1,700 Volts

“How is it already the 22^nd of December?” Clara Kate wonders.

The months are flying by and Clara Kate’s money is running out. Thankfully, she still has her job at the Good Samaritan Clinic. It helps her to pass the time. Each day Clara Kate repeats the same routine over and over. The onset of the holiday season helps Clara Kate to realize just how sad her life has become. In the last several months she has not had more than a five minute conversation with anyone, except maybe Rosa. Lately, Rosa has been driving her crazy. Not only is her accent difficult to decipher, but also she has been constantly texting and calling her mother while she is at work. Clara Kate knows she should give Rosa a break because Clara Kate comes to work late just about every day, but she was not in the mood to have her clinic staff being dysfunctional. Clara Kate was dysfunctional enough for them all.

Today was particularly trying day for Clara Kate because she had stayed late the day before trying to clean up Rosa’s mess. Rosa could not even handle the last patient of the day. He was the typical crazy you expect to see at a free clinic, yet he somehow decided the Clinic was at fault for the Swine Flu. Rosa, who was trained to deal with these minor issues, was incapable of consoling him.  Clara Kate had to stop her work, stitching up an unfortunate old man, to sedate the crazy man who became riled beyond control.

In the midst of the chaos of the clinic this morning, Clara Kate mentally lists all the things that need to be done. Rosa prances in, covered with snow, a whole hour late! She provides no explanation. She just saunters in and sits at her desk, acting as if she has been there all morning. For all Clara Kate knows, Rosa could have been ice skating out on the pond with the rest of the town, while Clara Kate was in the clinic acting as a receptionist and juggling all the incoming supply shipments that have to be stocked and inventoried.  There are already fifteen patients waiting for medical services and there was no one here to check them in. Clara Kate knows she should forgive Rosa’s tardiness, as Rosa often looked the other way when Clara Kate came in a few minutes late, but Rosa was a whole hour late. This is just unacceptable.

Furious, with her blue eyes flashing, Clara Kate storms up to Rosa who is sitting at her desk. Clara Kate lets out a litany of condemnations. She is not even sure what she is saying.  She just embraces the red hot passion of pure fury and she relishes the look of pure surprise and fear on Rosa’s face.  But the moment is spoiled by a shriek and a flash of black heading straight for her. Clara Kate feels the bruising impact, a blow that feels as if she has been hit by a bus. With a groan she falls to the ground. Someone has tackled her. She glances up just in time to see Shaniqua Washington King’s face looming over her. Clara Kate blacks out.

Clara Kate revives just in time to feel someone pounding on her chest. 

“What has happened to me?” she wonders.

Clara Kate’s eyes focus as a clear plastic mask is placed over her face. She feebly pushes it to the side.

“I am breathing just fine, you idiots! I don’t need CPR!! You always need to check the patient’s pulse first!!” Clara Kate screams.

“We did,” replies one of the nurses. “You did not have one.”

“What?! What do you mean I did not have one? I am very much alive. Are you telling me I almost died?” Clara Kate demanded.

“The AED did not pick up a pulse. It delivered 1,700 volts of electricity,” countered the nurse.

Puzzled, Clara Kate insisted she be told every detail, starting with the last thing she remembered, the face of Shaniqua Washington King hovering over her.

The World is Probably Ending

Bzzzzt, bzzt, bzzt…..Clara Kate looks around. Gently opening one eye, Clara Kate realizes it is still dark outside. Why is her alarm going off?  She lightly brushes her long blond hair from her face and, fumbling for her phone, checks the number on the screen. The clinic is calling. It must be an emergency. Rosa’s thick Hispanic accent is not the first thing Clara Kate wants to hear at 3 am in the morning, but she takes a deep breath, and answers the phone with the sweetest “Hello” she could muster.

“You must come quick, the clinic is full.”

Rosa’s thick accent and mispronunciation cannot cover the panic in her voice. Clara Kate groans. This was the last thing she needs.

“Alright, I will be there as soon as I can,” Clara Kate mutters trying to wipe the sleep out of her eyes.

She hangs up and slowly inches out of bed, realizing she has misplaced her scrubs. She flips on the light and gazes around the room. Her scrubs are nowhere in sight. Clara Kate throws back the covers looks under the bed and all around the room. Then, she opens up her closet and there they are, freshly washed and neatly folded. Clara Kate mutters a few indistinguishable words and throws on the clothes. Rushing out the door, she forgets to lock it behind her. She dashes across the street and gasps. Overnight a small village of multicolored tents popped up behind Castle Apartments. There were twelve of them; small tents haplessly pitched about on the dark, cracked asphalt of parking lot. In the center of the chaos stands a man with a megaphone whining about the hardships of life. His words are indistinguishable, yet his tone clearly conveys his message. Clara Kate wonders why such a ruckus is occurring at 3 am in the morning. “Where’s a cop when you need one?” she thinks to herself while rushing on in the direction of the clinic. As she turns the corner, she runs head on into two women with long black skirts and elevator shoes. Clara Kate’s thought of who wears elevator shoes anymore was quickly pushed aside when the taller of the two women tries to hand her a Watchtower leaflet. Clara Kate did not have time for this.

The two women in unison say, “Good morning. Would you like one of these?”

 Clara Kate walks on pretending not to have heard them, hoping they will let her get to the clinic to help with this crisis, but who else could they be talking to at 3 o’clock in the morning? She knew it must be directed at her. The Jehovah’s Witnesses keep at it.

They ask her again, “Would you like one of these?”

Before Clara Kate can help herself she replies “No. I am going to hell and proud of it. Now will you let me go, I have more to worry about.”

The taller of the two women says, “You have more to worry about than your eternal soul?” 

Clara Kate responds, “yes, now I will let you worry about mine while I head to the clinic.”

 With that said Clara Kate runs to the clinic. As soon as she arrives she asks Rosa “what is the emergency?”

Rosa replies in her accent, “sign flu”.

“What the hell is sign flu?” Clara Kate asks. “Oh you mean Swine Flu…Well the Jehovah’s Witnesses may have been right. People’s immortal souls may be more important than I once thought.”

The day flies by. There are so many patients to attend to Clara Kate almost forgets that she has barely had any sleep. Just as she was about to fall asleep standing up, a new nurse she had never seen before came to relive her and lets her take an hour break. Knowing that she needs some caffeine to make it through the day, Clara Kate runs over to the coffee shop for the much needed pick-me-up. While waiting in line, Clara Kate mentally counts all of the coffee shop employees she had seen at the Clinic earlier that day. It totals to about 5, half of the staff. No wonder it was taking so long. Clara Kate came back to reality just in time to hear the man in front of her ask, "so why were you guys closed the other day?"  

The barista responded "Haven't you heard? A big epidemic is going around, they think it's swine flu.”

Great the news was out and everyone was going to start to panic. The clinic was now going to have to deal with lots of people who believed they had swine flu. Great.

   

A New Day and a New Song

“If  you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends.” Clara Kate’s alarm sang. She could not remember setting the alarm to WTF radio, but it was better than the hollow beep the alarm usually made. The Spice Girls disbanded for a reason, Clara Kate thought to herself as she shook off the cobwebs of sleep. She rolled to her side, finally ready to face the day. She glanced at the alarm. It was about 5:45. Why had her alarm rung an hour early? She was not too bothered by the glitch. The early wakeup call gave her a time to enjoy her coffee. Maybe she could even eat a decent breakfast for once. Clara Kate dressed quickly in her ugly puce scrubs. Packing leftover pizza in a plastic shopping bag, Clara Kate felt pleased to have something other than Ramen Noodles to eat for lunch. She could not afford to eat both breakfast and lunch out; she was on a budget after all.

With her lunch bag in hand, Clara Kate sprinted to the bus stop. She hoped to make the 6:00 A.M. bus. Clara Kate arrived at the bus stop two minutes before the bus pulled up to the curb. She boarded, taking a seat next to an old woman with white cat hair all over her black sweater. Today will go much smoother, Clara Kate thought to herself.  Waking up an hour early did have its perks. The bus driver speeds along and soon enough Clara Kate steps off the bus near Sherwood Park Station. She still has a ways to walk to get to Casa de Waffle, but it is only 6:20 and the free waffle giveaway lasts until 7:15. Clara Kate turns the corner and gasps. There is a line stretching from Casa de Waffle all the way to Ray’s Liquor. Maybe today will not be as smooth as she once thought. Clara Kate finds the end of the line and stands, waiting impatiently. She can smell the inviting aroma of freshly baked waffles all the way back to where she is standing. All of a sudden, a damp, dense fog descends on the line. A chill runs down her back. Unable to see past the end of her nose, Clara Kate feels alone and isolated in a world of white. “Oww, get off of me!!” Clara Kate is not as alone as she once thought, humanity teems all around her. She can feel the body heat of others waiting anxiously in the line. It seems she ran into one of her fellow companions. Clara Kate spends the next twenty minutes feeling her way to Casa De Waffle, where she makes it just in time for the special. Watching the fog descend on the town gives Clara Kate a strange pleasure. It makes the old town look beautiful, as the white fog blankets the nearby buildings. The sunrises and the heat evaporates the fog, revealing the same old, dingy town. Clara Kate realizes that she too must return to reality. She glances at her watch and discovers she has five minutes to get to work. Ugh. Another day controlled by chaos.

Why Can't I?

Clara Kate ran down the stairs, into the kitchen, grabbed breakfast and sprinted out the door. She had taken an hour and a half to get ready for work and she was going to be late again. Thankfully, Dr. Addison was a kind hearted old gentleman who forgave Clara Kate’s tardiness time and time again. When she had heard the alarm ring, Clara Kate promised herself today she would break the habit of wasting away the day. Yet, once again, she managed to lose track of time.  Struggling to shut the door, she dropped her keys. Bending down to retrieve the keys, a stray strand of her hair caught on the brass numbers on the large oak paneled doors. She let out a small yelp; today was not going to be a good day. Finally, she managed to slam and lock the door. Hurrying down the front path, she looked back only to see her golden hair delicately dangling from the brass numbers on the door. Three thirteen. How could a number that held such stature, especially here on Quincy Street, cause her such distress?

As she walks to the clinic, Clara Kate stops briefly to retie her shoe, carefully setting down her brown lunch bag on the sidewalk. Quickly righting herself, she snatches up the bag and scurries down Poplar Avenue. Just as she is about to cross H Street, the dampened bottom of the bag gives way, spilling the once meticulously packed teriyaki stir-fry down the front of her puce scrubs. Today was really not going to be a good day.   

Dashing across the street, having decided to ignore the stain on her freshly washed scrubs, Clara Kate finally reaches the Good Samaritan Health Clinic. Racing to the door, Clara Kate trips over the old, blind man’s copper bowl. Thinking she had dropped spare change into his coffer, the old man chants something nearly inaudible. Something about “the truth with all its power lies inside.”  Clara Kate quickly sets his dented bowl upright and slips inside the clinic door.

The morning rushes by, yet the words of the old man play in the back of her mind. She pondered, what is her “truth” and did she truly have this power inside? She knew that the words of a crazy beggar should not have such an impact on her, but then again genius and insanity are sometimes virtually inseparable. The clinic was warm, full of young, active children forced to endure back-to-school vaccinations. A fussy, old med tech, who could stand the heat and odor of humanity no longer, propped open the front window. In floated the sound of Judy Garland’s "Somewhere over the Rainbow" from the old blind man’s cd player. Hearing Garland’s clear and angelic voice pronounce “why then, oh why can’t I” once again triggers the old man’s words, “the power lies inside”.  

Why was the old man so intent on reminding Clara Kate that her life was a broken promise, a road not taken? Could it be that her destiny was only just beginning?      

The day started with Clara Kate brushing her shoulder length golden hair. She brushed her hair every day, sitting at the very same dressing table, but today was different; maybe it was the heat or the stench. Whatever the cause, Clara Kate’s mind wandered. Slowly easing back to reality, she found herself staring down at her brush. At one time this brush would have been expensive, something only the Holloway’s could afford. Now, tarnished, it was a precious frivolity that fate had abused. Clara Kate’s intense, blue eyes wandered up the handle of the gilded brush to her slender hands. She had her mother’s hands, the long, thin, alabaster fingers. Clara Kate remembered the softness of her mother’s fingers, a suppleness that only comes with little use and a disdain for cooking and cleaning. Clara Kate looked down at her hands one last time and sighed. She wished her hands could be soft like her mothers. At that moment, she ached to have her mother’s life, that of a good southern aristocrat. Clara Kate wanted her mother’s life, but she did not want her life to end as abruptly as her mother's did. Honestly, Clara Kate could not exactly remember how her mother and father had died. All she could remember was them walking out those big oak panneled doors on that fateful September day and never coming back. Clara Kate, at age five, had not realized that they were gone forever. Every night while curled up on her new antique four poster bed, Clara Kate begged her maiden aunt to let her go home. Thinking her parents were just on one of their many trips to Europe, the newly orphaned girl could not comprehend that her parents were never going to return. Clara Kate felt abandoned and alone. In the instant her parents perished, she fell from her place as the pampered heir to the Holloway fortune and great-granddaughter of the city’s founder, Edward R. Holloway, to an orphan, a charity case, and an object of pity. A wretched smell dragged Clara Kate from her musings. She could not remember the last time it had rained and she wore the oppressive heat like a warm, wet blanket inside the dilapidated old house on Quincy Way. She could remember a time when having an address on the dignified Quincy Way was a thing to be proud of. Now, the stately mansions of Quincy Way were as run down the rest of the town.