Two Jims

Jim's was the worst smelling room on the unit, and since I was the only one that could enter the room without gagging, I was his designated sheet-changer on night shifts. Didn't have to bathe him, though. It was a sort of unofficial hospital policy that if possible, women should conduct the bathings. "It's just simpler that way" I co-worker told me.

Jim was a man in his sixties with facial hair that contorted it's way about eight inches from a lumpy, red face. He weighed over three-hundred ninety pounds. He had a condition where his skin would absorb water without releasing the fluids it already had. His skin was cracked and had blisters that looked like small beetles, and his ankles bulged out like mushrooms over any sock we could fit over his feet. He couldn't walk anymore, and being dependent on other people to push his wheelchair made him resentful. He was found living in a pickup truck without an engine.

I was reading the new issue of SPIN magazine when I heard his throaty yell in the hallway.

"Nurse! Nurse! Nurse!" The calls were rhythmic, like an alarm or the tickings of an anguished clock.

I got up and jogged down to his room. The other nurses would make me take care of it anyway. It had become a bit of a joke on the unit since we shared a first name.

"What's up Jim?"

"I need a fuckin' cigarette!"

"Sorry Jim, it's after eleven."

"Don't treat me like I'm a fuckin' baby! " His voice was gravelly and bourbon-soaked, like Louis Armstrong with a hangover.

"It's the rules, Jim."

"I'm in fuckin' pain! I need to go out for a cigarette!"

He then let out what sounded like a prolonged bark drawn out over several seconds.

"Jim, we have to be quiet. Everyone's..."

I was interrupted with a second, louder sound that forced my hands over my ears. He squinted as he started a third.

"Okay okay okay! Christ! I'll take you out this once. But you can't tell anybody."

His face relaxed and he sighed with the satisfaction of a job well done. He turned to get his cigarettes from the end table.

I rolled his chair out into the hallway cautiously. I knew I could bluff my way past security, but the others on the unit knew about the eleven 'o'clock curfew. Jim and I never talked, but his breathing was loud enough to make me nervous. I got his wheelchair to the elevator, and confidently said "hello" to the security guard as I rolled Jim out the hospital doors to the smoking area at the outskirts of the parking lot.

He lit a cigarette and closed his eyes as he exhaled the first, deep drag. When his eyes opened, they looked at me.

"Want one?"

"Sure." I was tense and hoped it would help me relax. I took one from the pack he handed me. It did help. I took a few hits before turning to Jim.

"Have you ever been in love, Jim?" The question surprised me as soon as I asked it.

Jim looked at me doubtfully, furrowed his brow, and slowly dropped his chin into his neck.

"My first wife." His face was looking down and his eyes were blank.

"What happened?"

"I fucked up. I fucked up a real good thing."

"How long ago was that?"

"Long time." He blinked, came out of his trance, and looked up at me as though just remembering I was there. "What the hell do you care?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get too personal."

He looked down at the sidewalk, then back up at me "You ever been married?"

"I was engaged a few months ago. She won't even see me now."

"What'd you do?"

"I did something bad I didn't think she'd find out about."

"Sounds like you fucked up too. Was she a good thing?"

"Yeah. A real good thing."

We didn't say anything else, mourning our mutual loss as we finished our smokes. I rolled him back to his room, and he didn't respond when I told him goodnight before shutting off the lights.

I went back to the nurse's station and picked up the magazine to resume the article I was reading, but wasn't in the mood to read it anymore. The words seemed dead on the page, bouncing off my eyes instead of sinking in. I started flipping through the pages, looking at pictures and headlines, unable to concentrate. I set the magazine down, and went to the bathroom. I turned on the bathroom light and looked in the mirror.

I still look pretty good, I thought.