Remains

Remains

by Janae Jones ft Keyanna E.

Hello there. My name is Lea and I’m 26 living alone in rowdy Chicago. You may be wondering why I am alone. Well, other than my siblings being grown and having their own lives to live, my parents were killed in a shooting incident. Ten years before today to be exact. It was a pretty vivid night. Around 53 degrees, it was lightly raining outside. I lay on my warm and cozy bed while reading a book. My parents were downstairs enjoying a movie after we had just - not too long ago - finished eating dinner together. I went from hearing raindrops faintly hit my window to suddenly hearing ruckus occurring downstairs as I listened to the loud sounds that were coming through the thin walls. I heard my father panting to the shooter.

“We don’t have anything, we don’t have anything.” Then, suddenly, one blaring gunshot is let out. I was horrified. As I’m still being attentive I can make out the sound of my mother bawling her eyes out for about 45 seconds. A second gunshot is let out. The amplification of the bullets made my stomach turn. Moments after, it was silent. The silence was so crisp I could hear my own heartbeat. But - fast forward - I waited until I knew for sure the killer of my parents was gone before going downstairs and seeing the brutal scene. I urgently called the police and minutes later I witnessed both my parents’ lifeless bodies being taken away from me on stretchers.

Present day

For work I am a mortician. I decided to take on this job because I want to help families with the healing process after losing someone. I do this by ensuring that their loved ones are in good hands and all their legal requirements and wishes will be considered. It’s 10:27 am and I’m waiting for my best friend Marie to arrive at this breakfast diner we’ve been wanting to try for a while now. Me and Marie met as seniors in high school and we’ve been inseparable ever since. There isn’t a day when you see her and not me and vice versa. Marie is never on time and so I got us a table. A waiter arrives shortly and brings along two menus, a refreshing tall glass of water with a lemon afloat,

napkins and utensils to start us off. Finally Marie decides to join me at 10:35.

“Hey,” Marie said.

“Girl, what took you so long,” I said.

“I could not find cab service for nothing and so when I finally decided to drive here I perceived that my tank was close to being empty and so I needed to stop for gas,” Marie responded.

“I’m famished, this combo sounds delicious.”

“Where the hell is the waiter?”

Just as Marie said that, he magically appeared in front of our booth.

“Good morning and welcome to East Egg Cafe. What can I get you ladies to eat today?” he recited in a cheery tone.

“Good morning, and can I get the double stacked French toast, scrambled eggs, sausage with a side of mixed berries and the medium French vanilla East Egg Cafe special smoothie?”

“And for you?” the waiter asked.

“The waffle and bacon combo, a side of toast, a lot of butter please with a large black coffee.”

The waiter takes down our orders, recites them back perfectly and then informs us that the wait would be about 10 to 15 minutes. As the waiter walks away towards the kitchen, I spark a conversation.

“So how’s work at the hospital been?”

“Stressful.” Deep sigh. “Haven’t gotten much sleep working these long 11 hour shifts. So many patients come in. I had about seven kids come into the hospital with high fevers and then close to 15 adults with heart and breathing problems. It gets draining when no one cares to ask me how I am feeling when I’m trying my hardest to hope for so many people.”

“Maybe you should take a break. Then it would be the best decision mentally and physically for you.”

“Hey ladies, here’s that double stacked French toast, scrambled eggs, sausage with a side of mixed berries and the medium French vanilla East Egg Cafe special smoothie for you and your waffle and bacon combo with the side of toast, lots of butter and the large black coffee.”

In unison we say “Thank you” and both giggle.

We pray over our meals. “Lord God, Heavenly Father, bless us and these Thy gifts which we receive from This meal Jesus Christ, our

Lord. Amen.”

We then grub on our meals, syrup dripping from Marie’s lips and noticeable jelly stains on my baby blue top. Spills of coffee on the table, crumbs from toast scattered on the floor around us and egg remainders sitting on the plates that we stacked so they can be picked up by the cleaners.

Before we know it, it is now 12:15 and Marie has to get to work by 1:30, as I do - the same but around 2. I pay the bill, placing two twenties, seven singles and about 80 cents on the tab. We both arise from the table and head towards the exit and walk towards our vehicles.

“Bye, I’ll catch you later.”

“Love you, Lea.”

“I love you, Marie.” We scream at the top of our lungs out of our windows while each of our cars disappear out of sight, because we’re going down opposite exits.

Marie’s Point of View

It’s now 1:28, two minutes before I clock in and so I assemble myself to start the first hour of my ll-hour shift off strong. Washing and sanitizing my hands, then applying my gloves, buttoning up my lavender colored scrubs, slipping my feet into my zebra-printed Crocs, ready for the day, I clock in. It’s surprisingly a tranquil day today, not a mob of patients in the waiting room, not a gang of doctors rushing up and down the long freezing hallways, not even piles of paperwork on my desk in my office that need to be filled ASAP.

I might have spoken too soon or the silence was too good to be true because as I was strolling down the hallway to my office I rushed to deliver a baby.

Running from the hallway—from my desk—to the steps, to the first floor, I rushed to the main desk to pick up the pregnant patient. The patient on the wheeled stretcher looked out of breath and was panting for help for her and her unborn baby tearfully. She looked very distressed and frightened. Three other workers and I are pushing her along the long hallways. It felt like forever, almost as if time was frozen and everything was moving in slow motion.

“Information on the patient?” I questioned.

“Her name is Nicole. She is of Afro-British descent, 24 years old, 5 foot nine, weighs 127. She is eight months pregnant. Her due date is supposed to be Aug. 12 and her heart rate, as of right now, is 55.”

“Okay, code OB, let’s get her to her room quickly,” I panicked.

We finally get inside the delivery room and I get her on maternalfetal medicine and get her under monitoring.

“All right, Nicole, I need you to try to keep calm and focus on your breathing while I go and get the tools needed to move on with your delivery,” I uttered.

“Can I please get some water and I’m having some major back pain.”

“Would you like some epidural?” I questioned. Barely conscious, Nicole responds yes.

As I walked out of the room I ordered one of the other workers who was helping me with Nicole to go and give Nicole her requested epidural to help reduce the discomfort in her back . . .

“John, go and access our patient and treat her with some epidural,” I ordered.

“Ok, I’m on it, Marie. ”

Six minutes passed, and I’m back with Nicole who still looks like she is in excruciating pain.

“Did someone not come in and give you treatment?”

Nicole shakes her head from left to right.

“Excuse me, please,” I responded.

I jet to the hallway where John is enjoying a cup of coffee. I smack him with the clipboard in my hand, then jet back to Nicole to treat her properly. I come back and Nicole’s heart rate has dropped down by 10 due to such low heart following protocol Nicole must start pushing out this baby or we lose them both. Time is ticking.

“Hey, baby, Nicole I’m going to need you to start pushing.”

“What? No, it’s too early,” she said in panic.

“Okay, I understand that you’re scared but I will take every step with you now. When I count to three I will instruct you to push.”

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Push!”

“ARghH.”

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Push.”

“One more time.”

“Oh, my back, I can’t do this. I can’t breathe and my chest is tight.”

“Am I going to make it?”

“Yes, Nicole,” I say, so as not to worry Nicole.

I started to panic when I noticed that the baby’s heart rate was

very faint while Nicole’s heart rate was now drastically dropping.

“I’m losing her!” I screamed “Nicole, please keep your eyes open and keep responding to me.”

Nicole is showing signs of a heart attack . . .

“Help! I need help in room 276,” I wailed. Not a single soul came running through the door of this room.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Was the tune coming from the monitor after losing both Nicole and unborn baby girl Niccolette?

Tears roll down my eye and then glide downward towards my now-blushed cheeks. I remember I’m still at work and so, even though I’m distraught from not being able to save the day today, I have to do the next steps of protocol after losing a patient.

“Transfer Nicole to the morgue unit please doctor Faith, thank you.”

Back at the morgue

It’s so sad to see other women down here. You’d think that working in a hospital you’d see more lives saved than lost. Her name was Nicole, she had a whole life with her unborn child to live. Died from heart failure during premature labor.

Prepping the body for the autopsy a man walks in in tears, I already knew he was here to say goodbye to Nicole. Surprisingly I didn’t think anyone would let him down here so soon.

“Hello, I’m Lea the mortician at this hospital. I’m so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can help you with, let me know.”

I said my piece and stood quietly, waiting to see what he’d say. Just a whisper from him he spoke, “She was my world, and our little girl went just like that.”

“Yes, this is tragic and life is very spontaneous; you never know when it’ll just take you away. They are both in a better place.”

As I spoke, his tears became heavier and his breathing louder.

“They are not gone, I swear, just sleeping.”

He giggled in between breaths. “How could this happen, how could I not get a chance to say goodbye?”

“Well if you need a moment I’ll give it to you.”

I walked out to give him a moment of privacy. About 15 minutes later he came out, tears wiped and he was smiling. He said, “Thank you,” and walked away.

I returned to the room, unsettled and disappointed to see Nicole lifeless on my table. But all the more reason for me to get back to work. I don’t know what came over me while analyzing her. She looked so alive still. I couldn’t help but to grin at her too. I walked to my desk and opened the top drawer and picked up a feather from medical school. This feather was used to help people cope with the death of their lost ones, helping them to realize they are gone. They’ve moved on and such. I have the urge to use it. I tickled Nicole’s nose and her ears and she remained still. I tickled her feet and the side of her arm too; still nothing. I tickled her belly last to give this baby some attention too. I felt strange, so I stopped. She was so peaceful. I decided to pack it up early today. So I put the feather back on my desk, collected the last of my notes and headed out the door to meet Marie upstairs. I know my friend must be taking this one hard. I know how much she cares.

On my way out the door I took one last look at Nicole before shutting off the lights. Walking down the barley-lit halls I heard giggles of a child and footsteps of an adult. No one but me is ever in the morgue. Instantly I knew the tickle test worked again. Both Nicole and her baby woke up long enough to follow the light. I smiled down the hall, knowing that the man must have said all the right things to comfort them as well.