More Than a Kiss

Ambushed

Amy was humming an Indigo Girls tune as she entered the ER to start her shift. It was a damn fine day. The sun was shining. Mount Hood with its spectacular white cap seemed to substantiate the awesome beauty of nature. And Amy was on her third cup of coffee for the morning and flying high on caffeine and infatuation. She was certain she was falling in love for the first time in her life. None of her other relationships compared. Not that there were that many to compare to, but she knew she’d never felt like this before.

Chad snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered into her ear, “Good morning, my little love button.”

Had Amy been taller, more muscular and trained in martial arts she would’ve kicked his ass right there. He’d be lying on the floor gasping and holding his nutsack as pain coursed throughout his entire body. As it was all she could do was wiggle away from him. “What the hell are you doing?” Amy said, disgustedly rubbing at the wet spot on her neck.

“I saw you come in,” Chad said. “Whistling and smiling. Looking like a woman in love.”

“So what if I am,” Amy said.

“Maybe I am, too,” Chad said with an icky smile. He reached out and stroked her cheek with one finger. Amy swatted his hand away like it was an annoying fly.

“I made lunch plans for us,” Chad said. “I know how you love Italian.”

“I have plans without you forever,” Amy said. “And I’ll be eating in the cafeteria today.”

“I know,” Chad replied, tapping his cleft with a forefinger. “I know.”

Amy watched him saunter off down the hall, wondering what that weird exchange meant. That was when she noticed his shoes. He was wearing pink Converse high-tops. She looked down at her own blue high-tops. That fucker! He was trying to do that thing where couples in love start dressing alike.

She turned to the two nurses at the nurses’ station. “How long has he had those shoes?”

Meet Veronica and Valerie. Identical twin sisters. Beehive wearing, bubble gum popping, sisters. The only way to tell them apart was by their nametags.

“Since yesterday,” Valerie said while Veronica blew a bubble.

“He says the pink makes him more manly because only real men can wear pink. It means they are secure in their manliness. Those were his exact words,” Veronica said while Valerie blew a bubble.

“He told us that he hopes you two can bond over your joint love of high-tops,” Valerie said.

Amy recoiled.

“It’s disturbing, we know,” they both said.

Usually Amy found their ability to speak simultaneously amusing or at least interesting. But today she found it annoying, more annoying than it should be because she was angry at Chad. Angry might be a poor word choice. She was livid.

Valerie and Veronica must have seen the smoke coming out her ears. They both said, “We can do something about those shoes.”

“Oh, yeah. How?” Amy snapped, studying her day’s roster.

“We can make those shoes disappear,” Veronica said, snapping her gum for emphasis.

“Disappear?” Amy said. She felt like she was in an episode of the Sopranos.

“With this,” Valerie said, pulling a bobby pin out of her piled high elaborate beehive hairdo.

Amy didn’t get it. “You’re going stab him with a bobby pin?”

They sighed simultaneously. “No,” Valerie said.

“We are going to pick the lock on his locker and steal his shoes because he is an absolute fucker and we hate him,” Veronica said.

Amy finally connected the dots. “Aha. You both slept with him too?”

They nodded.

“At the same time?” Amy asked. She quickly used her hand as an eraser on an imaginary chalkboard. “Erase that. Don’t answer, I don’t want to know.”

“Let’s just say he’ll get what he deserves,” Veronica said.

Valerie popped a bubble.

Amy smiled. She felt a strange symbiosis with the twins. “You’d do that for me?”

“No. Not just you. We’ll do it for all the women of this hospital,” Valerie said.

“You will be our mascot. The anti-Chad. We’ve named you Amy the Banana Slayer,” Veronica said.

Amy didn’t really want to be the Banana Slayer but if the twins could make the shoes disappear they could call her anything they liked. “What do I have to do?”

“Act like nothing happened,” Veronica said.

“This conversation never happened,” Valerie added.

Amy nodded. “What conversation?”

Valerie knitted her eyebrows. “This one. The one we just had.”

Amy smiled and lightly punched her in the arm. “I know. I was pretending it never happened.”

“Oh,” Veronica said. “You’re good.”

“Really good,” Valerie said. She handed Amy a manila folder, saying, “Mr. Bolster is back. He’s in room three. It’s his testicle again. If I were you I’d get that one over with first.”

“Right,” Amy said, and went to exam Mr. Bolster’s man tackle. Again. He showed up at least once a week asking specifically for her. All the other doctors figured he had a crush on Amy, which was alarming because he was eighty-six and only had one testicle. There wasn’t anything technically wrong with his testicle. He insisted it didn’t fire properly. Amy tried and tried to explain that age did things to one’s manhood equipment.

After the testicle debacle, Amy went on to set a broken finger, stitch two lacerations – one a two-year-old who ran into the corner of the wall while being chased by her brother, and another by a prep cook who was having an argument with his girlfriend while cutting up carrots julienne style.

She advised the cook to not text and chop as he could have lost his finger. At eleven forty-five things slowed down enough that Amy could actually catch her breath. She told the Veronica-Valerie duo that she was headed to grab a bite at the cafeteria. They nodded and went back to charting.