At Least They're Committed

I do not need assistance nor do I look like I do. I know precisely where I’m going but the male nurse asks anyway.

“Can I help you find who you’re looking for?” he offers. He’s handsome, tall and military and he must want me to notice him because otherwise he would have just let me walk past.

“Earnest St. Rinnes’ room?” I smile and indulge him. The man looks past me down the hall and raises his left hand, tapping his index finger in the air as he counts, “four . . . five . . . six . . . sixth door on the left!” I thank him ever so much and continue on even though I already knew where I was going.

Earnest, aka “Pops,” is one of those rare, special people who can see me as I am. I’ve been squirming in my skin again lately, battling invasive thoughts, wondering my purpose and questioning who I think I am versus who I might actually be. There aren’t many out there like Earnest, but I’m grateful for the few; those who can bring me back from the brink of destruction; to help me better understand my purpose; to restore my faith in myself.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen Earnest. I wonder if he’ll notice the new hair color!

I peek around the corner to his room and see the old man propped on clean white pillows in the far bed. The bed closer is empty again, but a 40-something orderly with a sweet, round face in blue gray scrubs stands by the far bedside and she titters. Pops’ short, stocky fingers and hands motion wildly, laughingly as he flirts. Always the flirt. I smile. From here I can see the lines on his face have deepened since I last saw him and his hair is thinned. His eyes, though, those chocolate puppy dog eyes are as young as ever . . . at least until they turn their way to me.

I step inside. “Hello Pops!” I say cheerfully. But now his eyes widen, hazed over and ill. His jaw drops and his voice goes still but for a second. The orderly looks at me curious, then back at Pops. The centurian fights to find his voice like someone screaming out from a nightmare. “Nuh-nuh-nuh . . . NO!!! She — she — SHEeeee –!!!” He throws out a feeble arm as if trying to protect the woman at his bedside. Then the old man starts to scream, a high, whining, girlie scream. The woman grabs his flailing arms and holds him down as I feel the male nurse dart past me.

“Perhaps it’s a bad time,” I say quietly and turn back to the hall. Among Earnest’s sobs and bellows I hear his caregivers attempt to calm him — “It’s OK, Pops!” . . .  “Sedative!” . . . “Never before, have you?” . . . “Who was that?” — as I walk away.

Pops’ voice, finally found it seems, echoes down the hall behind. Is he saying “Destroyer?” or “Destroy her?” Did he even notice my hair? It doesn’t matter. I smile. All is right in the world.