Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
JADEN
Adrenaline is like a guest you invite over again and again, even though you know that every time they walk out the door, they take something with them you can’t live without.
Even now, after we’ve handed the heart attack patient over to the team at Halifax Harbor Hospital, I feel the gaping hole in my chest where just moments ago there was so much life.
In the middle of the chaos of the emergency department, between ringing phones and hurried orders, I’m standing at the emergency coordinator’s desk, supposed to be doing the paperwork, but I just can’t.
‘Can you two take care of the rest?’ I ask Ray and Nyla as soon as I’ve noted the most important information and signed the transfer form.
‘No problem.’ Nyla studies me with a mix of curiosity and—what is that? Fascination?
Whatever, I need to get out of here, fast. So I head outside to the ambulance. I open the door to grab my phone and headphones. The display shows a missed call from Mom. I delete it and glance around, searching.
On the sidewalk in front of the grounds, I spot a nurse I’ve dealt with a few times in the ER. She’s smoking a cigarette.
I walk over to her. ‘Can I bum one?’ I ask after a brief greeting.
She pulls the pack of cigarettes out of her handbag. ‘Since when do you smoke?’
‘Only when I feel like it.’ I take a cigarette, let her give me a light, and thank her.
We say goodbye to each other, then I stick my earbuds in, put on some music, and turn it up so loud that I can just about stand it.
The bass is thudding through my head. With every step I take and every drag I pull from the cigarette, I calm down a little more. I reach the small park at the front of the clinic and drop down onto a bench.
Inside me there is still this emptiness, which now fills with images of Nyla.
When she stitched up my cut on the head yesterday, her overprotectiveness was out of place, but today she was a fantastic doctor. She knew which move I was going to make next, as if she had looked into the future while I was stuck in the present.
Into a future in which the worst possible scenario for her would come to pass.
With the music in my ears, I look around, wanting to get rid of these heavy thoughts.
The subtle scent of freshly mown grass and a salty breeze drifting in from the ocean hangs in the air.
The sun makes the flower heads in the beds glow and paints intricate patterns on the gravel path beside the deciduous trees, while on a shady bench an older woman sips from her paper cup, her gaze absently fixed on the blooming cherry trees.
Her small nose catches my eye, then her pointed chin. She looks like an older version of…
Unimportant.
I take a deep drag on my cigarette, hold my breath for a moment, tilt my head back and release the smoke slowly into the sky. Above me, little puff clouds tumble about against a deep blue backdrop. Soft as cotton. Pure. Untouched.
The music fades, the next song starts with a guitar solo. Everything inside me is music. Just as the corners of my mouth lift, something moves to my right.
Nyla.
She’s coming toward me through the park. A few meters away, she stops, her gaze fixed on my cigarette. A strange kind of shock dominates her expression. She signals me to take the headphones out of my ears.
‘Smokers have a two to four times higher risk of heart attack than non-smokers,’ she says as soon as I can hear her. And there she is again, little Miss Worst Case from yesterday, worried and excessively cautious. ‘We just had a man in the ambulance who…’
I’m aware of that, but I still don’t want to let horror stories dictate my life, and she shouldn’t either. Nevertheless, it seems to be something like her favorite pastime, even though it’s obviously spoiling her mood.
‘Some studies suggest that smokers are less likely to develop Parkinson’s.’ I take an especially deep drag on my cigarette. ‘Nicotine appears to have a protective effect on certain nerve cells.’
No smile, not the slightest hint of a sparkle in her eyes. Instead, she backs away further when I release the smoke from my lungs, even though I make sure to direct the fumes away from her. ‘And how is that relevant when every second smoker dies prematurely from the consequences of smoking?’
I feel the disappointment at not having made her even crack a smile. ‘Do you actually know that you have a really creepy facial expression when you say things like that?’
She folds her arms across her chest. ‘It’s just the truth. Right now ,you’re healthy and you think it will always stay that way, but it won’t.’
‘Exactly because of that.’ Who has what risk when and where and for what and why is not something you should think about for too long. What good would it do anyway?
My cigarette has burned down; I stub it out and throw it in the trash can.
‘We all have to take care of ourselves, our health is the most valuable thing we have.’ A plea blazes in her eyes.
It’s as if it really matters to her that I live to be at least a hundred, even though she doesn’t know me at all.
‘Don’t be one of those people who only realize that when it’s too late. ’
Too late.
Whether I want to or not, her words echo inside me, touching something in me that is better left undisturbed.
Too late.
Only with difficulty do I manage to tear myself away from her gaze and her words. Looking for a distraction, I glance up at the sky.
I point with my index finger at the cloud above us. ‘Don’t you think it looks like a goat?’
‘What is that supposed to…?’
‘Up there in front is the head, the ears are a bit big, but that still passes. And there’s the belly.
’ I glance at her briefly but can’t tell whether she’s ready to step off her unnecessary mental merry-go-round.
‘The goat is in top shape; it probably eats only the best organic grass and keeps away from all harmful substances.’
Nyla studies me in confusion, which is already much better than the serious look from before. Maybe I can coax a smile out of her after all?
‘Take a look at her, I want to know how you rate her chances,’ I say, gesturing upward again. ‘I mean, she looks healthy, doesn’t she?’
Hesitantly, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I raise my brows in an encouraging way, and finally she looks up at the sky.
‘Do you see her legs? Strong, not a gram of excess fat,’ I continue, without taking my eyes off Nyla. ‘She does a balanced mix of endurance and strength training and makes sure she always gets at least one gram of protein per kilogram of body weight.’
There, the corners of her mouth twitch, the muscles relax. Now she’s smiling.
Nice.
‘Naturally she stays away from drugs and alcohol; instead, she grows her own sprouts and ferments vegetables.’ I can’t help but keep talking.
The way her face brightens, how stunning she is when she smiles, how relaxed she looks—wow.
‘What else do you think she does?’ I ask.
Nyla nibbles on her lower lip. ‘I don’t know.’ She lowers her chin and looks straight at me. For a moment I feel caught out because I’ve been watching her so intently, yet I still invite her to sit with me with a wave of my hand.
After she has sat down, I look up again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her tilt her head back as well.
‘What else does she do?’ I ask again.
I hear her breathing, for seconds I wait for her answer. ‘She goes to bed at the same time every day and avoids screen time before going to sleep,’ she says quietly.
The cloud changes, growing longer and longer. Earlier, the goat was already barely recognizable; now it becomes even more indistinct.
‘She also has a perfect sleep environment. Dark, cool, exactly fifty percent humidity,’ I add.
‘Mhm,’ Nyla hums absentmindedly. ‘Yes, she does.’
A strange mood settles between us. I wonder if it feels to her too as if we’re no longer talking about the goat in the sky at all.
‘But there are also things she doesn’t have,’ I say experimentally, whereupon Nyla falls silent. Still, I can’t shake the impression that she knows exactly what I’m getting at: fun, zest for life, happiness.
Involuntarily, I look at her. Melancholy dominates her delicate face, and I don’t understand where it comes from. I don’t understand this woman at all, anyway.
‘But she’s healthy,’ she whispers tonelessly.
I follow the movement of her lips, see how they curl slightly, how she tries to lift the corners of her mouth, and also how hard that is for her.
‘Yeah, she’s still got at least two hundred and thirty fun-free years ahead of her,’ I reply. ‘She may miss out on most of life, but at least it’ll be long.’
Instead of smiling like I’d hoped, she shakes her head sadly. I quickly look back up to find another funny detail, but then I see how the cloud is dissolving more and more.
It grows thinner and thinner against the blue of the sky, drifting farther and farther apart until it’s nothing but pale mist.
And now she regrets having spent her whole life worrying only about her health. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but before I can say them, Nyla suddenly gets up from the bench.
‘We should head back to the car,’ she says, and she’s right.
The shift isn’t over yet. Still, I look at her for an unmistakably long moment and sense deep inside me that something else might not be over either: my wish to see her smile.