May I Wait for You?
The road to happiness for John Johnson and he wasnt the only one passed directly through his stomach, battered and beset by gastritis.
All day long, John Johnson Shepherd ran things from his poky, cramped office, far too small for such a large man. He was immaculate: every day the suit pressed, the shirt crisp, always fresh from the cleaners. John lived alone. And so each blessed day he led his little team, sweating beneath his woollen jacket, forever adjusting the belt digging into his middle, fiddling with his tie, grumbling, banging his fist on the desk, going red in the face, clutching at his chin, anxiously stroking an imaginary beard, signing endless documents, making calls, mumbling down the receiver, listening, mumbling again, and later, swallowing nervously, standing on the carpet in front of his seniors, before inevitably suffering another bout of stomach pains.
To get himself into some sort of shape, Shepherd would check himself into the hospital for a bit of maintenance every six months: hed swallow tablets, endure tubes being poked down him while the doctors always full of tall tales peered smugly at his innards, then suffer through more pills, wincing and groaning. On the ward, John lived on bland hospital fare, and in the evenings, over a mug of tea, discussed life and the universe with his visiting friends. Hed wink cheekily at the pretty nurses, who blushed, looked away, and bashfully pushed away the chocolates he offered them.
Go on, take one! Dont you girls like sweet things? John would be genuinely offended. Theres nothing behind it, just a simple gesture!
Once the nurses relaxed a bit, they did take the chocolates, then sat together at their own break room table, drinking tea and discussing romance and John Shepherd himself, sighing over the poor, lonely man and wishing him the very best.
Johns other entertainment involved endless tussles with his no-nonsense doctor, Dr. Anne Barnett: she always caught him smoking out on the balcony.
You again?! How many times do I have to tell you: no smoking here! Anne would scold, fists clenched, thrusting her jaw, scolding him in her sharp, green-grey eyes.
Oh, come now, Dr. Barnett! I saw you puffing away earlier! Why cant I? Id take it outside, but have you seen the rain? You want to see me soaked through? John shot back, taking a few last deep drags, stubbing the cigarette in the old baked bean tin (already brimming with butts). Then hed stride away, grandly wrapping himself up in his oversized, fluffy red dressing gowna gift from his sister, Lucy.
Anne never budged from the doorway, so hed have to squeeze past her, catching for a moment the smell of hospital detergent, bleach, medical scrubs, and a hint of her perfumesomething light and flowery.
This isnt a spa, you know! Anne would flare up, tiny beside this hulking man. Ill see you discharged tomorrow!
Anne scolded, not even sure why she was so worked up. She just couldnt tolerate Shepherd. She hadnt been like this in ages. Before John, her worries had been foggy and remote, but now this infuriating John Johnson was in her life.
Let me by, will you! Ive got rounds! If you want to stew in your own juices, have at it! Oh, and by the way, Dr. Barnett, gastritis is a nervous condition, and youre making it worse, some doctor you are! John would mutter, squeezing past the doctor as he called her. Once, he even trod on her footshe nimbly tucked it back, bending her knee. Sorry, John grumbled.
Its fine. Your treatments might not last much longer! Anne hissed, spinning away. By late evening, as the ward grew quiet in anticipation of milk and biscuits, shed slip out onto the same balcony and light a cigarette herself. She could have gone out, but in truth, it really was bucketing down
I ought to move, start over somewhere fresh, finally take a decent breath, Anne told herself, sighing, flicking ash into the tin. Dont think I cant manage? I can. And Ill be happy! Youll see. Then she sank onto a rusty old chair, daydreaming through her list of patients: I must sort out Smith, too, poor dear old thing And Williams came in last night, another worry
Anne decided to stay on a year or two, until her caseload dried up, or at least until her sister Emma returned. The patients never did dry up, thoughthey kept coming and going, sometimes greeting Anne on the street, sometimes just walking right past her, eyes on the pavement. She didnt mind. After all, Anne was no chocolate for everyones taste. Still, it stung a bit.
After finishing her cigarette, Anne ran a hand through her cropped, ash-blonde hairlonger on one side, a bit of asymmetry. She eyed herself in the simple metal-framed mirror the nurses had pinned up for the patients, though in truth, the staff used it more.
Did the haircut suit her? It seemed so. Delicate features, large expressive eyes, nice cheekbones. The cut made her look fragile, feminine. Or did it make her look like a boy? She wore flannel shirts, skinny jeans, leather jackets, trainers, and the same black knitted beaniealways.
Why not buy a proper hat, love? There are such lovely ones these days! said Mrs. Thompson, the elderly, kindly hospital linen keeperlike everyones gran. You walk about like youre in The Bill, love!
No, Auntie Molly. This ones Emmas, Anne would say, tucking the hat into her pocket.
Dont do that, its wet! Put it on the shelf to dry, my poor girl! Mrs. Thompson would gently lay it out. Anne was already gliding away, soft steps in her powder-blue clogs.
Itll be alright, love. All will be well! Mrs. Thompson whispered after her, signing herself, the hat, and disappearing into her crossword book.
This day, Anne, finished with work, waved goodbye to her colleagues, yanked the beanie onto her head, zipped her jacket up with a practiced tug.
Want a lift home, Anne? called Peter, the wards infamous ladies man, sliding his hands over her shoulders.
Go chase someone else, Peter. Ill get the bus. Theres Sally from X-ray waiting for yougo offer her a lift. Right, goodnight! Mike, bye! Anne called to another doctor who was typing away, grabbed her backpack, and hurried for the bus stop.
She had to be home before ten. Anne had recently changed the locks, and Emma didnt have a new key yet; if Emma arrived and found herself locked out, shed be upset and vanish againand Anne might not even realise shed been there, just outsidetheir flat.
Anne ran, hauling on her backpack, splashed straight through a puddle in the dark, soaking her trainers and socks. Her feet went cold instantly.
Bloody hell she muttered, glancing at the just-turned corner of the bus, dug out her bus passbright green, with a cartoon cat, Emmas present. Emma had wrapped it in pretty paper, tied it with ribbon for Mothers Day. Anne had been so touched.
On your own again, Peter? Mrs. Thompson teased slyly. Not a chance with Anne, love. Find someone less complicated.
Oh, you know everything, dont you, Auntie! grumbled Peter. Maybe Im serious about her. Maybe Ive fallen for her, what then?
He struggled with his coat sleeve, his arm giving him grief.
Blasted thing! he swore, just as Anne missed her bus. Everyone poking their noses in!
Calm down, now. Annes been here a long time, since before Emma left. You men wouldnt understand her. Let me help with your sleeveThere! Off you go, then. Youll never get a love life standing here!
Peter shrugged, about to ask something but thought better of it. If he hurried, he might catch Anne at the bus stop. He didnt, thoughand decided maybe it was Sallys turn for attention instead.
Mrs. Thompson, unlike the others, wasnt in any hurry to get home. She headed to the nurses lounge, where the tea kettle whistled, and two nursesOlivia and Lilypicked at tonights leftovers, stifling yawns.
Evening all! said Mrs. Thompson, launching straight into conversation as if itd never paused. Peters all in a flutter, poor boy! Anne mentioned she cant bear beards, so what does he do? Shaves, and now he looks twelve! He even brought her chocolate, I saw himshe wouldnt take it. Shes not an easy catch, that one. Pity, theyd look smashing together!
Lily tucked her container away, too tired to wash up, set out three mugs, and made tea for everyone.
Anne isnt really bothered if a bloke has a beard or not. Its all been ages ago for her. She never really lives, just waits! If shes not with a patient or papers, shes glued to her phone, then calls home, gets upset, or has a row outside with John Shepherdhes a pain, flirts with all the junior nurses, acts like he owns the place because hes in private care. And he winds Anne right up. Why does he keep coming here? Anyone else with his wallet would be off to Harley Street! But no, here every six months. Drink your tea, Mrs. Thompson.
I think its Anne who keeps him coming back, Tom piped up, unwrapping a sweet.
Oh, dont be daft, Mrs. Thompson laughed.
But I do! Ive a nose for these things, Tamara insisted, rubbing her head.
Well she is clever and lovely, and a brilliant doctor, who wouldnt fall for her! Mrs. Thompson nodded, pulling a face. But shes still hung up. Should let gostart a new life. My gran spent her whole life waiting for her husband when he went missing in the warnever remarried, always waiting, even when new love was possible. Buteh, Emma, Emma she ruined it for herself and her sister
They fell silent, hearing someone cough in the corridor; Tom peeped out, but saw no one, just shut the door tighter.
What happened with her sister? I missed it, on maternity, Tom yawned, rubbing her eyes.
Anne came with Emma after their parents diedEmmas much younger. They found a flat, Anne started here, Emma finished school, sometimes visited. Odd girl, always anxious, kept to herself. You must remember hera clone of Anne but with bright hair and a nose ring! Later, you were off with your youngest, I think. Well, Emma vanished instead of going off to university. Shed always be disappearing, Anne hauled her out of clubs and even collected her from the police once, but never pressed charges. Emma even saw a counsellorthey almost sent her to a mental home, but she just laughed. Then one day she was gone for good. Posters went up, city searched top to bottom, but nothing, as if shed vanished into thin air. Anne hasnt been the same.
Some walk away for good. A family on our street son vanishednever found. Called a few times asking for money. Who knows, but they sent it just in case Poor Anne ought to leave.
She cant, though. Every evening, runs home, heart in her mouth, in case Emma turns up. There was a break-in at her block, she changed the locksincluding Emmas. What if Emma comes and cant get in? So Anne races home, could live closer to work, have a whole other life, but she cant let go.
A hush fell, then the sound of sweet wrappers unwrapping.
How can you let go of your sister? She thinks of her as her responsibility, as if to her late parents. Tragic! Tamara sighed. The corridor echoed with another cough, a door slammed, and the nurses all fell silent, deep in thought.
John Johnson lay on his hospital bed, hands behind his head, gazing at the ceiling.
Its like pinning a butterfly, he mused. She could fly, young and full of life, see the worldbut shes anchored herself by the ankle with a chain shell never drag free. What a shame.
He thought about Annes enormous eyes, her bold crop, her tiny, boyish frame, the way her cold hands pinched his stomach while examining him, as if deliberately making it hurt John saw all of it. Was he a womaniser? No. It was something else. He wanted to save her, somehow protect this small womaneven if he didnt yet know from what.
She smokes too much, far too much. Not good.
John barely slept that night, rolling about, sitting up in bed. He felt guilty for snapping at her on the balcony, for showing off. Not good, not at all.
He was just so used to being above it all, popping chocolates in someones pocket, as if to say, Here, go on, its only a tenner, nothing to me, always choosing the best, always feeling entitled to special treatment.
After all, private patients formed a special classan elite, like it or not, and he believed the staff should fall in line. Yet she was all sharp angles and cold hands right on his stomach.
He swung his legs down, looked for his slippers, slid his large feet in, and rose to standing.
Someone in the next room groaned. John scratched his chin, listened, peered out into the corridorno nurses about. He shuffled to the next room, another private bay, knocked awkwardly, and poked his head in.
Sorry, may I come in? John stepped into the stuffy, stale-smelling room. Or better not?
Fumbling by the door, he entered. The moans were so plaintive.
Shall I fetch a doctor? Whats going on? Ill turn on the light, and crack a window. John hesitated, but concern got the better of him.
People always looked after himpillow fluffed, tea made sweet, coats fetched, curtains adjusted.
Hed forgotten how to care for others. Once his parents died, he had no one; he was on his own.
Even with the women who sometimes shared his home, he was always king and they his handmaidens, grateful even for his condescension He paid, he gifted, he smirked, and they doted.
He found the bedside lamp, lit the room in a dull blue glow, illuminating heavy purple curtains, a tray of untouched supper, a robe bunched on the floor, and in the bed, a very old, thin man. Shadows fell on his face like a death mask.
Would you fetch some water, please the mask croaked, toothless.
John grabbed the glass. It was empty. He fetched water from the corridor and returned.
The old chap had sat up, just.
There you go. Do you need a doctor? You were really groaning, John hovered.
No, let the nurses sleep. I pestered them all day. But the old man flapped weakly, the hands fell heavy onto his knees. Thank you. I shall try not to trouble anyone else. Pardon me! Stomach feels like its being cut to pieces. Theyve tried everything. Punishment for too much fun when I was young. But oh, it was glorious then! The man smiled, but joylessly.
Well, everyone looks back fondly on their youth, John said, shivering at the memory of his own younger days, nights stalked by unease, footsteps behind him on dark streets. Let me crack open this window for you.
Please do. But not everyones youth was happy, you know. It only seems so in hindsight. Ahh The old man groaned, curled up like a fetus, whimpering.
John had never heard such bleak suffering before. People swore, gnashed, raged but this was so hopeless.
Ill fetch someone. Please let them help. Youre in private care for a reason! Unable to stand it, John rushed for the nurses.
Private the old man chuckled. My son put me here so I wouldnt bother the others. Scraped the fees together. Said Id live like a king. But he never comes. Ill visit when they discharge you, Dad, he said. So here I wait.
Your sons a callous bastard! John muttered into his collar. Hadnt he done similar things himself, if not quite so baldly?
Its alright. Young folks need their own livesnot always being caretakers. Did you live for yourself? I think you did. Good for you. The man smiled. Annes not here? Shell be home, waiting for Emma poor girl.
Well, John mumbled, whether I lived or not, this isnt about me. Or Anne. Ill fetch the doctors. Youre worse than pale! For a moment, John was terrified the old manwhose name he didnt knowmight slip away in front of him.
Pacing the corridor, John eventually shook awake the on-duty nurse.
Whats wrong? Not you, I hope? asked Tamara, blinking.
No, its my neighbour. Hes very unwell, John gestured urgently.
Thank you, please return to your room. Tamara dashed off, followed soon after by the rumpled on-call doctor.
John tried to glimpse what happened from the hallway, but could see nothing.
He stood there a while, looking out the window at the city lights twinkling through the drizzle, feeling strangely empty, longing for a hot cup of tea and a cinnamon bun. His grandmother used to bring him home from the youth club, sit him at her tiny table, and say, Starving again, I see! Too much astronomy for growing lads. You should be out playing!
Shed set a warm bun on a saucer and a big, chipped mug of sweet tea in front of him. Hed earned ithed been learning about the stars, after all.
John ached, suddenly, for that kitchen with its sticky tablecloth and rubber plant on the sill, wooden spoons on hooks, and a magazine cut-out of a white sailing ship crossing a turquoise sea. Gran had loved that picture
He finally fell asleep as dawn broke, his dreams restlesssomeone was rattling about next door.
In the morning, the neighbouring room was being scrubbed for a new patient.
What happened to the old man next door? John demanded of the tired Tamara, who only shrugged. John understood, a shiver running down his spine. It had happened overnight, right next to himand John had been the last, the very last, to speak with him. They hadnt even exchanged names Its always too late, he thoughteveryone rides the same train but in different carriages.
Turning away, John almost walked right into Dr. Barnett.
She was standing there, small as ever, shaking as she hugged herself, crying.
I shouldve visited him last night, but I was in such a rush, you see? Needed to be home by ten because because I had to! And he Uncle Nick he was probably waiting, and I never got to say goodbye
Anne sobbed like a child, rubbing her nose on her sleeve, so thin, so small, with that silly hair. John suddenly wanted to gather her up, hold her against his chestthis ball of endless sadnessstroke her hair, offer sweet tea and a bun.
He wasnt angry, Anne. He said you need to live your own life John said quietly, reaching out before stopping himself.
Anne stared at him, mascara streaked, jaw trembling. She turned and, bumping past Peter, fled. She fumbled out a cigarette by the door, desperate for air, but couldnt find her lighter, swore, then suddenly a hand holding a match appeared.
John.
He stood there, squaring his shoulders, daring her to yell at him while the match burned.
Anne lit up, drew smoke deep into her cheeks, and hissed furiously, You cant be here! Return to your room, you know this is staff only! What should I do, fit the balcony with bars, locks? Leave me alone!
Im not bothering you. Just gave you a light. Ive every right to stand here, said John, calmly.
Oh, really? Why?
Well, because your lawyers wrote the contract so badly. Says you cant go where there are signs saying so, and theres nothing here. So, if you dont mind, Ill stay. He nudged in beside her, relaxed on the railing, his dressing gown gaping open over striped pyjamas.
Look, its snowing. When did that happen? Beautiful, actually. Nice little park under your window. Someones been outno, just a snowman! John rambled on, just to fill the air, distract the doctor, while Anne gazed up at him, blinking. Her cigarette fizzled out; she threw it away.
I knew him, you knowsince Emma Anne spoke quietly, almost to herself. Nick Carter was retired, nothing to do, so he used to play violin in the park.
Violin? That old gent? John was surprised, offering his own cigarette; Anne refused.
Yes, imagine. On the green, by the bench, always with his hat. That was his signature.
And a red scarf, right? Or was that a saxophonist, not a violinist John wondered aloud.
There was a scarf, thick and itchy. Emma would have loved it. But shes gone. Nick Carter was the last to see her Now hes gone too, leaving just me.
Anne wanted to say more but Peter barged in again, calling her for rounds.
Why is there a patient on the balcony? Peter yelped, but Anne already dragged him away. John remained, overlooking the melting snowman below, drooping and finally collapsing into slush.
Someone locked the balcony door behind him, and there stood John Johnson, in his red dressing gown and striped pyjamas, on the wrong side.
As I stood outside, watching the city lights flickering like distant stars, I realised how much time I had wasted demanding more for myself, expecting everyone to cater to me, as if kindness had a price. I had always kept others at arm’s length, never learning to care for anyone without thinking of what I’d get in return. But caring for others is the only real key to happiness. All these rules and walls we put up, they only lead to more lonelinessboth for ourselves and those around us. I vow, if I get one more chancejust oneIll do things differently.
