As I looked down at my best friend, big Bob, it was hard to believe the condition he was in. Just three days prior, this huge man was tossing logging chains around as though they were toys. A truck driver by trade, Bob was only thirty-five and could out work, out drink, and out fight men fifteen years younger than him. Just three days and now he is lying here in the ICU room clinging to life. Big Bob was brought down by the smallest of things, the H1N1 flu virus. His once massive chest no longer moved, even his lungs shut down, a machine was oxygenating his blood for him. Ol' big Bob was clinging to life itself—just barely clinging to life itself.
I touched his massive hand and smiled the best I could. "Bob, let those bugs know who's the boss and kick their ass," I said as I watched him lay motionless on the bed.
I turned and left the ICU; my time was up. Sarah, Bob's wife, was waiting her turn to go sit by her husband. Bob's two younger daughters, Diane and Karen, were there as well. Bob's oldest daughter, Wendy, was still away at college and had not yet made it back to Boston to be with her dad.
As I closed the curtain behind me, Sarah asked, "Jim, do you think he looks better? Maybe just a bit better today?"
I didn't have the heart to tell her no, so I smiled a weak smile and said, "Perhaps just a smidgen Sarah. Yeah, today perhaps a smidgen."
I lied.
But the lie worked, as Sarah seemed to brighten up just a bit.
I said my goodbyes and told the trio I would be back tomorrow. I'd stopped by on my way home like I have been for the past three days.
"Karen, you got my email and cell phone numbers right?
Karen nodded her head and I left the room. Sarah wasn't up to speed with technology, but I knew her youngest daughter was.
Now I don't know whether it was from all the stress I've been under these few days, or maybe I was seeing things differently. However I looked at it, for the last two nights, I remembered seeing the same woman wandering around in the hospital lobby. She seemed somewhat out there, almost in a daze, just walking around aimlessly. She looked out of place, like Glen Beck at an Obama rally.
Today, I passed her at the hospital cafeteria; she just stood near the doorway and was watching the food being served. I walked by her and then stopped. She just stood there watching, watching hospital cafeteria food being served. I moved out of the way so others had room to pass by. She just stood there, looking at the trays of food. Hospital food.
She had this rumpled look about her. Her hair was light brown leaning towards sandy blond, about shoulder length, and it fell across her eyes like a gray mop. A dark brown knit-stocking hat was pulled down to her ears. Her face looked dirty and her eyes were dark. A ratty-looking worn-out shirt covered her body. A pair of well-worn sneakers were on her feet; she wore no socks. She appeared to stand about five-foot three or so. Faded blue jeans with holes covered her legs. She looked disheveled, tired and hungry.
I turned back around and started walking to the parking garage ready to make my way
home. Halfway through the lobby, I stopped. I couldn't explain why, but something didn't seem right. It didn't feel right. I turned and retraced my steps back to the cafeteria, and there she was, still watching the cafeteria staff hand out plates of food to waiting customers.
I walked up to her.
"Say, you can't be that hungry to want hospital cafeteria food now do you?"
I got no response. Nothing, nada, zilch, not even a get the hell away from me response.
I tried again, "Nothing like a tuna and bacon melt to pique one's interest in Martha Stewart cooking is there?"
Nothing.
Now, I've never been a prize to most women, I'm not that hard on the eyes, but after the second try most would either kick at me or throw something. This girl did neither. It seemed that a line was drawn in the sand; I wouldn't surrender yet.
I reached out and touched her shoulder. She jumped back, startled, then she turned from me. "Hello…Are you okay?" No response again. I was getting pissed off.
I reached out to her again and just as I was ready to touch her shoulder she turned to me. I could see that there was a sheet of paper stuck in her shirt pocket. Then I noticed it was from the hospital emergency room as the hospital logo was clearly visible from the outside.
Before I could react, she reached out and in a wink of an eye pulled a pen out of my shirt pocket. She looked around and retrieved a newspaper from the trashcan. She lifted her knee up using it to steady the paper while she wrote along the margin. She tore off a sliver and handed it to me along with my pen. Her writing was jerky and hard to read, but I could make it out. She seemed to be on something. I thought, "God, a druggie in a hospital."
She had written, "My name is Lisa. I'm deaf. I can't speak. If you talk clearly, I can read your lips. I have no money and I'm very hungry. If you would buy me something to eat, I will give you whatever you desire of me."
I always thought I was a good judge of people. I looked back at this young woman, and I could see in her eyes she was desperate, hungry, alone, and scared, but she was no hooker. A hooker wouldn't be turning Johns in a hospital trading sex for a tuna fish sandwich. This was an act of desperation.
Studying her face, I said, "Lisa. My name is Jim. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head up and down.
"I will get you some food, all you can eat, and you don't need to give me sex in return. Is that a deal?"
Lisa smiled and nodded her head again. I extended my hand to her and she placed her's inside mine. I led her to the front of the cafeteria line, and we both grabbed a tray. As we slowly worked our way through the cafeteria, she loaded up her tray as though it was her last meal. As I found out later, it was her first meal.
She went through the food she had on her tray like a famished dog. Barely looking up as she ate, I tapped on the table to get her attention and when she glanced up, I indicated to her I would like to see what was in her pocket. She looked over and pulled the sheet of paper out, handed it to me, and returned to her food.
As I read over the document, it seemed that she come in about the same time as big Bob, and was treated for some type of infection. It also appeared that someone from family services was supposed to make contact with her. That contact never materialized. She had roamed the hospital for three days, stranded with no money and no food. She was deaf, mute and all alone in her own silent world. The more I read, the clearer things became. Well now, that's not quite true. Nothing was really any clearer, but there were fewer holes in this mystery.
It seemed that my silent friend was Lisa Mc
H
enry. She was twenty-nine years old, the same age as I. It appeared that Boston's finest found her wandering around the business district the other night. She had no ID on her, no wallet, no purse, and no money. They considered her a homeless person and brought her down here. That's the end of the story.
Looking back at Lisa, she seemed tired. For the present, she was no longer hungry. I noticed her fingers, were well manicured and polished. Her eyes were bright, not like the eyes of a druggie or addict. Clearly there was a story behind this lady. It seemed the more I looked at her, the more I was drawn into the drama set before me.
