Free A Quiet Neighbor by Harper Kim

think? Who believes in witches and evil spirits these days anyways? A
squash isn’t going to ward off a damn thing.
    Then there’s the issue of costumes. Kids, teens,
and adults get all dolled up, enthusiastic to wear a mask and pretend they’re
something they are not. Ha. Don’t they already do that in real life? Kids play
pretend with their friends, teens pretend they’re adults, and adults put up a
front at work and then another front at home. A person spends their entire life
pretending; constantly switching masks to portray a different character while
hiding their true unbridled identity. Is it fear that goads them down this
ridiculous path? Shame? Both? I swear.
    Anyways, I think subconsciously they think they
want to be the “character” they’re portraying, but actually they are dressing
up as a character that has been donned “popular” and “publicly approved” by
their peers and society. Why women think being a slut and a whore is “publicly
approved” is beyond me, but as the years pass the outfits get tighter and
skimpier to the point that clothes will soon be discarded and deemed unnecessary.
Maybe the next “cool” costume will be a nudist. Would that be legal? I don’t
see a problem with that, especially, when they allow people to dress up in
costumes that on any other day would be cause to toss them in a holding cell
for the night.
    What rubbish!
    This topic raised a fire in Joe’s belly that
jutted into his spine and flashed in streaks of burning pain. The rant concluded
as incomprehensible sheets of noise blubbered from his foaming mouth. Thick,
yellowish bubbles pulsed from the corners of his cracked lips and skimmed down
his chin to pool in the crevice formed by his neck and pillow. The foul odor of
vanilla pudding, corn mash, and bile settled disturbingly in the air.
    A young nurse rushed in; the same one who made
her daily routines at 1:00 P.M. Although the young nurse should have been
familiar to Joe, the sudden change of routine startled him and his fit worsened.
The young nurse looked distraught. Her light auburn hair was tied in a secure
bun at the nape of her slender neck. Freckles splashed her thin face and her
gray eyes widened in concern. Keeping her emotions in check, her lips stretched
thinly across her pale face as her hands moved with practiced precision.
    Following protocol, she immediately checked his
vitals. Scanning his chart, she saw he wasn’t scheduled for his meds until the
following hour. She delivered a small dose of morphine anyway to quell the
breakthrough pain. Doctors weren’t the only ones who saved lives in this
hospital. Not that she was ever recognized as a heroine. She was just one of
many who hung in the background, silent and docile, while kept on the balls of
her feet. But, she didn’t sign up for inhumane shifts and emotional abuse from doctors
and patients alike for a measly pat on the back; she signed up for this job to
help others in need, and that’s what she intended to do.
    Punching in the prescribed dosage on the
digital machine, she watched in awed satisfaction as the molecular miracles of
modern medicine were set to work—drops of clear liquid moved from the machine
to Joe’s arm in one effective loop of thin tubing. Joe’s quips died down. His
jaw turned lax as the stream of milky saliva calmed to a slow trickle.
    The young nurse jotted down the prescribed
dosage and the time of injection in his chart, and then hung the clipboard back
on the hook at the foot of his bed. She then closed the blue dividing curtain
that separated Joe from Sgt. Whimplestein, to provide some semblance of privacy
when the Sergeant’s granddaughter arrived for her daily visit.
    After regaining the room’s sense of calm and
order, she felt an immediate sense of accomplishment and returned to the break
room down the hall where her chicken noodle soup cooled on the counter, her
sizzling romance novel splayed face down beside it.
     
     
    Detective Kylie