New York proved to be a place of enchantment, almost the same as the realms. Every turn brought something my young eyes had never seen before, and I thought I had seen it all. You could get whatever you wanted if you could find it, be anything you wished, everyone banked on America for wishes like that, and it didn't let you down. You only had to pay the correct price.
This day starts out like many others and I compose myself before I leave. Maybe some would find it petty that I think this way, but each day I put my coat on along with my face. A face that's determined and unafraid. But don't judge me because people do it all the time. There are actresses who dazzle and motivate with just words, and in my line of work, people can receive reassurance by a simple smile, but it is- after all- an act.
Venturing out into the sidewalks of New York is surprisingly reminiscent of the streets in India on the craziest, busiest market-day. Busy lives orbit around me as I try to navigate my way down a block to which I catch a streetcar, or attempt to. My first try at hopping onto one failed miserably, on which I will spare anyone the details, but these days I'm adjusted. I grab onto the pole and watch the city go by. I close my eyes, but even my imagination can't change the smells and sounds of New York, to that of India's. I find that my memories of India are becoming dimmer, but I snap my eyes open, aware that I look like a nut trying to sleep standing up. Bugger.
I get off the bus and continue one more block, still squeezing through crowds.
"S'cuse me."
A burly man collides into my shoulder, and I should love to give him a swift kick to his large pot belly, but he doesn't apologize and I glare at his disappearing figure.
"You better excuse yourself you big scud." I mutter to myself. The thing is with these people is that their eyes never seem to lift from the sidewalks, despite the countless people around them, they are only concerned themselves.
I fumble to pick up my supplies as the contents of my bag are now spilled everywhere. Reaching for my notebook, I raise my eyebrows as someone else picks it up instead.
"Scud? I should like to add that one to my vocabulary."
My eyes venture curiously to see who this voice belongs to, but my eyes are blinded by the sun.
"Oh, you have a cut…" This person says it softly, and I glance at my hand and see that there is in fact a small scratch.
"I'm quite alright-"
He helps me up gently before I can finish talking and puts the book in my hand, dusting me off.
"Careful Gemma or you'll loose something really important…"
Before I can thank him he's gone, I look around but no one is in sight now, I stand in the street by myself, clutching onto my book.
I didn't see his face, but he knew my name.
For some reason, I can't quite name, tears are now dropping onto my hands. The thing is…I did loose something important…and I didn't even realize it.
"Miss Doyle, the queen of Sheba herself! Look at you darling, late AGAIN."
I rush over to hang my coat on the hook as Mrs. Browning scolds me for being late for the fifth time this month, but she doesn't realize the journey that requires getting here.
"Don't we all got places to be? It's your shift and I got all kinds a people a'naggin on me 'cos no one bothered to tell ole Missus Browning where ya done an gone went. What keeps ya? Too much of a lady to get here on time?"
"Yess, Yes, Yes, No." I fire answers as the old bat prattles on. I shall strive to be a continous thorn in this woman's side if she pesters me like this forever. I shall sit there on her side and wave. Yes Mrs. Browning, Gemma Doyle down here, just here to remind you to stop getting your ratty knickers in a bunch.
And I would very much like to say it out loud, but unlike some, I have manners that prevent me from doing so. I tie my nurse's apron around my back.
"Right then, get yerself together and start making rounds dearie, got a new patient in today, room 214 I believe, check that he's comfortable, his daddy's paying a bit to make sure he is." Mrs. Browning said, glaring at me menacingly. Her use of pet names are ironic…it's almost as if her term of 'dearie' means 'get to work or I will kick your bum onto the sidewalk and do other horrible things to you.'
I keep this too myself also, and snap back to reality.
"What's his diagnosis?"
Mrs. Browning stares at me and walks away as if I hadn't said a word.
I hate this woman.
Hospitals do not have a great reputation. They are not a lovely place to get away to for a week or two. I ponder this as I walk slowly down the hall on the second floor, the large windows streaming in light. Yes, most often, I find that most associate hospitals with hopelessness, a place people go to die…but they are wrong. I see the hope that can be found here. People come in with, sometimes, horrible situations, and the beauty of it is, that sometimes hospitals make it all go away. I must believe that people can turn out for the better, and when I do, and they walk out again, on their own two feet, it gives me hope that some things can be changed. I try my damndest to make it so.
Tick, tack, tick, tack…
My shoes echo on the floor as I near 214. The door is already slightly open, I lean against it and peek in, tapping on the door.
"Hello?"
Without waiting for an answer I open the door and see nothing but a single bed, the curtains drawn all the way around it.
Someone has a need for privacy.
"Hello?" I repeat tentatively.
"Whose there?" A young voice demands curtly, I shake my head.
"Nurse D-Err, Gemma," I almost stutter, "I'm only here to check up on you…"
"Well, go' away."
It's possible that perhaps this child was in such a bad mood because he had some horrible ailment that made you into a boil-covered whiner. Or perhaps, he was related to Cecily Temple. Never the less, I took my chances and ventured toward the bed, and leaned against the bedrail.
"I simply wanted to see if you had any interest in lollipops…" I reached into the secret stash I carry with me for times like these. "You don't have to be such a ninny about it."
The curtain slowly slides open, and I can all but drop my jaw at the sight of this boy. He has no skin eating disease, no grotesque disfigurements…He had dark brown skin, and warm green eyes, small, and fragile and staring at me with no fear at all. I see the IV in his arm, but he looks so healthy I am confused to why he's here. I study him…he looks almost like…almost like…Kartik. There I've said it. I feel as if Kartik was younger, this would be him, and unable to help myself I give this little boy a smile.
"I…I do like them." He says, his wide eyes looking at me and then he raises his eyebrows, "What're you lookin' at?"
Incase you were wondering, yes I do realize it's impolite to stare.
"Sorry, you just remind me a lot of someone." I offer him a red one, a blue one, and a yellow one.
"Take your pick."
He reaches for the red one, not taking his eyes off me the whole time.
"You have an accent; you're not from around here are you?"
He pops the lollipop into his mouth, his front tooth is missing.
"Well, no one's really from 'around here, it's New York for Pete sakes, ever heard of Ellis Island?"
Also, I would rather not delve into all the other issues about my life. Oh yes, I came to America from London because the only boy I ever loved in life got eaten by a tree, and every time I turned the corner some other insane magical being was trying to eat me. Also I disliked the weather.
Me and him quietly look at each other, he sucks the lollipop quizzically.
"It's ok. I'm not from around here either, really. Me dad and mum are from India, but I was born here." He shrugs his shoulders, "Soo, I'm an American." He says this almost as if it's a question.
"You don't say." I say this lightly, but I do mean it. Out of all the patients that could come to me, he comes out of nowhere. Every second I blink, I almost feel as if Kartik will pop out and tell me, "Surprise! I'm not dead, and this is my brother!"
"I used to live there," I say, "It was a long time ago, though." I add quietly.
"Did you ride elephants? My Dad says he used to ride 'em all the time! And-and they were as big as mountains!" He grins mischievously at this, and I know I'm riling him up, which I probably shouldn't do, I nod to appease him.
"Those elephants aren't so scary close up; some are as tame as pussycats. It's the tusks you have to watch out for."
And so I commence to telling him all the details I knew about elephants, until quietly he starts drifting off to sleep. When his breathing becomes more settled, I fluff his pillows and lift the blankets around him. I never imagined, at Spence, that I would be here doing this kind of job and these kind of things. After all, how could a girl that couldn't even take care of herself, take care of others. I look at him sleeping, and I simply decide that I'll learn.
As I turn to go, I look on the clipboard hanging on the side of the bed.
"Jaidav R., eight years old, ommitance, September 3rd, diagnosis, chronic leukemia."
Leukemia? My heart sinks; I look at him again to make sure that my eyes aren't fooling me. All I see is a peaceful boy who doesn't seem like he'd even have the flu.
I place the clipboard back slowly, leaving the room. Life's usually not fair, sure, I should be the first to know that, but what did he do to deserve this? What do any good people do to deserve bad fates? My eyes water at the injustice of it all. As I lean against the wall in the hall, I am just another crying girl in a hospital full of crying people. I vowed that Jaidav would get the better end of this deal, and would walk out of this hospital just like everyone else. He had to.
slow again, ik sorry...still trying to feel my way around with it, not trying to make it toooo depressinnng haha
next chapter=more eventful . promisee!