STICK IN THE VINE

Chapter 10

Shawty's layed and pushed on a stretcher, past the automated sliding glass door, past the white painted waiting room with joint rows of blue chairs that's arranged to form an arch, a big plasma tv hanging on the wall behind the two waiting nurses by the counter.

People intermittently dabbing their noses.

"Hospital disinfectants."I say, floating behind the four nurses two doctors hobbling beside Shawty . We're about to burst into the section of the wards when I sight a dog , a hound, stationed beside an elderly, who's chuckling and pointing her finger at what's on tv.

I look at it and it's CNN newshours. What's so funny about the news. A nurse wearing a white gown comes in from the sliding door, momentarily looking at the tv, then at everyone in the waiting room.

She sights the dog and fauxs a smile, walking in the direction of the woman , still giggling at the news.

"Morning ma'am." She says, a bit curt. The nurses at the counter started whispering softly, pretending to be focused on what they're writing, but, stealing quick glances at nurse, like she's a new boss , acting the boss and not the new, and they don't like her.

"Look."The woman says giggling, pointing at the tv.

" ma'am, dogs aren't allowed in the hospital."

The woman stops giggling, but her lips still parted.

"Oh dogs, meet ,Mr John Young, my new neighbour from Chicago . " she says, grinni..Wait a minute, who's the dog? I think the nurse also got the message, because she's turning red on the nose and behind her neck.

"Ma'am.Dogs. Aren't .Allowed.here." The nurse says ,sticking her finger in the direction of the door.

"Miss Dogs, meet ,my , new, neighbor, from, Chicago. " She says, by way of introduction. The nurses by the counter chuckled into their files.

The nurse looks back at them, they stiffle it, and she clenches stomps out of the waiting room , into the wards.

I look at the woman, who's resumed chuckling and pointing at the news. What does she have? Brain tumor or a psychotic ailment ? I don't know how to define luck. Or we don't always have luck. I can say you're lucky to have chocolates, but when you have too much of it, can I still call you lucky?

You get a disease and it makes you depressed ; another person gets a disease and it makes them laugh at it. Can we still choose between both, who's lucky?

I peep through the round glasses on the wooden doors for Shawty, I see a man, head bandaged like a mummy, leg bandaged also bandaged and proped in a sill. Another man walks past, a brown cast positioned to keep his neck in place.

I walk through the corridor to the fourth room. At the entrance is a glass door with white curtains dropped against it. The brown ties spark like they've just newly cleaned. To the window the that faces the hospital bed ,is a flat screen tv, and a refrigerator below it. Behind the tv , outside,some yards away ,is the car curb ,where Shawty had met with Pamela Johnson, the little girl with leukemia.

I move closer to Shawty and sit on the bed . She lay , head cushioned by five pillows. She breathes, chest rising and dropping rhythmically as she lay on her right side ,backing the glass door, but facing the defibrillator.

Standing at both sides of the bed are two beeping machines taking readings. I press my palm against hers, you're fine Shawty. I say, smilling at her