We’d look around the halls, see that they were clear, and then go back to the lobby and gab. Sometimes there’d be a medical emergency, but we had trained staff for that, and once we notified them, it was usually back to the lobby. The greatest threats we faced were bedpans full of diarrhea.Well, this one night, Les and I were walking through the dining room, and we heard this crashing sound in the kitchen. The lazy young guys on the kitchen staff didn’t always put the pots and pans and lids back where they were supposed to be, so we figured that we’d just leave them there for them when they returned in the morning. Served them right. Then we heard a loud thud, and knew we had to check.When Les pulled the door open a crack, she saw an old guy in his pajamas. “Jim, it’s just one of the patients.”“Simple,” I answer. We’ve trained for this.So we went in the kitchen towards George. That’s when Les got hit in the face with a single-serving size can of pineapple juice, and the yellow stuff. She thought to herself, ‘Twenty-six hours since the last time she saw him.’ Twenty-six hours since she slept, since she smiled or laughed, since she did anything but wait, or maybe cry. All she could do was wait or cry, all they let her do was wait or cry. She let herself ignore the hollow drone of the activity around her, so it seemed so quiet she actually could hear her watch ticking, such an odd sound to hear in this house, this house so crowded with people, this house so utterly empty. She counted the ticks while watching the second hand spinning around the dial. Unable to concentrate she kept losing count. The phone didn’t ring. The sun might set and it might rise again, Susan didn’t care. She wondered if her son could even see the sun. Sunset, sunrise, it lost all meaning. Time, seconds, minutes… and longer, that’s all that mattered. The watch kept ticking, the microwave kept flashing 12:00 and her hands kept trembling. They had told her, ‘Time is very important now, that’s why.
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