At a young age, I learned that I don’t think, act, or react like the rest of the world. It was either a result of my unique set of parents and their constant need to tell me what’s what or just the fact that I felt different about things than others. It was my curiosity and the need to figure out things on my own that kept me introverted. I had a million questions, but I never wanted to ask them. I wanted to discover the answers for myself.
In fact, I remember my aggravation at finding out about Columbus’s journey and the realization that the world was round; although, as I got older, I found it ridiculous. I remembered thinking a rite of passage had been stolen from me with that little piece of information. But as soon as I got it, I became hungry for more. The mysteries of the world around me intrigued me. Aside from the need to sail my own ship and find my own answers, I was fascinated by people and their emotions. My parents worried about me constantly, always encouraging me to get
out and explore. But I knew better.
I didn’t look like the rest of the world, either.
Most days, I kept myself company with my thoughts and my questions. When my parents forced me out of the house, I would spend my time at the damp, hot playground, ignoring the stares of the kids around me while I asked my little black notebook question after question.
As I grew a little older, my curiosity never lessened. Tenacity and technology had ensured a wealth of knowledge at my fingertips. I studied it all: religion, philosophy, politics, and my true love, geography. By the time I’d outgrown that playground and looked up from that notebook full of questions, everything had changed, and the world around me became even more of a mystery. Everything was different and so was I.
I started living and losing like the rest of the world, determined to do it better.
I failed.
And the questions came back.
If I had only known my fascination would reach its pique and remain quenched just a few hundred miles from where my curiosity was born, I might have never let my ship sail.
I couldn’t stop it. It was a simultaneous failure of limbs and brain cells. His lips touched mine softly, and I let out an unexpected moan. He pulled back and watched me, hands still on both sides of my face. “Did you feel that?”—Rose & Grant (The Mind)
“If the Lord can create the world and all its inhabitants in seven days, you can get out of bed, Rose.”
“Clamps,” I barked as I gripped the bile duct with my forceps.
“I’m bored,” Dr. McGuire said. My hands froze as I looked up at him. His eyes were hard to read due to his frown lines being so prominent all of the time. Between his facemask and his surgical cap, I was at a loss.
My surgical tech, Jamie, and I looked at each other in confusion before I spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, is there something—”
“No, Rose, it’s nothing you’ve done. It’s a fact. I’m bored.” He pulled off his gloves then motioned for another resident to step in. “Don’t kill the patient, and don’t make me regret this. Meet me in my office when you’ve closed up.”
I nodded, both elated and terrified that I was finishing a surgery without my mentor. I just hoped it meant what I thought it did, and I was pretty sure it did. I winked at Jules, the anesthesiologist, and she took my cue as Nicki Minaj’s “Moment 4 Life” started thumping through the room.
“Jamie,” I piped as I carefully disposed of Mrs. Carter’s useless gallbladder, “why don’t you tell us how it went with… ?”
Jules let out a small snort, and I knew the beans had already been spilled to her. I lived vicariously through the two J’s, and though they had dragged me out a night or two, I’d barely survived. I envied the two in that they were fearless in their pursuit of Mr. Right, or in their case, Mr. Always Something Wrong.
“I’ve gone on two dates with him. It’s time you learned his name,” Jamie shot back defensively.
“Forgive me,” I said with an eye roll.
“His name is Bart.” I pressed my lips into a line, though I was sure she could see my bubbling laughter.
“Parents can be so cruel,” Jules said as she checked Mrs. Carter’s vitals.
“Shut up,” Jamie snapped in Jules’ direction as she turned back to me with offended features. “Anyway, I like him for now. We’re kind of testing the waters,” Jamie said as she handed me the staple gun. I took my time fastening the skin as I quizzed my friend on her newest manventure.
“So how is he?” I asked, knowing my question wouldn’t offend her. She had no issue with casual sex.
“Well, if it’s any indication, his name is Bart, and I’m giving him a third date,” she said with a chuckle, holding the skin as I angled the gun.
“Yeah, I’m thinking this is a good thing since you dumped the last guy for eating SPAM.” I chuckled, and Jules joined me.
“It wasn’t SPAM. It was a pickled sausage, and his breath smelled like shit. And he left the wrapper in my car! Do you have any idea what that smells like after a day in the Texas heat? It took two weeks for me to get rid of it. It smelled like vinegar and soured ass. No, no way… I was justified for getting rid of that guy.” She shook her head back and forth adamantly. “Nope, you just can’t trust a man who eats processed meat.” She puffed her cheeks out then made a gagging noise.
Jules and I shook our heads with matching smiles on our faces. Jamie was a single mom who had two loves in her life: her little boy, Drew, and the men she dated—which she kept completely separate. I respected her for it. She was forced to raise a man alone and did it without so much as an occasional whine session. I’d hoped for Jamie’s sake that Bart might be the man capable of adding to Jamie’s life in a way that he would eventually be granted the gift of meeting her son. Though she truly felt like she didn’t need the help, she deserved the love.
I smiled with pride as another successful surgery came to an end then leaned in and whispered to Mrs. Carter. Once satisfied with my handiwork, I pulled my smock off and began to grow curious about McGuire’s sudden mood swing.