On the Inside

4. The Salehs

How one date with Darlene turned into eight was still something I didn't quite understand. Yet, somehow every Friday for the last 2 months I had shown up to her apartment and she had opened the door with a smile on her face and a picnic basket in hand. Though if you asked me about the movies themselves, maybe be I'd be able to tell you their titles, but nothing more. 

For in the enchanting moments I spent with her, I found myself completely immersed, too captivated to be bothered by anything else. Every second possessed its own magic, and I made a conscious effort to etch each one into my memory. Till I became an ardent collector of the subtleties - her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled, the cadence of her voice - all woven together to form a vivid mosaic of the best moments of my life.

All, because in my heart I knew it wouldn't last. 

It couldn't, right? 

She just needed a companion to watch those movies with. She had once said that after high school she never really made friends. She was too busy trying to get ahead of everyone else, something she had to do given where she came from. To be leaps and bounds ahead of her peers just to get a shot at being treated as an equal. 

On the day of the last movie for the season, I walked her home as usual. When she turned on her steps, I knew for sure that I was just a stand-in friend.

"Thanks Deion. Its been fun," she said. For a moment her lips parted like she was going to say something but stopped herself. Instead, she politely smiled and simply uttered. "Good night."

"Good night, Darlene," I simply replied and turned away before she could notice the dejection on my face.  

Though, that night I slept a pained but satisfied man. I had eight whole dates with her. Maybe they weren't even dates, just meet-ups. But whatever they were, they far more than I could ever have asked for - or deserved. 

After all, I was Deion Anderson, the janitor, and she was Darlene Smith, the lawyer.

******

I worked in a 20 story tall building. The first few floors were administrative offices, the next couple were the Operating Theatres. Then came the pediatric floors with their colorful murals and bright furnishings, and finally there were the adult floors with their white sterile walls and grey tiled flooring. 

The 18th floor was where I was assigned today. Most of the patients whose room I entered were either asleep or barely glanced at me. Did I feel invisible sometimes in these rooms? Of course I did. But I had a job to do, and honestly, being ignored was better than being cussed at. 

So as usual I kept my head down and checked off the tasks on my list as I went through the day. That is, till I entered room 1835. The patient in that room was a recent admit. I knew that because I had just deep cleaned the room that morning when the last patient was discharged. 

"Hello," I nodded to the bearded man in his 30s who lay in bed, his left arm stretched out through which blood-filled tubes emerged and connected to a machine on the other end.

"I just need to take the trash out," I explained, averting my eyes from his arm. 

"Oh of course. Thank you very much," he replied politely in a slightly accented voice. 

As I was about to leave, I heard the man grunt and turned to see him trying to reach out for a bowl of water with his right hand, set on a table a couple of feet away from him. "Let me get that for you," I said quickly and walked over to hand it him.