I started my shift with a cup of coffee and an introduction to my task schedule. As someone with a medical degree, I knew I would have more duties than the average prison volunteer (especially since I had a twelve-hour night shift) but part of me was looking forward to it. I had wasted too much time trying to be a New Jersey mafia bad-ass, maybe South Dakota was where I truly belonged.
The hospice clinic had two floors of patient rooms, with sixty patients in total. From eight to midnight I would be on the second floor learning the medication schedule, listening for emergency calls, etc. Basically, I would be trying to remain conscious until my lunchbreak.
But at 11:50, I was told to go to the first floor to clean up a turned over trash can. Nightshift supervisor told me to clean it and then go to lunch; the longer I took, the less of a lunch break I would be able to enjoy. I assume this was so he could continue his card game with my co-workers.
"Whatever," I said with a sigh. I picked up a broom and dustpan, making my way down the stairs. Outside the first-floor doorway I immediately saw the mess. A trashcan had been turned over, with the contents scattered down the hall leading towards an exit. It was the garden, I could tell by the light of the moon piercing through the single window. And there was someone waiting for me. The space between the door and the window was obscured by shadows, but by the light of the window, I could make out his face. "Hi, Noah."
Noah stepped into the light. With the coy smirk on his face, he looked even younger than his twenty-two years. "Hi, Marc." Noah ran his fingers through his long black hair. For a prisoner dying of cancer, he had the shiny hair of a fashion model. That only added more fuel to the mystery: just how long had he been off treatment?
"I'm glad you got my message. Join me for a smoke?" Noah pulled out a joint as he opened the door.
"Your message?" I was annoyed, but the mess wasn't as bad as it could have been.
Noah shrugged. "I'll tell you more when I see you outside."
I made quick work of cleaning up the trashcan and followed. Opening the door, I easily found Noah resting on the dead grass, looking up at the moon as he blew smoke rings. "So, you're allowed to have pot?" I made sure to stay a good distance away, since I sure as hell was not allowed the illegal substance.
"It's my pain medicine," Noah said with a giggle. He tilted his head back until he was looking at me with an upside-down smile. "Come on, you won't get in trouble."
"I'll take your word for it." I sat down by Noah's side, close enough to touch his empty hand. I stroked his fingers, one by one. (But there was no way I was touching his 'pain medicine.')
Looking up at the starry night sky, I could feel Noah's fingers caressing mine. He rolled on to his side, resting his head on my shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, I figured I owe you an explanation."
"Sure," I said calmly. The late-night air was nice and cool. I couldn't help but feel relaxed.
"Sure?" Noah asked. He seemed disappointed.
"I'm a volunteer and you're a patient so legally I'm not allowed to ask questions about who you are or why you're here." But it wasn't that I didn't care, I was supposed to treat all patients with the same level of compassion.
Noah put the joint down, letting it blow away with the soft wind. "I killed a man."
"Really?" I asked with a chuckle.
"What would you have guessed?"
"I don't know, something involving drugs."
"Because I'm Lakota?" Noah turned to me with an innocent grin, as the wind blew his long hair over his face. "All of us drunk-ass Indians..."
"No," I said with a laugh. I knew I was blushing. "It's because you look too..."
"Too what?"
"I don't know." Too young, too beautiful, too innocent to be in a place like this.
Noah moved closer, stroking his hand under my work shirt. "You're not wrong. The guy was a drug dealer, a total plague on society. I caught him robbing my mother while she was too high to notice. And I did what I had to do."
I felt my abs tighten. "I believe you."
Noah stroked the hair from my navel down my hips. "Now it's your turn." He moved closer until his body was entirely over mine.
Looking into Noah's eyes I was fully prepared to bare my soul. "I-"
Suddenly, Noah went limp, collapsing into my arms. "Ow..."
"Noah?"
"I-I'm fine." He was trembling, shivering, his chest going into visible spasms.
From a lying position, it was difficult to make it to my feet with a limp body in my arms, but somehow, I managed it. I had been trained on what to do in an emergency situation: press the call light in any of the rooms. Of course, there was no easily locatable call light in the garden.
"It's under the bench," said a deep voice from the doorway. Two large arms picked up Noah from my grasp carrying him like a bride. It was Juan-Palo, Noah's roommate and lover. For a terminally ill man in his fifties, he was surprisingly strong. "I imagine you will be here long after Noah and I are gone, you will probably need that information."
"Should we push it now?" I asked since Noah seemed to be having trouble breathing.
"No, he'll be fine once he's back on his bi-pap."
"Um, ok." I followed as he carried Noah back to their room. Technically I was on my lunchbreak so I had time.
Juan-Palo laid Noah on their bed and attached the oxygen mask. Within moments Noah was breathing comfortably.
