Taking deep, slow breaths, he silently recited the soldier’s Psalm—Psalm 91—ensuring he mentally formed every word as his muscles gradually released their tension and his heart rhythm slowed.
Muffled voices hummed beyond the curtain, a distant cart rattling like loose change in his ears.The smell of this room annoyed him.It smelled like iodine mixed with Pine-Sol mixed with alcohol and a hint of ammonia.His white blanket and linens smelled overwhelmingly of bleach.Nausea swirled in his stomach.He realized he was having a bad reaction to the anesthesia.
He drifted off again, or maybe not.Couldn’t be sure.Everything smelled the same, and he still felt like he might lose yesterday’s lunch.
Anesthesia fogged his brain, softening the sharp edges into a fuzzy dream—coffee steaming, a porch beneath a vast sky, a smile he couldn’t place.The monitor’s beep drilled into his skull, and he squinted, his eyes fighting to focus.His mom’s voice echoed in his memory, but he could not make out the words.
Had he dozed off again?
That nurse stepped into view—copper red hair with highlights of gold spilling over her shoulder in a braid, green eyes bright like summer pines, freckles dusting her cheeks like a star map.He had briefly wondered if he had dreamed her before, but apparently not.
“Quam pulchra es!”Jerry exclaimed the Latin phrase for “How beautiful you are,” though his voice sounded thready and slurred.
“Hey there, soldier,” her southern drawl purred, soft as a hymn, “back with us, I see.”
Jerry grinned, lopsided and slow, the drugs prying his tongue loose.“You look like an angel.”His voice slurred, sweet and flirty, miles away from his usual dry clip.He tried to sit up, but the room tilted hard, and he flopped back, chuckling.His arm felt like it weighed as much as a car.“You smell… really nice.Like strawberries.”
She laughed, quick and warm, like she’d dodged worse than his mushy charm.“Anesthesia’s talkin’, soldier.Men come out of it throwing punches or proposals.You’re the sweet kind—lucky me.”Her touch grazed his wrist, cool as she checked his pulse, the IV, steady as stone.
When he opened his eyes again, she had her back to him and was apparently leaving.Must have dozed off.
“Hey, don’t leave on my account,” he said, but his voice sounded weak and contorted in his own ears.
“Hey, welcome back again,” she said, her voice low.
“What’s your name?”he managed.
“Nurse Duncan.”
“Dunkin.Like Dunkin Donuts.”
She chuckled.“Close enough.”
“Coffee,” he mumbled, blinking slow, her face doubling then steadying.
She drew nearer.“You can’t have coffee just yet.Water for now.”
“Oh, I’d love some water.”
She held a straw to his dry lips.He tried to gulp it down.The cool water soothed his throat.The icy liquid trickling into his belly gave him something to focus on besides the antiseptic smell of the room.
“Thanks,” he said with a grateful gasp.
“I’ll be back soon and give you some more.Try not to move too much.You got shot, you know.And just had some pretty major surgery.”
“Coffee, though.”
She shook her head.“I told you, soldier.You can’t have coffee.”
He shook his head.“No.No.Listen.Like to buy you a coffee.Two.Whole pot.Get to know you.”His head lolled, words spilling with a goofy sincerity he’d never claim unmedicated, half-cognizant and half-lost in her green eyes.
The nurse’s smile softened, crinkling those eyes as if she found him more amusing than pitiful.“I do love my coffee.It’s a tempting offer, I’ll admit.Best one I’ve had all day.”
“You smell good,” he slurred.
She patted his hand, stepping back, and he drifted, her braid a red blur in his fading sight.His mind slid back to that warm porch, the coffee cup steaming, only now green eyes danced with mirth, and a dusting of freckles joined the scene.
Until the smell of cinnamon lured him inside, and his heart ached again with the memory.
