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Spillover
by Matt HarrahA Love Bites Contest Honorable Mention
"Love bites, dear. Love bites," her mother, Judy said."What?" Nikki asked.
"Take smaller bites. My mother used to call them love bites, she said just nibble at your food as if you're nibbling at your lover's ear. Then chew each bite twenty three times and not only will you get to savor the flavor more, but you'll also absorb more nutrients."
"You would know," Nikki mumbled sarcastically through a mouthful of food.
Her mother was easily three hundred pounds, so if anyone knew about savoring the flavor it was her. Nikki used the back of her hand to wipe off the slimy brown juice that was running down her face.
Judy ignored yet another of her daughter's mean-spirited comments and fluffed the pillow Nikki's right foot was resting on.
"Does your toe feel any better?" she asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. When is the doctor coming?"
"I don't know, but go ahead and finish your meal while you wait. It sure smells good, what is that anyways, chicken or beef?"
Nikki looked down at bland brown oval on her plastic tray. "I'm not really sure. It doesn't taste like either. You can have it if you want."
Judy shook her head.
"Press the call button again."
"No, Nikki. There are a lot of people a lot sicker than you here, let them go first."
Nikki was tempted to put on a show complete with moaning and crying, but she knew her cries for attention in a crowded hospital would be about as useful as smoke signals in hell.
"Go on and finish your meal," Judy said.
Nikki shrugged and forced herself to take another bite. As horrible as the food was, she had missed dinner to come to the emergency room. She had no idea that it would be so crowded on a Wednesday evening.
"We're sorry about the inconvenience. The hospital is overcrowded and looks like it will stay that way until we get the budget issues resolved. So for now we've had to convert our waiting room and part of the cafeteria into a spillover unit for the less serious emergency patients." a nurse told Judy as she filled out the paperwork.
The nurse then led them to an army cot with an aluminum folding chair next to it. Judy knew she couldn't fit into the chair, so she saved herself the embarrassment and stood.
A few feet from Nikki lay a snoring old man. The old man's breathing was ragged. The snores sounded like gasps, as if each one could be his last. His mouth was wide open revealing his worn down yellow teeth.
"Oh gross! They look like fangs. That's it! I can't eat anymore," Nikki sighed.
"Finish your meal. It's not nice to make fun of people. I thought I raised you better than that," Judy said sternly.
"Keep your voice down, you're embarrassing me," Nikki whispered. She looked around at the other patients in the spillover area. Most just held icepacks to their head, or a bloody tissue wrapped around their finger. She felt a bit silly rushing to the hospital for an ingrown toenail, but it was painful.
"Your father just had to buy you those shoes, didn't he? He knew I said no, but he went behind my back and bought them anyways. All it got you was a sore foot and a lot of missed dances on prom night. I wish you would listen to me sometimes. I only want what's best for you," Judy said. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.
"Oh here we go," Nikki said. She rolled her eyes and turned away from her mother. Her attention was again caught by the old man's teeth, she couldn't help but stare at them and wonder how they became so sharp.
"This is ridiculous. Everyday I come to work and it's always some little annoying thing, but this is just too much. I show up today and I can't find anything. Where is the meat?" a cook named Doris asked.
"Oh, we moved the freezers down to the morgue. Some of the other supplies are down there now too. There's no more room in the kitchen. But you're wasting your time, it's going to be a busy night, I doubt there will be enough to feed everyone." Thelma replied.
"The morgue? Well, I'm sure I can find something. We don't get another delivery truck until Friday and it'll be our heads if we don't feed these people."
Doris wasn't scared of being around dead bodies, it was the silence that scared her. As a single mother of five, silence was a rarity in her household. Normally there would be someone in the morgue, but a red post-it affixed to the door meant they were out on a pick-up. Most likely that also meant they'd be stopping for a few beers since all the coroners she knew never seemed to be in much of a hurry.
She opened the freezer only to find four packs of ground chuck and three chicken fillets. Frustrated, she let the freezer lid slam shut.
She shrugged, "It's not like I'm going to wake anyone up."
There were two bodies on the tables, each covered with a white sheet. Doris looked around the room, every freezer door had a name tag on it.
"Looks like it's a busy night for everyone in the hospital," she said.
She knew the next thought to cross her mind was a horrible one, but she couldn't help but think of her children. They had to eat, and without a job there would be no way she could feed them properly.
Slowly she pulled back one of the sheets to reveal a man she estimated to be about ten years younger than her. He didn't have a scratch on him and looked to be in good shape. He was handsome, well groomed, and appeared to be financially stable. Doris hoped he'd sit up on the table, say he was just taking a nap, then propose to her telling her she'd never have to work again. Shaking herself from that fantasy, she flipped through his chart.
"Let's see here, it says you died of natural causes. So at least you're organic and won't make other people sick. It also says you're an organ donor. That's very noble of you to want to help people. You're helping me out more than you'll ever know," Doris said.
She picked up the bonesaw and walked over to a storage shelf.
"Ah, marinara sauce should do it."
"Nikki, you should've came in sooner," the doctor scolded. "You've got a pretty nasty blister on that toe and a slight infection. We're probably going to have to keep you overnight just to make sure the antibiotics are working."
The old man choked on a snore. He shook himself awake, looking startled.
"Good evening Mr. Baines. It appears you've missed dinner, but I wouldn't want to let my favorite patient starve, so just tell Nurse Becky what you want and she'll get you something."
The old man nodded. He looked over at the half-eaten tray Nikki had pushed aside. He sniffed the air. "Oooh something smells good. I don't want to be a bother, I'll just have what she's having."
John Baines had been called lucky so many times in his life that the word became an insult. Sure a man who had survived two wars without a scratch was lucky. He didn't dispute that. It was two years ago when the parade of doctors kept asking him questions so they could write in medical journals about him, that he lost all faith in the word lucky.
John was dead on the operating table for over ten minutes. Miraculously he had came back to life and shown no adverse side effects. He was grateful, but didn't consider himself lucky.
His beloved Mary had passed on a year before his heart attack and he was ready to see her again. It brought him shame to admit that a man as strong as he was, couldn't even cook for himself.
His pension checks were quickly going the way of the dinosaurs as he blew through them eating three meals a day in restaurants. Most of his time was spent eating or in the hospital. Some dared to call him a hypochondriac, but he just thought of himself as being careful. He'd ignored the signs for so long and nearly died so now any ache or pain he got resulted in a trip to the emergency room. Although John would never admit it, he was lonely too and when the waitresses stopped being impressed by his five dollar tips, he started coming back to the hospital for some attention.
"I can't believe you actually like the food here," a nurse once told him.
"Well, it's better than starving. It's an acquired taste, I'll admit, but you can't tell me that people liked caviar or sushi the first time they ever ate it. Someone had to tell them it was good, then others started believing it. So think of me as the goodwill ambassador for hospital food," he replied.
Many people asked him if he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. He didn't remember. All he knew was that he was still alive and a changed person. Not the kind of change where a man goes to church everyday or donates all his money to charity, but the change where he could sense death.
Sometimes he would be walking down the street when the aroma would overwhelm him. His eyes would then be drawn to the source of the scent of death. He could hear any imperfections in their heartbeat. Occasionally he would brush against them to see if they felt cold to the touch. However, that was all he would do. He felt it wasn't his place to tell them they would die soon. It wasn't his fault if they didn't live everyday to the fullest.
The first time he had gotten the hunger was during the war. For three and a half days he was in a foxhole surrounded by fallen comrades. He knew it was a matter of survival, he had to keep up his strength with protein, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Those were his brothers. They died trying to safe his life, he would honor that.
The hunger was gone for almost sixty years until a street urchin decided he was going to rob John. John was returning home from eating a greasy porterhouse steak, when he saw the thug rummaging through desk drawers in the living room. In one hand he was clutching Mary's pearls.
John could smell it on the robber. The smell that haunted him. The robber probably had less than six months. John doubted he was stealing to pay for his medical bills. With panic in his eyes the robber tried to shoot John, but missed and shattered the mirror behind him. John picked up one of the shards and went for his throat.
There had been others since then. John tried to limit himself to those who didn't have much time left, or those who wished to do harm to him. Occasionally he would indulge himself with a healthy person as a treat. After all it wasn't like he had to worry about his cholesterol or figure anymore.
"Hi Mr. Baines. I didn't know you had came back to see us again. I told Doris you were here and she said she's going to prepare something especially for you. Sit tight, I'll be right back," Nurse Becky said.
"That is so not fair! Why does he get something made especially for him and I have to this eat garbage?"
"Nikki shut up!"
John watched the mother and daughter squabble. He hadn't even noticed them until now, but now it was hard to ignore them. The mother's face grew redder by the moment. The daughter balled her hands into fists, pounding them on the cot, before crossing her arms and sitting perfectly still in a pout pose.
John was slightly amused by their antics, until he caught a whiff of the air. Someone in the room was very sick. He sniffed the air again. He licked his dry lips. His stomach growled.
He patted his stomach softly, "Shh, it won't be long now."
© Harrah, 2007
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Matt Harrah resides on a farm in Ohio. He writes short stories in his spare time. Someday he plans on taking on the challenge of writing a novel.