Jersey on my mind (part 32)
From the front door of the building to the elevator there were fifteen steps. Fifteen steps that passed a counter and an orienteering board over the more than ten floor Brooklyn building.
Just as every morning, Mila counted the steps. It had become a habit, just as she, before entering the elevator, began to unbutton her jacket. Inside the elevator she let out a lioness-que yawn as she parked herself against the back wall. Thankfully it had been a calm morning. Jim was already gone when her alarm yelled at her to ‘get her ass out of the bed’. Juri was already awake and parked in front of the tv, watching Clifford the Big Red Dog in his pajamas, which meant that Mila could take a shower before preparing his breakfast. While Juri ate his oatmeal with honey under a blanket on the couch, eyes glued to the tv screen and the happy, big red monster dog, Mila got dressed. Forty-five minutes later she dropped Juri at daycare, kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to work.
The elevator stops with a soft thud and she steps out on the ninth floor and heads for the glass doors to the clinic. She’s let in by the receptionists and is welcomed by the constant scent of fresh cut flowers on the reception desk.
”Good morning, Saif. Morning Vanessa.” Mila greets the always happy receptionist couple, lovebirds in real life, behind the counter as she passes through the empty reception.
The dressing room is empty when she enters. Mila removes her workwear, the slightly fancier than nurses-scrubs in a sophisticated shade of grey, from her locker. She leaves the white coat on its hook (it’s way too formal) and drops the bright pink Adidas trainers on the floor with a thud before starting to undress. They switch between the grey scrubs and plain white every other week; head dentist and dental practice owner Said Kadeem thought it would be a ‘edgy, yet fun way to brand themselves as a fun clinic’. In reality he just couldn’t decide which color he thought looked best. It’s the same with his morning-, lunch- and afternoon coffee; with or without milk? He can stand in front of the machine for hours it seems, with his forehead wrinkled together in concentration to make his mind up.
I’d die for a cup of plain, as black as fucking possible-coffee right now, Mila thinks as she pulls the grey pants over her hot pink thongs, reminding herself to do the laundry when she gets home. Putting milk into a cup of coffee is a crime if anything. She steps into the trainers and pulls the top over her head. She gives herself a last look in the mirror and adjusts her ponytail, before leaving the changing room, entering the break room. It’s not a luxurious clinic; no celebrity clients wearing bigger than their face-sunglasses or heavy politicians with a tail of bodyguards, but it’s one of the best private dental clinics in the area, which makes the staff spaces and benefits really generous.
Gotta get some luxury treatment for making it through university with a toddler at home, Mila thinks to herself and steers toward the coffee machine. She greets her colleagues, who are already parked at the table with coffee mugs in front of them, everybody except Lauryn, who’s entire face is hidden behind a huge Starbucks blonde vanilla latte with extra vanilla and coffee plus caramel.
”Rough night?” Mila asks.
”Never turn thirty.” Lauryn Cassidy groans and puts down the ginormous drink on the table. The bags under her eyes scream ’we need to rest you fucker’. ”Why am I even here today?”
”You’re thirty and responsible.” Kristian Shaffer responds. ”I’m impressed.”
Lauryn groans again.
”I liked myself better two days ago, when I was twenty-nine and carefree.”
”Remind me to take the day off after my thirtieth birthday then.” Sarah Preston says and pours a pack of raw brown sugar into her coffee mug.
”Gosh, I’m glad I’ve been there, done that.” Riley Palmer sighs and leans back into his chair. He puts his hands behind his head and flexes his biceps. ”Trust me, thirty is the new twenty.”
”My god such bullcrap!” sterile nurse Ava Cooper rolls her eyes at Riley’s remark. ”It’s almost as bad as that ugly ’carpe diem’ tattoo.”
”What?” Riley looks at Ava, then at his biceps, where ’carpe diem’ is imprinted on his skin with black ink, in a barely readable font. ”What’s wrong with that? It’s inspiring. Like, a mental note that-”
”Ey, we know what it means.” Mila interrupts him. ”And it’s ugly.”
Riley doesn’t get a chance to reply. Kadeem enters the room and a glued-on, convivial atmosphere settles across the table in the blink of an eye. It’s for the best not to quarrel in front of the boss.
”Preston-” Kadeem announces and points with his whole arm at Sarah. “Hallie Reynolds called and cancelled Phillips’ appointment this afternoon.”
”Is Phillip the one with the ears?” Lauryn looks at Aaisha to get answers, but the angelic Aaisha only bursts into a muffled giggle.
”No, that’s Lennox. You know, Dumbo.”
”Christ sake, Riley, stop giving my patients names.” Sarah gives Riley the evil eye and slaps him on his upper arm.
”Sergeyevna, you’re on your own this morning, I need to borrow Aaisha for some drilling.”
Mila and Aaisha look at each other. Kadeem loves his job, but most of all he loves a good drilling. Well, there goes that calm morning; making eye contact over the patients, joking around, singing along to the radio and Aaisha’s regular 11 am stretch, combined with: ”I’m gonna go down to the juice bar, you want anything?”
”Fine.” Mila replies to her superior in white.
”And please, tone down that bluntness today, will you?” Kadeem pleats. ”We can’t have more body builders leaving the clinic crying. Everyone is bad at dental health and everybody knows it, you don’t have to tell them.”
”I thought that was my job?”
”Our job is to dig around their mouths, smile and tell them to floss properly. And charge for doing so.” Kadeem turns to the coffee machine, which is the start of his first, dreadful choice of the day; milk, or no milk. ”Frankly, I don’t know how you seem to get them to come back every 6 months.”
”Witchcraft.”
”Really?” Kristian puts his head to his side and grins at her. ”Thought it was your radiant, bubbly personality?”
“Nope, that’s Cooper and Cassidy.” Kadeem says, without taking his eyes off the coffee machine. “Sergeyevna is like me. It’s in our culture.”
Yeah, the much well known, yet tremendously rare Moscow-Russian and Shiraz-Iranian-culture. Mila smiles a little. As soon as it became clear to Kadeem during her first interview that she was a relatively fresh immigrant, he became overjoyed and felt an almost unreasonable bond with her. Sure, they are both honest and forthright, but that’s more likely a personal trait. Otherwise they are like night and day. But she likes him, he’s a good boss. And his wife makes a hell of a baklava, not to speak of the kletcha.
As the clock strikes nine they simultaneously leave the break room and heads for their offices and treatment rooms. Mila turns on the lights, cranks up the radio and looks out of the window with her cup of coffee steadily in her hand. Another workday. She puts the mug down at the counter as she hears steps approaching. In the next moment, Vanessa appears in the door, followed by her first patient of the morning, Mr. Hardin.
“Mr. Hardin, nice to see you again.” Mila gives her patient a bright smile and takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “How are you doing?”
She makes a gesture to offer him to sit down in the actually quite comfy dentist chair. She has taken quite a few naps in them after her lunch break since she started working at the clinic.
“Same old, same old.” The man with thinning hair sits down and shrugs at her. “At least I got the health.”
“I’m glad to hear.” Mila replies. “How’s Irene? Must be busy times now?”
“Yeah she’s got her ass full- sorry.”
“No worries. I bet.” Mila takes a seat in her rolling, saddle chair and rolls up to the computer, where she starts to fill in the patient file. ’Hardin, Mark. Regular checkup. Tartar removal’. Same old, same old. “So, just a checkup today.”
“Correct.” mr. Hardin says. ”How’s the kid? Juri, wasn’t it?”
“Yup, indeed.” Mila replies as she takes two pale blue rubber gloves from its box. “He’s doing well.”
“Is he walking yet?”
”More like running.” Mila focuses on the framed photography on the wall, picturing a tropical beach with clear blue turquoise water. Holy crap, he’s growing up so fast, she thinks as she pulls the gloves over her hands. “He’s been on the run for awhile now. Just as I was apparently.”
“They grow fast.” Mr. Hardin shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the basic biology of humans, and leans back in the chair. “But you’re young and healthy. That’s good. This virus, huh?”
“Yeah it’s really strange- Scoot, please.” Mila instructs her patient before continuing to check the tray on her cart, making sure all of her tools are in place. “Great.”
“Both New York Presbyterian and Mount Sinai West are soon overrun. I mean, if that doesn’t sound serious I don’t know what does. Irene’s working double shifts at Langone here in Brooklyn and they still seem to get more and more deaths each day. I think the death toll was, about 70 yesterday, and that’s just Langone. Must be like, 300 in New York alone.”
“Mhm, it’s horrible.” Mila replies monotonously, while scrolling through the x-ray of Mr. Hardin’s lower row of teeth from his appointment the year prior. She’s been trying her best to live life as normal as possible despite the deadly virus. Life has to continue, somehow. “Do you have any issues with sensitivity? Pain?”
“No, just tartar. Like, a lot. Irene found these small pieces in the sink-“
“We’ll fix that today.” Mila says quickly and gives her patient a radiant smile. She doesn’t need, or want, to hear what poor Irene Hardin found in the sink. She’s got a pretty good clue. “You’ve quit smoking yet?”
She turns and looks at Mr. Hardin, who’s shoulder goes up to his ears. He transforms from his regular, very accountant-self (because that’s what he is) to an ashamed puppy in the clinical chair. Mila shakes her head at him, smacking with her tongue. Mila turns to the radio and increases the volume of Angus Young’s voice wailin “You’ve been thunderstruck” to the more than famous guitar tapping.
”Ah. This is why I like going here.” Mr. Hardin says with a smile and points at the radio. ”I listen to NYC Rock in the car, every day.”
“Okay mr. Hardin, let’s rock and roll.” Mila pulls the sterile face mask over her nose. It smells clinical and plastic. She grabs the probe and the mirror and smiles with her eyes at mr. Hardin from underneath the mask.
She starts to work. It’s a regular day. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining into the office and Angus Young continues to blast out that they’ve been struck by thunder, about a billion times. The only thing that looks like its’ been struck by something is her patient's teeth. What on god’s earth is he doing during the nights? Chewing bricks?
”Mr. Hardin, are you tense?” Mila asks.
”Howch do choo do chiiit?!” Mr. Hardin manages to utter, with both wide eyes and wide open mouth. ”Schee, chish isch wchy I gcho cher! Ycho are likche a cheraphchist-”
Mila sighs and removes the tools from his mouth.
”No, Mr. Hardin. You grind your teeth, bad. They look awful. Stop it or you won’t have teeth left.”
”Oh.” He replies and swallows, then bursts into a smile again. ”But you see, this is why I go to you and not that crappy Family smile clinic down in Brownsville, that Irene goes to. Honesty, blunt honesty. I like that.”
”Good to know.” Mila says and signs at him to open his mouth again, to let her continue working on that tartar. ”Not everybody does. I once made one of those body builder’s cry because I scolded him for not brushing his teeth right.”
Yeah she was pretty hard on that poor guy, but honestly, his gums looked like minced meat. Mr. Hardin smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open.
The next song is by The Hellacopters, which makes her smile once again underneath the mask. She saw them perform, one of their last appearances, with Darya a couple of years ago. But suddenly, in the middle of ”-hey boy, you understand. Say your prayers, or you'll be damned-” the song’s interrupted by the breaking news-jingle.
”We’re interrupting with some disturbing news from downtown Manhattan, where chaos has erupted outside Mount Sinai’s hospital.”
Mila pauses in a movement and glances at the radio.
”Police have been called to the morgue where the-”newscaster seems to be groping for words, as if he himself does not believe what to say. “The dead seem to have woken up.”
It is only thanks to the slightly sticky gloves, which hug around the tools, that Mila doesn’t drop them in Mr. Hardin's mouth, at that proclamation.
”Police began firing shots as the bodies- patients, began to attack civilians and medical staff.”
Mila returns to the tartar, but she can’t focus entirely on Mr. Hardin’s hardcore tartar infestation, even though it’s an astonishing collection; if Aaisha hadn’t been asked to help Kadeem out, she’d been sitting on the opposite side of Mila, and her big brown eyes would have been bigger than usual by excitement. It’s surely a dentist thing only, being excited by tartar. Mila tries her best to stay focused, but her mind drifts off to the radio and the rise of the living dead, where the ’on the spot’-broadcaster now interviews a doctor from Mount Sinai.
“-at least ten former patients, declared dead during the week, escaped the morgue and attacked people on the street. Dr. Berkowitz, head of ICU, can you explain what just happened?”
”I don’t know.”
“Were the patients in a coma?”
“No.”
”Dr. Berkowitz, did you or any of your staff, by any chance, make a mistake?”
”No, as I said, they were deceased. Dead.”
”You’re sure?”
”Yes, ofcourse.”
Mr. Hardin makes a gesture with his hand and Mila removes the tools from his mouth.
”Turn up the volume.” He says and rises on his elbows.
Mila obeys, reaches for the radio and turns the volume wheel up a notch.
“How do you explain the situation, then?” the interviewer asks, now louder than before. He sounds more and more irritated, or afraid, Mila can’t really know the difference. “Dead patients suddenly... awakes?”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Berkowitz, we have to- We get disturbing breaking news from Weill Cornell Medical Center that- what!?” The interviewer exclaims, as if he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing from the third party in his ear. ”Okay, ehrm- we get news that a similar incident occurs right now at Weill Cornell. I repeat, Weill Cornell. Police have been dispatched to the spot and civilians on the street have taken shelter in nearby shops and restaurants. It’s been confirmed that eight- no, nine, people have been injured and a woman has deceased, by severe blood loss. I repeat, one woman is dead and lying in the street. According to eyewitnesses- Neil, you sure about that?” The interviewer asks. “Sorry. Eye witnesses claim that the woman, and I’m sorry about this, is being eaten by the deceased. If you’re in the neighborhood, do not go outside, I repeat; do not-”
Both Mila and Mr. Hardin stare at the radio under complete dead silence. The tools are frozen in her hands and her heart beats hard inside the grey scrubs.
“I gotta-” Mr. Hardin swallows. “I- I need to call Irene.”
“Yeah..” Mila replies. A rush of sickness runs over her. Is the room suddenly swaying, or is she just, overwhelmed? Is this real? She casts a glance at Mr. Hardin, who climbs out of the leaned back chair, still with the pale blue plastic sheet around his neck. “Yeah, go ahead.”
He leaves the room. Mila hears him talk on his phone outside the door. Should she call someone? Her mind wanders to Juri and mama first. With trembling hands Mila picks up the phone from her pocket, unlocks it and goes into the messages. She changes the alphabet to cyrillic starts dictating a text message to mama. In order not to worry her beloved mama more than necessary, she simply writes: ‘Good morning mamochka. How are you today? Love you.’
She presses ‘send’ and then finds her way to the contacts, where she quickly finds ‘Jim’. Signals are heard. She spins in her chair, faces the window. He picks up the phone at the fourth dial.
“Cricket.” Jim greets her. His warm, amazing smile is felt through the phone and instantly calms her soul.
“Thank goodness.” Mila sighs and massages her forehead. “Hi.”
Jim chuckles on the other end. She can see him clearly in front of her. Black suit and white shirt. He’s just had a haircut and said bye bye to the ponytail. Tall, handsome beyond comparison. Probably with his tenth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. It’s a miracle he can keep his cool with that much caffeine in his system.
“Hi.” He replies softly. “What a pleasant surprise. Does milady want to hire a personal security guard?”
She can’t help but smile like an idiot.
“I can offer a very favorable package price.” Jim continues. “Annually. How about ... ten years? Initially.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
Through the phone, she can really picture how one of Jim’s eyebrows starts to go up, towards his forehead. Usually she plays along with his shenanigans and jokes, but she can’t. Not now.
“You’re on speaker or something?” He asks.
“No. No, sorry. I’m not.” Mila replies and sighs. “Have you heard?”
“Nope. Or, depends on what I’ve missed. What's the talk of the town?”
“You’re nearby a tv or a computer?”
“I’m in the office. Hold on.” Jim starts tapping on the computer. Mila hears the rustle of the buttons in the background. “Oh. That’s-” Jim pauses and reads. “All of them died of the virus?”
“Apparently.”
“I’d say it was a mistake by the hospital, if not- but...” he pauses. “‘New York Times reports that it’s more than twenty patients. Could be more.’ What the-”
“What’s happening?” Mila asks, can’t conceal her feel of discomfort.
“Dunno.” Jim says. “Hey, I can get off work by-” he pauses, as to looking at his watch. “I’ll pick Juri up earlier, in about two hours. I’m sure he’s fine but, just in case. We’ll fix dinner.”
What have I done to deserve this guy, Mila thinks inside her head.
“I love you.”
“You love me for my incredible mashed potatoes.” Jim grins through the phone. “Love you Cricket. It’s gonna be fine.”
.
.
Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic
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