A WEEK IN THE STUDENT NURSES' DORM

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A WEEK IN THE STUDENT NURSES' DORM
by Bill Fullerton

In the winter of 1971, Gwen Kaplan, a junior nursing student at the Hunter/Bellevue School of Nursing, faced the prospect of no social life. It was a radical change from a few months earlier when she found herself coping with the physical, moral, and emotional problems involved with having two men in her life.

Since then her four-year romance with Johnny DeAngelo had come to a dramatic, non-negotiable end, and the new man in her life, Mark, had been out of town for weeks. Not knowing when he’d be coming back made things even worse.

With nothing else to occupy her time, Gwen began concentrating on her studies. Back in high school, she had been a brilliant, straight A, honor student. In college however, she’d decided her goal was to become a nurse, not an honor student and had done little more than coast. While her grades were okay, for the first time in her life she had gotten a C in a couple of courses.

The main challenge this semester was the much dreaded, Pharmacology course. “I’m not believing we’ve got over 300 drugs and all that other crap to memorize,” complained Ann. The outspoken black militant suffered few things quietly. She and Gwen were sitting with two other friends in a big, overheated lecture hall waiting for their Public Health instructor who, it being Monday, was late.

“I thought I might have a jump on a few, but hash, acid, and grass aren’t on the list,” said Sue. Everyone looked at her in surprise. It was the first thing the group’s token hippie had joked since a major break-up with her latest boyfriend.

“Keep the faith, child,” said Ann. “I understand the list does have some uppers and downers.”

The instructor scurried in and began hastily laying out his papers. Robin leaned over a whispered to Gwen. “Do you think he’ll say it today?”

“Probably,” said Gwen, who had just finished glancing over her notes from the last lecture.

“I’ll bet you a Coke he doesn’t,” said the blue-eyed, blonde feminist. Back during the second week of the semester, she’d noticed their instructor, who had a slight speech impediment, recited his favorite principle of public health nursing at practically every lecture.

“You’re on,” said Gwen. “But why do you think he won’t say it today?”

“It’s Monday,” answered Robin with an air of self-assurance. “He doesn’t say it on Mondays or when he’s late.”

“Now ladies,” said the thin, courtly black man, “as I’ve told you before, in public health nursing, clean-zee-ness is next to God-zee-ness.”

“Shit. Can’t count on any man. I’ll get you that Coke after supper,” grumbled Robin.

“Make it a Tab, if you please.”

That evening, Gwen paused to sip on her victory Tab while the other residents on her floor in the nurse’s dorm continued pulling off the hall’s old, faded, floral print, wallpaper. “Who started this, anyway?” asked Robin, busy yanking down a long sheet of industrial green paper.

“I don’t know, but I’m grateful,” said Ann. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first day I laid eyes on this depressing crap.”

Gwen sat down her bottle and rejoined the pulling party. “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

“What are they going to do?” replied Sue, as she attacked a section of the wall with a furious intensity. “They can’t throw everyone on the floor out of school.”

A few minutes later, the last of the old wallpaper was gone. After stuffing the shredded remnants into several laundry carts, four intrepid nursing students slipped it past an unsuspecting Eagle Eye Eastland, guarding nurse of the reception area and then out of the dorm.

The next morning, those same four wallpaper smugglers faced cold winds, freezing rain mixed with snow and, even worse, their psychology clinical lab.

Bellevue Hospital is a long collection of buildings stretching for blocks along 1st Avenue. Their dorm and most of the classrooms were located at the south end of the complex. Many blocks away, way up in the northern most reaches, was the institution’s famous psych unit. That’s where they were now supposed to go for the clinical portion of Psychiatric Nursing.

“Look folks, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m taking the tunnel,” announced Gwen. They were huddled together in the dorm’s lobby, looking out the glass doors at the miserable weather. “There’s just no way I’m going to walk all the way to 30th Street in this stuff.”

“Well, there’s no way in hell I’m ever going back down in that creepy tunnel!” shot back Ann. This emphatic response surprised no one. Ever since she’d encountered something furry while walking alone in the tunnel, Ann had hated the place.

Everyone could sympathize with Ann’s hostile attitude. The tunnel in question was an underground corridor running the length of the hospital. Built years earlier, it let students and employees move around quickly while staying out of the weather. While convenient, it was dark, damp, spooky and had dim, mysterious recesses where small, unidentified objects could be heard moving about.

Robin patted her friend on the back. “Come on, Ann. I don’t like that place either, but it beats going out in this crappy weather. Maybe we can try memorizing a few more drugs on the way over. Just think of it as one horror replacing another.”

Ann stared out at the late winter storm, apparently trying to will it into a warm, sunny day. Failing that, she accepted her fate. “Okay, I’ll go. Just don’t anyone tell me when they spot a rat.”

Their pharmacology mid-term was scheduled for Friday. The night before the exam, everyone convened in her room for a final try at coming to grips with over 300 pharmacology terms. Robin acted as chief inquisitor. “Okay Sue, here’s a toughie. Give me the low down on E.P.S..”

“Oh, that’s easy,” smiled Sue. “E.P.S. stands for extra pyramidal syndrome. Its symptoms are: Parkinson like tremors, pill-rolling finger movements, a mask-like face, shuffling gait, and rigidity.”

Silence followed as Robin, Gwen, and Ann stared at her in amazement. “This is unreal,” said Robin. “Let’s try another. Let’s see, if you got E.P.S. then Thorazine should be a snap.”

There was a blank look on Sue’s face. “Come on girl,” prodded Ann, “every freak on the lower East Side knows about Thorazine.”

“Guess that proves I’m no freak,” replied Sue, with an embarrassed smile.

“How can you handle something as weird as E.P.S. and not know an everyday drug like Thorazine?” demanded Robin.

“Easy,” said Sue. “I dated a guy once who had all the E.P.S. symptoms.”

The unexpected sound of someone yelling came through the open window, halting their laughter. In one day, the weather had turned from late winter to early spring. Unfortunately, the dorm’s heating system hadn’t caught up with the new climatic reality. As a result, everyone had their windows open trying to cool off the overheated rooms.

Ann stuck her head out the window as an unseen student shouted, “Pharmacology sucks!”

Ann’s response was immediate and instinctive. “Screw Pharmacology!”

By now, Gwen, Robin, Sue and everyone else in the dorm were craning their heads out of windows. Others were soon echoing the first cries of frustration. Within seconds, the entire dorm was screaming in protest at the mindless memorization and constant academic pressure. After days of endless cramming, the dorm was experiencing a collective explosion of pent-up frustration.

Gwen looked across at the VA hospital and saw patients standing inside their sealed windows, waving and giving them the peace sign and black power salute. “Hey, Ann,” she shouted, “the vets are on our side.”

After a few minutes, the shouting began to taper off. Several floors below, a lone figure walked out into the dimly lighted, run-down courtyard which separated the dorm from 23rd Street. Although she was a long way off and the lighting was bad, everyone recognized Eagle Eyes Eastland.

The noise dropped several more decibels as Eagle Eyes removed her stiff, white, nurse’s cap. Then she looked up at the boisterous student nurses and proclaimed, “I’ve removed my cap, my symbol of dignity as a nurse, before talking to you because your behavior is undignified, unladylike, and unprofessional.

“Please try to restrain yourself, if not out of self-respect, then out of consideration for those few of you who may actually be trying to study.”

After one last, disapproving stare, she carefully replaced her cap and walked back into the dorm. Some die-hards began singing, “Ding-Dong the witch is dead,” but the energy which had fueled the spontaneous outburst had vanished. After a few more half-hearted shouts, heads began to disappear from the windows as everyone returned to mid-term cramming.

None of the students knew it, but they’d just seen the last stand of the old order. Next year, Eagle Eyes Eastland would have a new assignment with her place at the front desk taken by student workers. Their job would be to monitor the arrival of male visitors going to the previously sacrosanct upper floors of the student nurses dorm.

For the first time in school history, students would be able to have anyone they chose, including boyfriends, in their small, private, rooms.

By the end of Gwen’s senior year, hostility between students and those running the school mirrored that in colleges all over the country. No member of the administration would be invited to attend, much less participate in, the various graduation ceremonies marking the transition from student to nurse.

But this evening the students’ immediate concern was Pharmacology, not social or academic change. They’d be up all night cramming. As Gwen reached for her worn note cards, she allowed herself a brief moment to wonder what Mark was doing.

FIRST KISS

There has to be a first time, a beginning, an alpha moment for everything. This flash fiction (950 word) short story is adapted from a scene in my sort-of-a-memoir first novel, A BRIEF AFFAIR, about how a nice Jewish girl from Queens ended up getting stuck, for the last 34 years, with a beat-up vet from Louisiana.

This is my part in the AbsoluteWrite http://absolutewrite.com/ Flash Fiction Carnival. For more information, see: http://www.benjaminsolah.com/blog/?p=435

Any other comments, suggestions, and/or passing thoughts will also be much appreciated.

Bayou Bill

==

FIRST KISS
by Bill Fullerton


On slow afternoons, Gwen Kaplan could sometimes take a break from her summer job as a nurse tech and stop by the new patient’s room. She liked the young vet, knew he must be lonely, loved listening to his southern accent, and felt comfortable around him. When he flirted, it was more a teasing compliment than a pass—maybe because he knew she was engaged. And he seemed to respect her being halfway through nursing school.

Today, however, she felt he might really need to talk. After spending another weekend alone on the ward, he’d learned of a buddy’s death in Vietnam, and just now had struggled buttoning the pajama top she’d brought him due, he said, to the distortion caused by his thick, cataract glasses.

"Mind if I stay for a minute and rest my feet?"

Mark Cahill seemed startled by the request. "If I ever mind that, then I really will be in trouble.”

The humor was familiar, she thought, turning the bedside chair toward him and sitting, but it sounded strained and his smile looked forced. "Things like what just happened, do they bother you?” Of course, they did. She knew that and didn’t like being so direct. But she sensed he might be ready to open up a bit, and didn’t want to lose the opportunity.

"Just two times—daytime and nighttime. No, really, I can usually laugh ‘em off, but not always.” For the first time he began talking about being totally blind for nearly a year and how, even with some eyesight now restored, he still struggled with its limitations and the resulting frustrations.

After a moment of indecision, she decided to risk asking the question that had always bothered her. “Do you mind telling me why you joined the Army? You had to know it meant going to Vietnam.”

“Well, the war was out-of-style, very uncool, and I was in kind of a slump, so what else was I supposed to do? Besides, it was the only war around and I wanted to do my Ernest Hemingway thing. You know, check out what war was like.”

Gwen sensed they were circling a much bigger issue. Hoping she wasn’t making things worse, she said, “Mark, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but I’d really like to know what happened when you got hurt.”

“No problem. My recon unit was on patrol just before dawn. The guy in front of me stepped on a booby trap. I caught the blast from the waist up and couldn’t see a thing. About a month later, I was flown to an Army hospital in Texas. The doctors there removed one eye and said odds were I’d never see out of the other. And if I hadn’t gotten a chance to see the top eye doc here in New York, they might have been right.”

“So how long have you been here?”

“Since January. I’ve gone home a couple times. That’s where I was when a certain long-legged Bellevue nursing student named Gwen Kaplan began her summer job here at the VA.”

Mark was sitting on the edge of his bed, feet propped on the lowered railing, elbows resting on knees. His voice was so low and soothing, Gwen had to scoot closer and lean forward to hear.

He paused in the middle of a sentence, apparently having noticed something around her eyebrows. In a casual tone, he said, "Close your eyes a second.”

Assuming he wanted to remove whatever he’d just spotted, she obeyed—and was stunned to feel Mark's lips press gently against hers. An intoxicating erotic energy took possession of her body. No hands touched her, but she couldn’t move. As if in a dream, she responded to the unexpected kiss.

The tip of his tongue met no resistance as it slipped between her lips. Once inside, it made slow sensuous love to her mouth, caressing and coaxing her into returning its touch. She felt powerless to resist. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was savor the feel of Mark Cahill's mouth against hers.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days later, she couldn't be sure, he broke the kiss and leaned back. Gwen opened her eyes and saw him looking straight at her. What he’d done wasn’t right, she was certain of that. But what was she supposed to do now? After all, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and she’d loved the kiss.

From somewhere deep inside her jumbled brain came a memory of instructors saying to reject the act, not the patient. Now all she could think to say was, "I like you, Mr. Cahill."

He responded in his trademark soft southern voice. "I like you, too, Miss Kaplan."

Unable to think of anything else to do, she struggled to her feet and somehow managed to reach the foot of Mark's bed on legs which threatened to collapse. "And Miss Kaplan,” she paused at the sound of Mark’s voice and looked back, “someday I'm going to kiss every inch of your body."

Still shaken by the kiss, she couldn’t believe this guy had just told her something so blatantly sexual. Things like that weren’t supposed to happen to nice Jewish girls from Queens, especially when they were engaged.

With her head spinning, she mumbled good-bye and made her way out of room 24. In the empty, neon-lighted corridor, she sagged against the wall. Her addled mind raced with unanswered questions triggered by that unexpected kiss.

How had it happened? She wasn't sure.

Had she, somehow, encouraged him? No way.

Should she tell her fiancé? Definitely not. Johnny was way too insecure. Why worry him?

What should she do the next time? She didn't know.

Would there be a next time? Possibly? Probably?

She glanced back at the door to Mark’s room. Hopefully?

ADMISSION OF AFFECTION - excerpt

This post, like the previous one (FIRST KISS) is an excerpt from a scene in my first novel, A Brief Affair. The aforementioned affair that developed between the kisser and the kissee, is about to experience a major change in its focus.

Your thoughts on how to improve my pitiful prose would be appreciated.

Bayou Bill

==

ADMISSION OF AFFECTION
by Bill Fullerton

Mark tensed at the familiar sound of Gwen’s footsteps approaching his room. Not for the first time, he flashed back to their blow-up the day before he left town. He still couldn’t understand why she wanted him to write her or why she’d gotten mad and started to cry when he said, no.

Once home, he succumbed to the memory of those tears and sent her a hand printed, three-page letter plus several cards. Despite that capitulation, he wasn’t sure what sort of reception awaited him. When he called last night to tell her he was coming back, she sounded happy and said she'd come over to see him after supper. But who knew what things would be like face-to-face?

All tension vanished the moment Gwen strode into the room. Her bright smile and cheery, “Hi, stranger,” sent a clear signal that his previous postal insensitivity was forgiven.

After a quick kiss, she stepped away from his grasp, pulled off her long monk’s cape and draped it over the back of the bedside chair. It was like watching a present being unwrapped—a very appealing present in a beige, cable-knit sweater, khaki mini-skirt, and brown boots.

He watched as she shook out her short brunette hair. Wispy bangs framed her face with its peach-tinted skin, perfect nose, soft, brown eyes, and very kissable lips. Either she’s gotten better looking, thought Mark, or I’ve missed her more than I realized.

Gwen moved into his arms. "So, did you miss me?"

"Only desperately.” Their lips met, halting conversation.

Afterward, she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder as their bodies became reacquainted. When she opened her eyes, Gwen noticed an unmade bed on the other side of the room.

"You have a roommate?"

"Affirmative. His name is Jessie Johnson and he seems like an okay guy. Says he was a tunnel rat with the 4th Division. He sure looks the part: short, wiry and careful. Went down one tunnel too many and got an eye messed up which is why he's in here."

"Where’s he now?"

"His mother stopped by on her way home. She works at Macy's. They've gone down to the day room to smoke."

"And then they'll come back without warning which, I'm afraid, puts a damper on the reception I had planned for you.”

"Not to worry.” Mark stroked her hair. "They’ll be back for her coat, but then she’s got to leave or miss her train. After that, Jessie's promised to make himself scarce."

"So you two have been plotting, have you?"

"What can I say? Us old beat up 'Nam vets have to stick together."

"Well, in that case, why don't we go out to the lobby for a while? I want to tell you about some stuff that happened while you were gone. And if it’s all the same to you, I'd rather not be interrupted by the return of Jessie and his mother."

A few minutes later, they were outside the ward in a dimly lit sitting area near the elevators. While an occasional person got on or off the elevators, no one came over to intrude on their privacy.

Gwen sat at one end of a well-used green couch. Something told Mark she really did want to talk, not make out. To avoid temptation, he leaned against the edge of the windowsill across from her. He glanced out at the traffic on rain-slick First Avenue and waited. After a moment's hesitation, Gwen cleared her throat and began.

"While you were gone, I broke up with Johnny, for good. He'd started dealing dope, not working at a real job. He knew how I felt about drugs, and why. So I told him we were through, forever, and gave him his ring back.” Her words came out in a series of low, rapid bursts.

After what seemed like an endless silence, she continued. "After crying and feeling sorry for myself, I suddenly realized I'm in love with you. I don't know when it happened, maybe the day you kissed me, but all I want is to be with you, forever. And I know this all sounds crazy, but I love you so much, I'd marry you today if you wanted to."

She fell silent and waited, apparently hoping for some reaction. There was none. Silent and motionless, Mark stared over her head into middle-space, then turned and looked out into the cold, January night, and tried to think of what he should say. She just broke up with Johnny, and yet says she’s ready to marry good old Mark. Not that the idea of marrying Gwen didn’t have its appeal. After all, she was smart, cute, fun to be with, and great in bed.

But something just wasn't right with this picture. It wasn’t a question of her being sincere. There was a guileless honesty in her voice. Still, he wondered if her priority was to marry him or just to get married? Was she in love with him or with some idealized notion of marriage?

"Gwen, I’m not sure you really love me. Maybe you're in love with the idea of being in love. Maybe you haven't gotten over breaking up with Johnny and need me to come in on the rebound. Who knows, you--."

Gwen broke in, "Mark, I'm in love with you, not with some idea. After breaking up with Johnny, it just came to me that I've been in love with you for, I don’t know for how long. But now I know why being with you always made me feel so special and why I've always loved making you feel happy. And I have, haven't I?"

There was a momentary silence, then with the faintest trace of a smile, he said, "Yes, you've made me very happy, both in and out of bed."

The smile left his face. "Look, let me spell this out for you. Like I've said before, I like you, I really do. In fact, I like you a whole lot. But, I don't think, I don't know, if I love you or will ever love anyone again. What's more, I think you're just infatuated, for whatever reason, not with me, but with some sort of dramatic, battle-scarred, soldier-type character I'm supposed to play.”

Mark turned away from the window and began to pace. "I'm not clear on all this myself. But to me, love is trust. Back in 'Nam, in the bush, you learned fast who you could count on, who you could trust. The only problem was your friends, the people you could trust, had a nasty habit of leaving fast and for keeps."

He stopped pacing as his mind focused on other times, other worlds. With a shake of his head, he looked down at Gwen. "Ever since getting back, it's like my emotions have been muted, been numbed. Even with my family or old friends, I sometimes find myself thinking about what it will be like when they're dead, when they've left me, so to speak. It's just..." his words trailed off.

“But Mark, I love you. I would never, could never, leave you."

Mark heard the plaintive note in her voice—could see the concern on her face. But could he ever be sure of her? After all, they’d started dating, and then making love, while she was still engaged to Johnny. Now a few days after dumping him, here she was. "Maybe not," he said, "unless things didn't go your way."

She started to protest, but he changed the subject. "And then there's the reality that I'm a half-blind guy who can't drive a car and hasn't even finished college. In here, I'm one of the few guys under a hundred. But, what would you think of me in the real world? I guess that also bothers me."

"Well, none of that bothers me.”

"No, it doesn't seem to," he admitted, with a half-smile. "I guess that's one of the reasons I like you, Miss Kaplan. That and your great legs."

Gwen smiled but said nothing, just sat in the dim light and stared up at him like a confused and anxious puppy. Hell, it was worse than her crying. "Look, Gwen, I'm sorry to sound like such a jerk. It’s just that, I’m not sure if what you feel for me really is love. As for me, I don’t know if I love you or, like I said, whether I can ever love anyone again."

He paused, and then broke the tense, serious mood. "Now at this point in the proceedings you may be asking yourself, just what in hell does this goober know? That's a fair question. So for what it's worth, here's what little I claim to know. I like you, a whole lot. And I like being with you, a whole lot. And I'd like to keep seeing you, a whole lot."

“Me too,” said Gwen. She stood and pressed her body against his as their lips met. It was a long, languid kiss. As the tip of her tongued darting around inside his mouth, her fingers toyed with the growing bulge inside Mark’s pajamas.

When the kiss ended, she looked into his face. "Well, Mr. Cahill, since that’s the case, I promise that from now on, you’ll be seeing a whole lot more of me, a whole lot of the time."

They returned to Mark's room to find a slender, young black man and a well dressed, middle-aged, black woman leaving. "Mrs. Johnson, Jessie, glad we caught y’all," said Mark. "Mrs. Johnson, I'd like you to meet Gwen Kaplan. She's the nursing student over at Bellevue I told you about who worked here last summer."

Mrs. Johnson gave Gwen a warm smile and extended her hand. "Well, I know you're glad to have this charming young lady coming to visit. Hello, Gwen, I'm Olivia Johnson. You don't happen to know of a nice black student nurse for my Jessie?"

"It's good to meet you, Mrs. Johnson," said Gwen, shaking the delicate hand. "Actually, one of my best friends at school, Ann Elmore, is black. We both worked here last summer. Mark’s met her and says she's cute."

"Fine, fine," said Mrs. Johnson with a chuckle. "Be sure to bring her with you the next time you come over to visit."

The young black man standing behind her sighed with feigned exasperation. Then he smiled at Gwen. "Hi, I'm Jessie. Don't pay any attention to my mother. Since I've gotten back from 'Nam, her only goal in life has been to get me married."

"Well, it would do you a world of good," replied Mrs. Johnson with an indulgent smile.

"Maybe so," said Jessie. "But right now we've got to get you out of here. You’ve already missed the early train."

They all said goodbye and Gwen promised she'd try to get Ann to come over with her sometime. As the Johnson’s headed down the hall, Gwen and Mark walked into his now empty room.

After Mark assumed his usual position on the edge of his bed, Gwen sidled in between his heavily muscled legs. She slipped her hands behind his neck and cuddled close, pressing her breasts against his chest. After a long kiss, she nibbled on his ear and whispered. "Now about that welcome back reception I had planned."

As Gwen’s fingers began the teasing process of opening the fly to his pajamas. Spellbound, Mark watched as she extracted her prize, then looked up at him and smiled. Moments later, all he could see was the back of Gwen’s head, all he could feel was the warm, sweet pressure of her mouth engulfing him. Every welcome back should be this good.