Zip Me Up, Will Ya?
Awhile back I was at the Big Hospital up north looking up a friend who’d been admitted the day before. Something about a hospital that puts you off your ease … even after working at one for 10 years. Or maybe because of it.
I’d slipped past Admitting and planned to head right up to my buddy’s room, but I needed to use the john so I found a sign that pointed to the restrooms at the far end of the hall. When I turned the corner a guy was standing next to the Men’s room with his back to me. What, a line? I’d barely seen anybody cruising the halls, couple of nurses about it. I was about to ask if he was waiting for the toilet when he turned around and mumbled in a garbled voice something I couldn’t quite make out.
“Say again?” I asked. He was pointing now to his crotch. Zipper unzipped. Creepy thoughts were flashing red lights in my head when he mumbled something else unintelligible. I shook my head. “No comprende,” I said and he pointed to his crotch again with the zipper wide open. He was tugging at the thing in some distress and I was feeling more than a little distressed myself.
“Mmm, muh, mawah,” he told me. You read these stories in the newspaper, you get overdosed with em on TV news. You think perverts are everywhere, waiting down an alley, crouched in a dark corridor, hiding in a bathroom stall. We’re all one step from being victims, the next night’s news lead. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t let your kids out of your sight. Lock your doors, bolt em from inside. Buy a gun. Hell, carry a gun. Depravity is everywhere! Danger! Danger!
Don’t ask me why, but I stood there. “What?” I asked and he pointed one more time at his crotch, zipper down. Finally, finally, I asked if he wanted help getting it zipped up. He garbled something happily, nodded his head yes. I reached down and put two hands on his fly, pulled the zipper up and looked at this guy. He was nodding earnestly. He mangled something that sounded like thanks. I took it to be exactly that. When he started down the hallway, he had a tortured gait, hip akimbo, leg hauled along painfully, holding close to the wall.
It’s a small thing, that little act of hesitant kindness. I hate to think how hard this man’s life must be, how much fear he witnesses day in and day out, how courage must seem rare to him. Maybe we should quit watching the nightly crap on the evening news. It makes cowards of us.
Hits: 27
Yes. Good story. And not the one I was expectiing.