Free Best Dressed Lie (Keisha Jackson) by Kimberly Batiste Page A

arrived and the paramedics rushed
to my side. Tears crawled down the side of my face. I was
limp, broken and distraught.
“Ma’am,” the medic said, “We’re taking you to the
hospital.” He held the blood pressure cuff around my arm and
asked, “Ma’am, what’s your full name?”
I was very frail but managed to say, “Keisha… Keisha
Jackson.” My body and mind were not responding. My weary
eyes slowly closed. I could not and was not answering any
more questions .

SEVEN
    When I got to the hospital, Zan saw the incident on the
news and was already there waiting. From a distanced, she
saw the paramedic wheeling me in. My head was wrapped in
white bandage, with my face barely showing. I had tubes
running out of my arm with lifesaving fluids doing their job.
    Zan hands started trembling. She covered her mouth and
slowly fell
to her
knees. “Keisha!” she said, dramatically
breaking down. As soon as the gurney got closer Zan sprung
up and looked down at me. The paramedics rushed me into
the emergency room bay like a stampede. Zan wanted to be
right next to me.
    Deliriously, I saw a vision of the burglar, walking along
side my bed holding and rubbing my hand. I snatched my
hand away.
    “Keisha! Talk to me,” Zan yelled, bringing me back to
reality. Gently smoothing my hair into place, she watched me
with disbelief.
“Keisha, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m so, so, sorry.”
    I was too frail to speak. She looked directly into my eyes
and asked, “Did Randy do this to you?”
With no response from me, she yelled, “Answer me god
dam it, did he?!” She was emotionally out of control. “It’s my
fault!” she said, making fists.
The nurses quickly grabbed her and said, “Ma’am, we
need for you to wait in the waiting room.”
“Damn you, Randy!” Zan said in rage walking toward the
indicated room. “Damn you, Randy!”
She cried hysterically and stumbled over her heels. She
squatted down to sit in a corner. Shortly, a nurse came into
the room and called out, “Zan Davis?” Not giving her enough
time to respond, she called again, “Zan Dav…”
“I’m coming!” Zan answered with a ruthless attitude,
rushing over and dropping her purse. Cigarettes, pills, money
and makeup fell out. She was shaking so badly, the more she
tried to pick up her things, the more they fell out of her hand;
all but
the pack of cigarettes. Once
she got her
things
together, she walked towards the nurse. She walked so fast,
one of her heels bent and broke.
“Damn it!” She tugged at her clothes as she limped her
way over to the door.
“What are you staring at?” she screamed, pointing at the
family members of sick patients.
The nurse softly asked, “Ma’am, are you a family
member?”
“I’m her best friend Zan…Zan Davis. Is she okay?”
“She’s stable. Do you have any contact information for her
family?”
Her eyes teared up. “I’m her family. All we have is each
other.”
“Alright Miss Davis, I’ll let you sit with her for a few
minutes.” She said, comforting Zan. “Remember she can’t
speak, so look but don’t touch and do not ask her any
questions.”
“Thank you,” Zan said. She wiped her tears and headed
towards the room.
Zan eased her way into the ER bay where I lay feebly. She
pulled the thin curtain back, the metal hooks rasping in their
groove. Then she swished the curtain closed again. She gasped
when she saw my battered and swollen face.
I had an oxygen mask covering my mouth. My head, knees
and hands were wrapped in white bandages. More tubes ran
to various clear bags hanging above my head. Machines
beeped, whirred and flashed tracking my vital signs.
Zan tried to hold back the tears, her lips were quivering.
Her shoulders started moving up and down from her quiet
crying. I could just see her, although she was blurry. I could
not speak. My puffy black and blue eyes filled with tears. She
felt helpless, so she knelt down at my bedside and started
praying,