ONE
653 Words
ONE
D'ANDRE HEARD the heavy nurse Shondra right outside his hospital room, “Dammit not agai-in!”
All the ceiling lights flickered in a brown-out. His TV jolted and turned itself off. The room turned to grey. He sat back against a pillow watching the dirty sunlight splash in through his sixth-floor window. Traffic noises returned. With no way of knowing how long it might last, he considered whether he should get out of bed today and see what was going on out there in the ward.
The electricity blasted again back to normal, and D'Andre heard the celebrations of the other kids out on the main floor. Dozens returned to their screens and restarted their video games.
Hospital life returned to normal. The facility sat in the heart of the Bronx, and its walls needed re-painting. Once the images returned to his TV set, D'Andre relaxed his bald head back onto his pillow. He felt too tired to fuss or to change the channel. It was more news, so much news. It never stopped.
He had his own problems.
After his hair fell out, his Grandpops told him, “Look over there for a second, boy. Go on. What's that?”
Grandpops was huge, his deep voice commanding.
D'Andre turned. “What? There's nuthin' there.”
“Hm. Hm, hm, hm, hmmm.”
“What's wrong?” D'Andre turned back, confused.
“Boy,” said Grandpops, “the back a your head looks like a Milk Dud or a Whoppers. That's the one. Better watch out them nurses out there gonna eat you up.”
“Oh, Grandpops.”
“No. That big, that heavy-set mama nurse. I'm tellin' ya. Keep one eye open. She definitely got an appetite, that one.”
“Oh you trippin.”
The two laughed.
“Ah, D'Andre. What am I gonna do? I gotta get to work.”
“It's all right. I like it here.”
Grandpops worked six days in a factory, and the seventh didn't always work out. D'Andre lay alone for long stretches with just his TV to fill his thoughts. He was ten now but not confident he would see eleven.
“Oww,” he felt his belly. “Damn.”
Pudgy nurse Shondra poked her head into his room. “You all right there, little man?”
“It just achy.”
“Is it like sharp?”
He shook his head.
Nurse Shondra came in to inspect. Her fat fingers gently prodded around his belly. “That hurt?”
D'Andre shrugged, and he looked off wincing.
“A-ight. I'm gonna tell the doctor stop by. Okay?”
He nodded, and nurse Shondra strolled out.
On the wall, the TV news played.
Nurse Shondra popped her head back in. “Doc'll be by this afternoon. Okay? How you holdin' up D'Andre?”
“I'm tired, Miss Shondra.”
“Well you know what's comin' on at noon time?”
“Yeah. Maybe I'll just watch in here.”
“Well, everybody's gonna gather round in the rec room, like they always do.”
D'Andre shrugged, and he closed his eyes.
Nurse Shondra stepped closer with a hushed voice. “I'll tell you what I gots for you.”
“Huh?”
“Just came in this mornin'. An electro-powered, motorized, turbo-charged wheelchair. Ain't nobody tried it out yet. It's brand new.”
D'Andre perked up. “Oh yeah?”
“I'll come back about a quarter til. Now you be ready.”
He nodded and watched her prance back out of his room. The steel IV needle poking in between his knuckles agitated him, and he wanted to rip it out again, but something caught his attention above. A quickly assembled news report from Bolivia of all places. The TV headline said, “Supernaturals Involved?”
D'Andre jerked to attention.
Crowds of brown peasant villagers shouted and marched with signs in some protest. The news asked, Were Supernaturals Sighted?
A crying Bolivian woman lay down a lifeless baby onto a colorful blanket. “Los Diablos!”
More women gathered around the still baby, forming the sign of the cross repeatedly and praying with Rosary beads.
“Bebé es Muerto!” Another village woman screamed at the news cameras.
The broadcast cut short. The network played a commercial.
D'Andre waited through the commercial break for an explanation about the Supernatural sighting, but it never came. Sports reports told different stories. D'Andre clicked around the broadcast spectrum, hunting for news of the Supers, but no one else discussed it, like it never happened.
- Writer
