Short Piece = thoughts?
"Everything's going to be fine."
Even though nothing is going to be OK.
She couldn't even squeeze his hand. The tubs were filled with fluids ranging from darkly-tanned-leather to clearly-bloody.
They sat there: the exact opposite of Rockwell's Tired but Happy.
This, ladies and gentlemen, was Terrified and determined.
Jeanne came in. In the movies, someone with her build would be all bosom-y hugs and reassuring words. In this reality, though, she knew the large bandage wrapping my shin, under the sweats - not jeans, was the reason Michelle was in here.
She eyed me.
"You know you're not next of kin."
"Oh, come on!"
"Fine, alright. Just listen - I'm off at 3. That means you vacate by 2:30 before second shift makes their rounds. I am not taking flack for you."
"You got it."
The Room had a small window in the upper right of the back wall. The headboard faced the wall immediate to the left of the entrance - for each access to the patient, Marty imagined.
The chair he was sitting in was at a forty-five degree angle across the corner. He had pulled it forward far enough to hold her hand.
Jeanne was standing there, chart propped on one hip thumbing through the pages.
"Boy, howdy, Marty. Mmm'mm."