by Victor Allen
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Richard lived alone in a small apartment. It was neat and tidy, pleasantly cool and comfortable. He proved to be a thoughtful, if awkward, host by going into the kitchen and whipping up fried baloney and grilled cheese sandwiches.
“What are you trying to do,” Elizabeth asked. “Conjure Elvis from the grave?”
Richard seemed genuinely hurt. “What do you mean? This is the food of the gods.”
As she munched on her sandwich (which was criminally yummy, though she didn’t tell Richard that) she told him about her plans.
“I’ve still got a couple of years until my RN. A CNA is a glorified candy striper, not much good for anything but emptying bedpans and doling out meds. LPN is a little better -that’s what I am now- but once you get to be an RN, you have some real clout. Even the doctors think twice before lipping off to an RN.”
“I couldn’t be a nurse,” Richard said. “Too much interaction with patients. Somebody like me who thinks daytime American television is a daily freak show isn’t really a people person. And the needles. I’m not so much squeamish about the blood, but I did a rotation in day surgery once and I couldn’t place those IV barrels. I don’t see how anybody does. Those things are bloody trocars. I’ll stick with being a lab rat, thwarting natural selection one test at a time.”
They talked on for a while. Elizabeth didn’t really know where this was going. It was such an impulsive, even dangerous, state of affairs. She didn’t know this guy at all, but none of her warning antennae had gone up. He just seemed like a nice guy who was interested in her.
She started to doze off around two a.m. and stretched out on the couch, gratefully kicking off her Choo-Shooz. She dreamily recollected calling Hazel to tell her she wouldn’t be home. She fell asleep right there on the couch in this stranger’s home, feeling safe and protected with no justification. A couple of hours later she woke up to find a blanket over her. Richard sat in a chair in front of the TV, asleep, his chin on his chest.
She smiled a little before returning to sleep.
All true love had to start somewhere.