breath and let it go, and then started to walk away. About twenty feet down the hallway, Peter finally answered.
"Carter, wait," he called as he ran to him.
"What?" he asked.
"You and I both know that it's not your place to jump in front of doctors like that, but." he said, followed by a sigh. ".I'm proud of you. And, uh. I'm sorry about the way I acted. In which case I guess I should be thanking you. So, thanks."
Carter smiled a small smile and laughed a little. "Well," he started, "to me it seemed like. you know, it looked like you were just standing there. I mean, there was something about her that made me do that."
"I understand," said Peter.
"And you know something."
Peter shrugged in response.
"She turned out to be one of my best friends. I've known her forever. but I haven't seen her since, uh, forever."
"Well, I have to go," Peter said.
"Yea, I should go get some sleep."
"You do that. And thanks again."
Carter's smile widened. "No problem."
Carter turned around to head back to his supply closet (but he was beginning to think that the morgue would be a quieter place) when he saw Mark standing there, smiling.
"Thanks for talking to him, Mark," said Carter.
"You're very welcome. but I never said a word to him," Mark said in slight confusion.
"Oh... well, I'm going to take a nap. Morgue or supply closet?"
"The morgue's quiet, but if you go to the supply closet all the way at the end of the other hallway, there's a cot in there with a few pillows and a sheet. But hey, it's your choice."
"Thanks, I think I'll take that closet idea. Whenever people come to wake me up in the morgue, it's so quiet they nearly scare the life out of me," Carter said, turning around and walking to the end of the other hallway.
"It should be," Mark said after him.
When he got there, he found a small cot. Sure enough, it had two pillows and a hospital bed sheet. He turned out the light, guided himself to the cot with his watch light, and situated himself in his makeshift sleeping place.
"Finally," Carter said.
It had been a while since he had gotten a good night's sleep. He would dream about the days when he and Grant were college buddies, just minding their own business and doing the usual things that they would do, or maybe they would be studying, when he would wake with a jolt to find his pillow damp with tears. But now he had something else to think about, and that was helping Laura.