Middle School Break-up: Part 2

In seventh grade Cole was starting to get the attention of a lot of girls.  Most of his friends were girls and most of them ‘liked’ him.  There was an agreement among these ladies that in order to stay friends, none of them were allowed to actually be his girlfriend. 

*Gemma broke from the herd and pursued him relentlessly. 

She was FaceTimeing him several times a day and texting when they weren’t otherwise digitally connected. 

Cole swore he only liked her as a friend.  Poor, sad, unknowing boy.

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A week later he and Gemma were ‘going out’.  I’m still not clear on what that really means.  In my day it meant we hung out during lunch and breaks and held hands.  From talking to Cole, it sounds like today it’s about the same, at least for him. 

They were an item for about a month, when Gemma, from out of the blue, broke up with him.  I have to give her credit; at least she did it herself and not in front of others.  Cole was, surprisingly, heartbroken.  He didn’t start out liking her like that, but he ended up really caring about her. 

She was a part of his group of friends, so they still had contact, but he tried to avoid talking to her.  A week after she broke his heart, she said she wanted to go out with him again. 

Cole ignored the advice of his two sisters, both of whom were adamantly against a reconciliation, and said a joyous, “YES!”

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Four days later she broke his heart again.

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What his sisters and I all could have predicted, seemed to have blindsided him. 

“There was no indication. Nothing she did or said gave me a clue,” he said.

I asked to see his phone.  The evidence was all there.

He’d text her ::want to talk::?

And she’d leave it on read. 

He’d text  :: want to hang out::?

She’d text  ::no:: or ::can’t:: 

He’d ask how she was or what was she doing, and she’d either ignore the text or give a one-word answer. 

She was clearly distancing herself from him, but because he is so monosyllabic himself, he didn’t see it. 

Now, a year later, Cole is still friends with some of the girls from that group, and Gemma is one of them.  He had some friends over the other day, Gemma and four others, boys and girls.  They all watched movies and as I came and went, I observed that Gemma rotated through the group of boys, cuddling with one then switching to another. My mothering instincts went on high alert as I saw that Cole was included as one of her cuddle partners.

Gemma, it seems, is one of ‘those’ girls—we’ve all seen them.  Boy crazy, some call it.    It’s possible, probable even, that this girl’s self-esteem is intrinsically connected to what boy she has or what boy likes her at any given time, and that she needs proof she’s desired.  I don’t know what exactly drives her.

While I sort of understand what’s motivating her, I still give my son the advice that she is not loyal. She is not selective in who she chooses, and this is because it’s not about the individual person for her. Boys are simply interchangeable, and he deserves, is worth, so much more than that. 

*name changed for privacy reasons

Sunday Stories

*A student asked me for a Halloween story this week.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have one at the time. But it got me thinking…

The Art of Negotiation

“34! I have 34.” Sarah looked at her sister’s pile of candy. “How many do you have?”

Andi finished counting then answered. “37.”

Andi tried to hide it, but Sarah could clearly hear the smugness in her older sister’s tone. She made a face. “That’s not fair, we went to the same places.”

Andi shrugged. “Maybe people liked my costume better.”

Sarah couldn’t argue with her there.  Andi had persuaded their parents to buy her a brand-new evil princess costume. Sarah had been forced to wear a hand me down butterfly costume. It had crumpled wings her mother bent and twisted back into place.

Sarah let her eyes wander over Andi’s pile of candy.  She spotted a full-size KitKat.  She loved KitKats.  “Want to trade?”

Andi gave her a look that Sarah interpreted to mean, Duh, what are you, stupid?

Sarah looked through her own candy and found two snack sized bags of Reese’s Pieces.   Andi loved Reese’s.

“I’ll trade you two Reece’s Pieces for two KitKat.” She began the negotiation.

Andi narrowed her eyes.  Two Reese’s Pieces was a good opener, but she had to make sure she got the better deal.  “I’ll give you one KitKat for them.”

Sarah shook her head. “That’s not fair, two for two.”

Andi held firm.  “Two Reese’s Pieces are the same as one KitKat, there’s barely any in those tiny bags.” She was bluffing, of course.  Reese’s were so much better. 

Sarah feigned a thoughtful expression.  She was bluffing as well; she had a plan. 

“Fine.” She dropped her shoulders, looking beaten. “But I get to choose any KitKat from your pile.”

Seeing victory, Andi agreed.  She didn’t care if Sarah chose white chocolate, milk chocolate or glow in the dark, it didn’t matter, because she clearly got the better deal. 

Sarah handed over the two snack packs of Reese’s Pieces then pretended to peruse Andi’s cany pile. 

I’ll…take…this one.” She reached out and snatched up the full-size KitKat bar.

“Hey! Not that one!” Andi tried to snatch it back, but Sarah rolled away from her.

“That’s not fair, I’m telling Dad.”

A frisson of worry traveled up Sarah’s spine, but she was pretty sure she’d be okay.  After all, Andi had agreed to the trade.   

“Daaaaadddddd!” Andi didn’t wait for her father to find them, she tracked him down in the kitchen, Sarah close on her heels. “It’s not fair.  Sarah took my full-size KitKat.”

“It is too fair, you said I could pick any KitKat.”

“Obviously not that one.  Everyone knows that!”

“Hey, hey, calm down. One at a time.”  Their father held up his hands for silence. 

When they stopped yelling at each other, the girls looked at him and he nodded at Andi first. “Speak.”

Andi gave her side of the tale.  Her father nodded then looked to Sarah. “Explain.” She did, shamefully telling him about her gambit.

“Well,” their father said. “I call it a fair trade.”

“What!” both girls said at the same time.  Andi was pissed but Sarah was surprised as well.  She thought for sure she’d have to give the candy back. 

“Way I see it, Andi tried to pull a fast one on Sarah but Sarah beat her at her own game.  Fair and square I say.”

Andi glowered at her younger sister.  “I’ll get you for this.”

Sarah would worry tomorrow about her sister’s retaliation. Tonight, she’d enjoy her victory.

Sunday Stories

*This is a whimsical tale inspired by my foster kittens. Enjoy!

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The sleek black kitten waited in silence.  “Shhh,” his eyes tell me. “There is a monster under the door.”  Laying on his side he holds his breath, a statue lying in wait.  A paw eases out, slipping under the door.  A temptation the monster cannot refuse.  The kitten springs up, both paws scrabbling at the edge of the door, trying in vain to catch the elusive creature.  It appears to be fuzzy, perhaps a bird? But no, it has legs.  Legs that slide out and try to swipe at him even as he springs up and back.  Before the retreat is fully registered in his mind he is back at the narrow opening, an offensive attack is the only way to win this battle. 

What is poking me? The orange tabby stretches as she bathes in a sliver of afternoon sun that streams through the crack in the door.  She reaches out a paw swiping at the nuisance interrupting her sleep.  Something catches her, but she manages to pull away. Instantly she is up, crouching down to peer through the opening.  A black paw reaches out and swipes but she is too quick and dodges away.  Both sides wait as they regroup.  I lean down to pat her head but she swivels away as if to say, “Don’t bother me. There’s a monster under this door.”

Middle School Break-up

My son’s first girlfriend broke up with him over group text.

 In typical sixth grade fashion she told him, “I have something to tell you, but I don’t want to because it will make you mad.”

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This was their text conversation (spelling and punctuation edited for clarity):

Her: I need to tell you something but I don’t want to because it will make you mad.

Him: OK

Her: What do you mean, OK

Him: OK, don’t tell me

Her: Why, don’t you want to know?

Him: You said you didn’t want to tell me.  If you want to then do, if not, then don’t.

She was basically like this guy:

As adults we can all see what she was doing.  The universal thing that all middle school girls have done and will do for all time.  She was trying to get him to ask, so she could be all dramatic , but it would be his fault, because he asked.  My son is the antithesis of drama.  He thought that if she didn’t want to tell him, he wasn’t going to push her.  His poor little twelve-year-old mind didn’t recognize what she was after.

The next day she texted him in a group chat with all her friends:

Her: I think I like someone else

Him: OK

Her: You don’t want to know who?

Him: Not really

Her: I’m breaking up with you.

I imagine she was a bit like this:

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From reading these texts an outside observer would think he didn’t care.  The problem was that he not only suffered from being an oblivious almost teen boy, but he is also profoundly dyslexic. He HATES typing things, even in text.  The truth was, he really liked this girl and didn’t understand why she was acting that way, or why she seemed so mad at him after this exchange. 

They have not spoken since.

Sunday Stories

Detention!

If only I hadn’t kicked him in the balls! No, literally, in the balls.  Jacob, the jerk from gym class, was dancing around, holding two basketballs to his chest, teasing me just because I developed a little sooner than everyone else.  If only I hadn’t kicked those balls.  It was funny, the balls had flown up, hit him in his smug face.  Then his nose started bleeding and I was done for. 

Now I’m standing, covered in rotten meat, balanced on the roof of the school.  I could hear the sounds of banging and crashing behind me as I prepared to jump.

But wait, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about.  We better go back to the beginning.  My name is Lauren.  Stupid, dumb, boring, Lauren.  Do you know how many other Laurens there are in my grade?  Four! Four other Laurens!

There’s Lauren P., the teacher’s pet, and Lauren R.,the mean one. Then, there’s Lauren D., the one that dresses funny and smells like my brother’s old gym socks, and Lauren B. She’s okay I guess; we don’t really talk.  It’s like we both want our names to be just ours and no one else’s.  Like, if you got a brand new fluffy blue sweater, soft and warm with sparkly blue threads woven through.  You love your sweater until you get to school and find someone else is wearing one just like it.  You don’t hate that person, but you don’t want to be seen with them.

I’m Lauren S., for Sullivan.  I think, if you asked around, kids would say I’m the shy one.  It’s not that I’m shy, though. I got lots to say. I just don’t always say it.  That’s not shy, that’s being selective.  I’m selective about who I share my thoughts with.  At least, that’s what my grandma says.  That’s smart, NOT shy. 

My best friend is Julie.  She’s funny and a blast to hang with.  She’s also one of the top players on our basketball team.  We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but lately I feel like she’s pulling away.  We always said we’d be best friends forever, but lately it seems like forever is to the end of fifth grade.  Sixth grade started about a month ago and she’s acting strange, hanging out with girls that wear makeup and shave their legs.  Girls that pay more attention to how many likes they have on Tik Tok and less on how many points they scored last weekend.  We still have fun at practices and games, but we don’t hang out after school anymore. 

Today, in gym class, Jacob started in on me.  I’m about four foot eleven with straight brown hair and hazel eyes.  I play basketball so I’m in shape. Over the summer I started getting boobs.  I knew it would happen one day and I wasn’t too worried about it.  What I didn’t take into account was that twelve-year-old boys— they suck.  

Jacob was prancing around chirping in a high falsetto that he was Lusty Lauren with the big boobs.  People were laughing, looking from him to me.  Hoping for a reaction, I’m sure. My face flushed when I saw the phones start coming out.  As he strutted past, I just couldn’t help it.  My foot shot out, kicking the balls up and out of his hands. The balls hitting him in the face, wasn’t part of the plan.  I had to suppress a satisfied smile though, when his head shot back from the impact.  I was impressed, and judging by the looks on the faces of several other girls, they were impressed, too.  Mr. Ryan, the PE teacher, was not.  He gave me detention, the jerk. But, he also gave Jacob detention, so I guess he’s not all bad.

The Request

Four years ago:

My husband and I walked through the front door smiling as we chatted.  We had just returned from a “date night”.  My daughter, Hannah who was twelve at the time, must have been watching for us. She flew down the stairs and threw herself into her father’s arms, sobbing. 

I love my child, but she can be a bit over dramatic. This could easily be because her brother looked at her funny or because her best friend didn’t immediately respond to a text.  So, instead of reacting with alarm, I looked to my oldest daughter who followed Hannah more slowly down the stairs.  A quirk of my eyebrow and she said, “Let her tell you.”

By now Hannah’s dad had gotten her to calm down and we both asked, “What happened?”

I will spare you the hiccupping and half sentence ranting and boil it down for you. 

Hannah had been texting with a boy from her former school.  After a few back and forth messages, he asked her for naked pictures.  Let me repeat that, a twelve-year-old boy asked my twelve-year-old daughter to send him naked pictures of herself!

I was livid, but I wasn’t sure where her tears were coming from.  Taking a deep breath, I asked her what she did. 

“I told him no, that’s gross.”

He responded in a way that most adults could see coming but completely blind-sided my daughter.  He called her some very bad things, told her how ugly she is, and of course questioned who would ever want to see anything of hers.  Then he repeated his request.

She still said no.

We did our job as parents.  We had a conversation about why he responded that way. We made sure she understood that she did the right thing, not only by saying no, but also by telling us.  We emphasized the fact that she wasn’t ugly and he said that not because it was true but out of anger.  More importantly, we told her how smart she was to say no and stick to her answer.  By the time we were done she was smiling and happy again.  Now the ball was in our court. 

My daughter had attended a charter school the year before and transferred to a mainstream middle school.  This boy had also moved to another school.  All we knew was his first name and his phone number.  Unfortunately, before we got home, my oldest daughter had called it and given him an earful, so he had blocked our number. 

As much as the mother in me wanted to crucify this boy, the educator in me also understood that yelling and blaming would not fix anything.  Someone needed to talk to this boy, to explain why what he did was wrong and to make him understand the ramifications of his actions.

Ultimately there was little we could do.  We asked around about the boy, but no one knew anything other than that he’d moved.  We called the phone number but he just let it go to voicemail.  In the end, we were left with mixed feelings; impotence because we couldn’t settle things with this boy, yet so proud of our daughter for being confident enough to say no and mean it and then tell us about it. 

Take My Breath Away: Part 2

Father and Son

Colton Browning easily lifted his father from the bed and settled him gently in a wheelchair.  It surprised him every time, how little his father weighed.  As a child Colton had seen the man as being bigger than life.  To his eyes, his dad had been the strongest person there was, capable of handling anything life threw at him.  Since his stroke a year ago, his father’s balance had diminished, that’s how they’d ended up at the hospital. His obstinate father had tried going down the stairs without his cane and fallen.  One hip replacement later and they were on the road to recovery. 

The doctors warned, however, that his father would never again be the same strong, virile man he remembered.  His lungs were weakening, as well as his heart.  He wasn’t just going home with a new hip but also with a new machine to help him breathe.  His father’s ill health was a constant reminder that life was short, you had to live it.  While the nurse explained the discharge summary, his mind wandered. 

Callie.  The first time he’d seen her she was setting up his father’s new bi-pap machine.  She was explaining how it created a positive pressure, opening his airway so he could breathe easier and then switched to a low pressure to aid his lungs in breathing out.   He’d come into the room behind her while she’d been leaning over explaining the gauge and how to trouble shoot any problems.  Her scrubs had pulled taut across her backside, her hair, a dark mass of soft curls woven through with candy-apple-red highlights, had been pulled back into a messy bun, a few tendrils escaping to caress her neck.

He’d stood there watching the way she moved, listening to the sound of her voice, soft with a slight Spanish accent.  She was nothing like the women he dated.  Tall, slender blondes, all of them elegant and refined.  When she turned and caught him starring, he flushed, actually stuttered.  It had been years since anyone had elicited such a reaction from him.  

The sparkle in her eyes made him suspect she knew he was checking her out. The more he got to know her, however, he realized she had no idea.  She didn’t seem to realize her impact on people.  Her smile could cause heart failure, her laugh could hypnotize.  At the very least, she should be required to wear a sign: warning dangerous curves approaching.  The sparkle he had mistaken for sexual understanding was simply her joy for what she did. 

“Sir?” Crap, he’d been day dreaming again. 

“Ah, yes, what was that?”

The nurse repeated her instructions about after care and let him know a machine would be delivered to his home later that day. “They will set everything up and show you what to do.”

He nodded, signed the paper work, and they were finally allowed to leave. He released the brake on his father’s wheelchair and they were on their way.  Colt surreptitiously glanced around hoping for one last look, one last smile or laugh from Callie.   He frowned when he realized she wasn’t on the floor.  Damn it, he’d wanted to see her, just one more time.

When the elevator opened on the ground floor, they headed out to the parking garage.

“Dad, how’re you feeling?” Colton spoke to fill the silence.

“Okay.”

“You want to get something to eat, or straight home?”

“Home.”

His father had once been a verbose man with plenty to say.  Since the stroke he’d been reduced to answering questions with as few words as possible.  Colton longed for the time when they would stay up for hours debating music, politics, or books. 

“Home it is.”  His dad reached up and placed his hand over Colt’s where he grasped the wheelchair handle.  His strength was not what it used to be, but Colt felt the small squeeze before he dropped his hand back to his lap. 

“I know Dad, I love you too.”

Guns!?

At the end of summer, before school began, my 19-year-old took her two siblings camping.  It was to be my three kids and a few of their older sister’s friends.  I have known these friends for many years and they are good kids.  The day of the trip my daughter approached me to ask if my son may shoot guns with them.

I cannot express in words my initial reaction, other than to say, it was a complete mental freak out!  “They’re bringing their guns!?”

“Yeah, and they wanted to know beforehand, like, if I could get your permission to let Cole shoot them.”

“Where are they shooting them?” Images of a group of boys wandering into the woods and just taking pot shots filled my head.

“There’s a place there for shooting.”

“Like a gun range?”

She squinted. “Not exactly, but it has a big backdrop of dirt to shoot into and there’re marked areas and targets and stuff.”

I don’t know much about guns; I’ve never owned one and never shot one.  I’m not anti-gun, but since I have no frame of reference, this sounded iffy to me. 

I couldn’t believe that just the night before I was worried about the guys bringing swords so they could play fruit ninja. This was something they had done before, and it sounded wildly dangerous to me.  I hadn’t considered guns.

“The guys are outside packing up the truck if you want to talk to them.”

I started by letting my son know he may not get to go on this trip. I felt awful, he’d been looking forward to this for weeks. But I wanted to prepare him just in case. Then, I went outside.

“I want to know why none of you thought to tell me about the guns, weeks ago when you were planning this!” I said, approaching the young men with both barrels loaded and ready. “Instead you put me in a position to snatch away the one thing Cole’s been looking forward to for weeks!”

At least the boys had enough sense to look guilty. My daughter’s boyfriend stepped up to take on the mommy beast. “We didn’t want to go against your wishes; that’s why we asked if he can shoot and didn’t just let him do it.”

I had to close my eyes and take a breath.  Was he missing the point on purpose?  “I’m not concerned about that.  Heck, if he’s shooting, he’s on the safe side of the gun.”

I explained my concerns.  The possibility they would be taking pot shots from the camp fire. That my son would stumble back to camp in the dark after a midnight trip to the latrine and stumble into a tent.  “What if one of y’all come up shooting, thinking it’s a bear?”

The boys looked genuinely horrified.

“No, the guns won’t be in the tents.  They stay in the truck, separate from the ammo, in a lock box until we go shooting.”

Another boy stepped up. “Having a gun is serious, we’re very aware of that, and we’re very responsible gun owners.”

I took that with a grain of salt.  This was my baby we were talking about.  There was about ten minutes of back and forth, and my daughter repeatedly assured me that they are very responsible with the guns. My husband weighed in and swayed me. I let my kids go camping.  We had agreed that the young men would pretend like they were keeping a secret from my boy.  The reason for that was that I’d laid down the law: “Cole does not see the guns, does not touch the guns and stays in camp when you go shooting.” 

I was nervous, I worried, but they returned and had no extra holes in them.  My son was disappointed he didn’t get to shoot a gun, but I was happy they obeyed the rules. 

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At least, I hope they did! 

Take My Breath Away: Part 1

Part One

“Hey Cal, Mr. Jacobs pulled his mask again.” 

“Again?”  Callie blew out an exasperated breath.  “Can you take care of it? I have to get this report done.”

“Sorry, I’m a nurse, that’s the job of an RT. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes or anything.” 

Callie rolled her eyes “I’ll be right there.” she hollered. More quietly she added, “Thanks Shari.” voice dripping with sarcasm. She closed out her computer screen and picked up Mr. Jacob’s chart as she walked around the circular desk. 

She knew that as a certified Respiratory Therapist, Shari was right, all things pulmonary belonged in her purview. But really, did she have to be such a jerk about it? 

Heading down the hall, Callie thanked God she was on the back end of her twelve-hour shift.  When she reached room 212 she pushed inside. “Mr. Jacobs!” She admonished the seventy-five-year-old man with a playfully chiding tone.  “You need to leave that on.”

“I just…wanted…a drink.”  Mr. Jacob’s reply was broken by gasping breaths. 

“Then hit your call button.”  Callie found the mask along the side of the bed and replaced it over his nose and mouth.  She checked the settings on the bi-pap machine and made a small adjustment. She then showed her patient where the call button was, again.  “If you need to get a drink, or go to the bathroom, or just need to see a friendly face, press this.”   Mr. Jacobs nodded and made a cross over his heart like a promise. 

Callie left the room knowing that in about ten minutes she would have to go back in and do it all over again.  Mr. Jacobs was a frequent flyer.  She didn’t blame him for fidgeting; the tubes, wires, and catheters that helped keep him alive were uncomfortable to say the least.  

Noting the removal and replacement of his mask as well as the settings change on the chart, she placed it back in its slot on the main desk.  She stretched her arms over her head groaning at the pull in her lower back and thighs. 

“Pretty slow today, huh?”

Callie swung around to find Colton Browning standing behind her.  Colton was six foot one and heaven to look at.  His thick brown hair with golden highlights softened an otherwise brutally masculine face. She suspected he spent a lot of time in the sun, something his tan skin and fit physique supported.  All the nurses and hospital staff drooled over him when he came to visit his father.  “Oh, hey, Mr. Browning. Your father getting released today?”

Colton’s eyes twinkled “I’ve asked you several times to call me Colton.  Mr. Browning is my dad.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” Callie apologized but knew she would still call him Mr. Browning the next time they met.  Callie worked hard to maintain strict boundaries with patients and that included their families.  She’d seen too many nurses and respiratory therapists fall prey to nightingale syndrome, when a patient and their caregiver fall in love.  It never lasted longer than it took for the patient to get better and get the hell out.  

“Yeah, just waiting for the discharge nurse to bring the paperwork.”

“Is he staying with you or going home?”

Colton almost growled. “He’s being pig-headed, insists on going home. We hired a private nurse to stay with him, I just don’t understand why he’d prefer a complete stranger over his flesh and blood.”

Callie barely stopped herself from reaching out to him. She’d seen this exact thing over and over at the hospital. “Sometimes it’s easier to be vulnerable in front of a stranger, rather than someone you love.  I think it helps a person hold on to their dignity.”

Colton smiled but she could see the sadness in his eyes.  She couldn’t stop herself this time and placed her hand on his arm.  His skin was warm to the touch, she marveled at the supple play of muscles bunching and relaxing under her palm.  “He’ll be okay.”  She reminded him.  “I know it was scary at first, but he pulled through the surgery with flying colors.  They wouldn’t be sending him home otherwise.”

Colton leaned toward her slightly before straightening away from her touch.  She dropped her hand, fisting it at her side, holding the feeling of him tight in her palm.  “Thank you.  I needed to hear that.”  

“I see Nina heading into his room with the discharge papers.  You better get in there.” 

He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, smiled a warm smile and left her.  Callie stood for a moment watching him leave.  Lord have mercy that man was fine.  His deep voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  The best part, was that Colton wasn’t just a hot guy, he was the whole package.  He started out working for some big financial company, working his way to the top at a ridiculously young age. 

She only knew this because his father bragged about him constantly.  She had to admit, though, that after Mr. Browning, senior, had exhausted his bragging list, she had gone online and Googled him.  Apparently after making loads, and she did mean loads, of money, he up and quit.  A year later he opened his own non-profit company working with low income families, teaching them the ins and outs of finance and helping them plan for the future.

“Um, are you okay?”  Callie slowly nodded as her best friend, Jules, came up beside her. 

“I just had a Bigfoot sighting.”  Callie and Jules had taken to referring to Colton as Bigfoot.  A mythical creature never to be caught, only glimpsed from afar. Yeah, that just about summed him up.

“Ooh, mister tall, dark and dreamy.  Okay girl, you’re forgiven.” 

 Shaking herself out of it, Callie went back to the central desk, Jules trailing along behind her. 

“So, what did he say?” Jules voice had taken on a cajoling tone.

Callie sat in one of the desk chairs and pulled up the report she’d been working on earlier, Dr. Ramirez wanted it by the end of her shift. “What do you mean? I said I saw him, not that we talked.”

Jules elected to stand, leaning against the desk, facing her friend. She crossed her arms and accused, “Oh, don’t play coy with me. I know you talked, that man goes out of his way to talk to you.”

“What?  I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I’ve seen him reverse direction mid-stride just to ask if you wanted some coffee.”  Jules deepened her voice. “Hey, uh, I’m headed down to the café, can I grab you something?”

Callie sputtered, “He was just being polite, and if you’ll remember I said, no thank you.”

“Yes, but the fact he went out of his way to ask. That’s a sign, my friend.  He likes you.”

“He’s worried about his dad and I’m one of the people who takes care of him, if anything he’s just being nice so I’ll treat his dad better.” 

Jules shook her head, “Not possible.  Everyone knows you’re like the Gandhi of Respiratory Therapists.”  She chanted, “All are created equal, all are treated with respect and kindness.”  Returning to her normal tone she finished, “No wonder you’re like RT of the year, you make the rest of us look bad.”

Callie fidgeted with her fingers.  “Well, regardless, his father is going home today and I will never see him again.”  Her tone implied good riddance but, inside, she mourned the loss.  He had been sweet, bringing her snacks or drinks when he went to the cafeteria.  One time she had mentioned she liked to do Sudoku puzzles in her down time and he’d brought her a book of them the next day. 

Tilting her head, she thought about Jules’ assertion that he liked her, but as soon as she remembered who they were talking about she shook her head at the crazy notion.  “A guy like that would never be interested in someone like me.  He went to ivy league schools and pledged frat houses.  I barely made it out of high school, tripped my way through community college and luckily straightened myself out enough to complete my Bachelor’s in respiratory therapy. On paper, he and I are not even in the same hemisphere.”

Jules eyes lit up and she smilingly said, “That’s okay, on paper isn’t where he wants to get you.”

Callie laughed and shoved her friend aside, “Get out of here with your dirty mind, I need to finish this report and start in the schedule.”

“Fine, fine.” Jules held her hands up in surrender and walked away taking one last shot over her shoulder. “Think about it Cal, it would be a wild ride.”

I forgot

Me vs. My memory

I want to watch TV. My memory says, sure why not?

I want to read my book. My memory can’t think why I shouldn’t.

I want to go to bed. My memory says, yes, let’s go to bed.

Things I forgot yesterday:

To take my son to soccer practice

To take my daughter to soccer practice

To have a Zoom with my mom (that I arranged that day!)

To feed the cat (don’t worry, my son did it when she went complaining to him)

To walk the dog

To make dinner (Okay, I probably didn’t forget this one, I just didn’t want to do it.)

And it wasn’t even Wednesday yet!