I’m outside in the cold November air. 115 lbs, blonde hair blue eyes in a pair of pink scrubs with tight yoga bottoms and nike shoes from gabes department store. There he is, Tom, the kitchen supervisor. He’s on the other side of the parking lot entrance crouched down so his weight is bouncing between the balls of his sneakers. Black sneakers. Black coat. He always offered me to grab the lighter and marb reds from his jacket if I needed one. I saw how he looked at me. He had one earring, a hoop one as a matter-of-fact. His face slightly blushed from the cold as well as the tip of his nose. His teeth were slightly crowded and I always found it to be charming about him. He wore a constantly concerned stare, at other times the deer in the headlight look. Gray hair, very short, and a graying salt and peppered beard starting to come in. God did I think he was handsome. I had snorted about 3 lines of percocet 10’s in the car before my shift, chugged two red bulls, and rushed out before dinner was served so I could catch him at the same time. I knew his routines. I knew he liked me, I just didn’t know when he would make a move. He wore this red shirt everyday and had a small beer belly that kind of stuck out like a woman five months in to pregnancy… 6 foot 2 inches. A tall man he was. He looked over at me. My heart was racing out my chest, and I commonly wondered if heart explosions were a real thing. I’m kind of moving between looking at my old music teachers house and the trees behind the school. We both worked at a nursing home and dinner was about to be served inside. I was a certified nursing assistant, he was the head of food services. I always thought my job was better. He asked me if I was from another town. I pretended to not be excited by his gesture, “No, I’m from Wf, but I just moved back from another town.” He did a little nod. He handed me a pack of 6 cigarettes and told me to have them. My heart skipped a few beats and I remember feeling like I was going to fly out of my body. I rushed inside. So did he. My heart rate began to go up and up. I could feel the fluctuations. I got a little scared from the idea of all the red bulls I had drank. Suddenly, the power went out and everyone started panicking. I stood up and grabbed a chair to hold on to. I started taking people in wheel chairs to the hallways so they could have lighting powered by the generators. I told the nurse my heart was skipping beats and really high, she asked me to take a xanax. I start to cry while she asks me if I can toilet bill… I try to get him on the toilet in the shower room. I feel like passing out. I run out and find myself sitting in the dining room. I ask another aide to grab bill. There are candles on the table. The nurse tells me to chill the fuck out. I start crying even more. My cousin comes and takes my blood pressure and she can’t get it. I pass out.
I wake up and I am in the hospital. My heart rate is down to 180. I feel like crap. I rest.
The next day I walk into work wearing a holter monitor that records my hearts activity and the rhythms. Tom tells me it looks cute on me. I still smoke and drink red bulls and take pain medication. …
Little did I know this would become a daily thing that would nearly destroy my well being.