"Imagine...." I hear a grunt from the kitchen table above as I lean over to knock the dented books back into place that are holding one wobbly leg stable "...having a screaming contest in the middle of a hospital operation?"
Where did this come from?
I peer over the smeared plastic sheet that coats the back of my throat with the stench of chemicals and the boil of blood long congealed.
I raise a brow at my friend above me, grunting as she pokes out her tongue in concentration while her hands disappear deeper into the mangled chest of the body on the bed.
Melissa's deep red eyes are focused and steady. The back of a bloodied hand smears her face to her an itch, leaving a trail of blood she tastes.
Her light brown braid is thrown over her back, stained in blood from the numerous times she's had to swat it away from dangling over her shoulder again.
I'll never hear the end of it when she tried to wash the shit out later. I'd probably make her a cup of coffee to help take her mind off it while I redo the style.
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOrYH6KT6Rg
A man leans back in a chair behind me, here simply to keep an eye on us; an intruder in our area. There long face is unkempt with black stubble. The skin under the eyes hangs in curtains of exhaustion.
Their brown eyes don't watch us but the newspaper that ruffles when they bat it straight and turn another page.
It was a wonder something that obsolete still existed. Still, it was our only glimpse of the world outside. I see something about a dog saving it's family from a house fire before I tear my attention away to avoid being noticed.
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrFDS4KheSv
Melissa makes this hissing sound; something like a cymbal being brushed. I check again, moving one of the many mugs lined up around the bed to collect the drippings. Bowls and plates break up the hazard; anything we could rip from our cupboards to try and save our floorboards.
One looks dangerously close to overflowing. I lift it up and feel a slathered hand grab it. My fingers are now smeared in blood and whatever thick fluid is diluting it.
"Could never be me" she grunts, gulping and straining out a disgusted sound "that is nasty."
The cup balances on the edge of the bed, abandoned. I replace it back down with the others.
"Mmhmm" I just reply to let her know I'm listening to her nonsense while sorting out the barrier that is doing shit-all to stop the leakage. My hand swipes down my blue shirt, but it doesn't completely remove the stain now set into my brown skin.
"You're supposed to be the calm one" she carries on, tugging and huffing at a strangely shaped dark organ she rotates in the dim light to inspect, poking a finger through the folds and tutting before hauling it into the plastic bag "the one people look to when nothing else matters but if their precious person will live or die."
"And are you the calm one right now?" I smirked back, glancing to the set of brown eyes watching around the paper when another organ is rotated and inspected "or the one who wants to scream?"
Melissa shrugs. The maroon lump is viable. I flip out a sandwich bag and it is dropped inside. The heavy, small organ is buried amongst the melting ice of the esky beside me that has the ends of other sealed bags poking up like razors. A folded towel buffers beneath it that is steadily growing damper.
The eyes retreat. I roll mine and replace the lid.
"You have to be all serious" she huffs out the last word while threading out more organ she squeezes and flexes, still pulling more up like some magicians act "in that moment, you are God. You can't resort to childish things when a whole life is in your hands."
"God?" I snort and nervously watch her displeasure with a certain area of the organ she prods and slips past "it isn't that serious. You live or you die. It's as simple as that."
"And who decides that? Because once they choose to walk into the hospital and get help, they are trusting you with literally everything. It's no longer your life; it's there's. You have to have some sort of professionalism about something that heavy."
Professionalism. I look around our sheeted kitchen table, the barrier of the entire contents of our cupboards surrounding it, and the man sitting in our duct-taped lounge just a few meters away.
My cold toast is still balanced beside the filled sink from when we were disturbed. This woman was served up onto our table with a plastic tablecloth and we were tasked with saving her life when it was already too late.
We were far from anything people would trust. We may have been something fearsome out in the world's eyes, but in here, we were prisoners with false names to hide our real identities.
And now we were taking what we could get from someone who had no choice in handing over all responsibility to us. She begged breathlessly until she just fell silent. When the warmth drained from her skin, we were given an esky filled with ice. They had already prepared for this outcome. I saw the terror in her wide eyes when she fought to live. There was something important she still wanted to do.
"I guess when there's already so much panic and emotion, you shouldn't be adding to it" I rolled it over in my mind; the way she writhed and clawed for help; the way she sobbed when she knew she wasn't going to make it. There was still so much she wanted to accomplish.
"A screaming match would only make you feel better. In a moment like that, you've got to think of them. Nothing you want matters."
That was true. We were just playing the part of a professional. I didn't even know what we were looking at in the sea of brown, black, and red. A cheap esky of ice was the only thing keeping me relevant.
I just wanted to get back to my toast and snuggle up on the couch away from eyes that could tear us apart. The only time my fingers would nip cold would be when I dug through the freezer for ice for our drinks as we played board games and reminisced about when things were easier.
When we were young and free from all this shit...
"It would feel so good" I smiled "to just let it all out."
There was a wistful smile and Melissa nodded. The long off-white and putrid yellow organ was far too big for a sandwich bag to protect it from burns on direct contact with the ice. I poked it around the bags while she calls out the flaw in the darkened part I bury out of sight.
"It would be so childish" Melissa snorted.
"I mean, we are already having to be adults so quickly" I reminded her "it's tiring pretending to be in control of your own life, let alone someone else's."
"Well, that ship has sailed."
We both giggled. I bagged another organ. The newspaper flicked. Melissa scratched the bridge of her nose.
"Maybe one day" she smiled with her hands squelching deeper "we must respect the dead. Others will remember her and grieve for her, but more can live happily because of these valuable organs. All lives are connected in some way."
I nodded. The man scoffed, remaining silent otherwise.
Passing up another mug, I pull the esky up as I stand. Placing it between the woman's legs, I nestle the smeared sandwich bags beside it.
Melissa holds up another organ and rotates it as she points out the flaws compared to the perfections. She teaches me and I listen, because what we both want in this moment isn't important.
We are calm and professional; something and someone else entirely. Not just for us, but for this woman and everyone else she is connected to. She deserves this shred of dignity we can give her, even when she is stripped and gutted on our kitchen table.
Another organ is added to the plastic bag. I move it from her face to place it on the floor instead.
Knocking the books back in place, the table is steadied.
All is well once more. 11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWeeuOItfuw
and then Add to home screen.