A Rose in the Midst of Thorns

I would gaze at her intently. Her grace fascinated me. I was enamored of her physical make up.  Whenever she came around, I became nervous. I was twenty-five years old at the time when I met her.  My story begins in the Fall of 99. As I recollect, I was hired on as a patient transporter for a hospital called Providence. This position required much patience. There were different individuals of various attitudes. Some could be friendly. Others could be a bit stubborn. It was, therefore, necessary to exercise courtesy and tact. 

   Patients released from the hospital were placed in the transporter’s trust. Staff assisted by sitting them in a wheelchair. They were then transported to a designated area. Here some friend or relative would pick them up. Inpatients remained for further treatment. Moved by wheelchair or portable bed, they were taken to an assigned room. As was the essential function of the hospital, vacancies had to be constant since newcomers came daily. Signs were placed on doors, indicating the sufferer’s condition. Whether minor or large staff had knowledge of those persons’ cases.  

   Though being a patient transporter had its challenges, the job was easy to perform. I transported patients to the hospital lobby while others to diagnostics. I was in and out of many different rooms, going up and down the elevator. Finally, my work ended, and tomorrow I was to begin anew. The day quickly slipped by. I enjoyed my job and although I was paid 5.25 an hour (the minimum wage at the time), I gained a store of knowledge of the various diseases in patients. As I clocked out, I started for the elevator. When I reached it. I pressed the down arrow button. The doors opened immediately. Hospital employees as well as visitors walked off. Stepping on, I pressed the button for the lobby floor.  

   The elevator began to slowly move down. I could feel the sinking sensation touch my pelvis. On reaching the lobby, I walked off. I exited the building through double automatic glass doors. Outside, I sat on the bench waiting for a friend to come pick me up. I gazed pensively at the red sinking sun. In the distance, I could see the twilight sky approaching. The color of blue interlaced with patches of pink slowly faded. At last, the dark hue of night fell across a quiet atmosphere. After waiting for an hour, my friend came. I seated myself in the passenger’s seat. I was off and the day completely ended.  

   Early the next morning, I rose from bed, showered, and ate breakfast. Later, I began my walk to work. Providence Hospital was only a half mile distance from where I lived. Upon arriving, I still had plenty of time before I started my daily duties. I felt lethargic, but nonetheless I entered the hospital building and jumped on the elevator. Going up to the fifth floor, I stepped off. On the right was the office for patient transporters to report to work. As soon as I entered, I could hear malicious whispers. My first day at work many talked about me. Today was much like yesterday. My co-workers were having a party. I was the object of their fun.  

   You see, at the time, I developed an issue. It affected me very much. In attempting to find remedies, I only found myself worsening. I decided to search for medical help. It was not without failure. I made many phone calls to doctor offices not to mention the hospital I worked in. Often, I was questioned by the nurse present. She wanted to know the nature of the problem. I explained my condition to the point. The nurse abruptly hung up the phone. In addition, the lack of medical insurance was another factor in my long hard search for answers and a cure.  

   It came as no surprise that my co-workers made fun of me. I had become almost immune from the childish play. Yet I would encounter one individual of a different type. Amid thorns bloomed a rose of significance that captured the reverberations of my deepest sentiments which tingled at her every move. I remember when she first came into the office. Her eyes were like sunlight, penetrating the chilled dew drops on my heart. I was captivated. Phyllis Fornah is the name she went by. Her personality was such a rich woman would die to obtain; the jewel of quintessential beauty, she had a rare luster. Any room she stood in and smiled made everything light up. She was exemplary of what a woman should be.  

   My co-workers hurled petty, miserable words at me. Of the females, this was more evident. Daily I would hear women say, “He is weird, or he is crazy,” in hopes I would quit my job. I even received veiled taunts aimed indirectly at me. I heard every conceivable word spoken behind my back too. At times, I sat in a vacant room nearby, and listened to the women talk about me. Whenever I was present, they would blurt out, “Someone is not normal,” or express their disgust by talking about the latest body products.                              

   I find it strange how a woman’s tongue can cut a man’s confidence to the quick. At the same time, her words can build his self-esteem, as was the case with Phyllis and me. She never spoke negatively about me. Her kindness was priceless. The other women I worked around had been afraid to even encounter me, least they receive some contagious disease, or so they imagined. I was talked about, ostracized, and laughed at by them all. Phyllis, on the other hand, showed another side to women. She was not spiteful like the others who inflated some false idea that I was a crazy individual. She allowed me to touch her.  

   I recall Phyllis and I were sent on an assignment by our supervisor. We had to transport a patient down to the second floor. Walking to the assigned room- the two of us carrying oxygen tanks- her shoestrings came untied. She asked if I could hold her tank while she tied them. I agreed, extending my hand only to touch her arm accidentally. I drew back quickly, apologizing. I did not want her to feel uncomfortable in any way. Surprisingly, she grabbed my hand and told me touch her. Then she went on about how men act like their afraid to touch a woman. I must confess I was one of them. Phyllis would play fight with me all the time, and though she never knew it, whenever she was next to me, I melted inside.  

   Phyllis was someone I found attractive; yet I felt could never have the privilege of making my girlfriend. There was a patient who urged me to ask her out on a date. Hearing the conversation, Phyllis said, “I’m giving him hints. He is not reading between the lines.” I could not even imagine me as her boyfriend. I was both desirous and shy. Her regal beauty I wanted to capture in a lover’s bliss. There were many days I thought of asking her for her phone number; many nights I dreamed of intimate reasons I should take her hand and caress her skin on non-lackadaisical evenings, this black Nefertiti that made my soul rise like the moon in the distant shadows. I could not let my feelings escape, however, for fear of rejection.  

   On days Phyllis was absent from work, she called the hospital and asked for me. This confused my co-workers. They assumed everyone thought like them. It was pride, no less arrogance that would not let them see the full picture of things. How blind was their conception of me. It is funny, people will try to create an imaginary box. They will attempt to place within it their notions of what they think is acceptable. Others might categorize you. If some could, they will take your soul. I guess to keep from looking at themselves in the mirror, they must build a false image. Through this mode of action, they hide their insecurities. 

   As time passed on, I decided to attend Oakwood University. The institution is in Huntsville Alabama. At the commencement of another Fall, I put in my two-weeks' notice on my job. I did not want to leave Mobile. The obvious reason was because of Phyllis; furthermore, what I wanted to major in, Oakwood had that field of study. I saw Phyllis for the last time. I of course told her of my soon departure. It was she and I in the office one evening. We were wheeling patients to their areas. We had an enjoyable conversation. She put her arm around me playing in her own unique way. At that moment, I wanted to ask her out, and stay connected with her while I was away. This ran through my mind. For two-weeks prior, I made a weak attempt to ask Phyllis on a date. I was too nervous and resisted the thought. Finally, I left for college never asking Phyllis for what I wanted. 

   Later, when I came back from Mobile, I inquired about Phyllis from people I used to work around. I was told she left Providence Hospital suddenly, and no one seemed to know why or where. Like an angel she came as quickly as she went, disappearing into the changing movements of people. I never saw Phyllis again. I wonder though what it might have been like if she and I ever did date. I sit and reflect on all the possibilities, all the potential moments. Unfortunately, it will remain just what it is, a cherished thought unfulfilled. There were other women who I would encounter years later. Exceptional individuals, they distinguished themselves from the others. I cannot recount all their kind deeds. I acknowledge their genuineness, nonetheless. I started to see that everything was not hopeless. I could lift my head high despite negative people. The sun started to appear over the horizon. It promised a better day. Suddenly, the golden vista disappeared and then began the silent years.