Blood Brothers

CHAPTER 1 Saturday, 6 pm I hurry down the cold hospital corridor and barge through the automatic doors of the emergency department. My sneakers squeak on the glossy white tiles I mopped this morning and catch on the hem of my blue scrubs, pulling them below my hips. I glance around, embarrassed, pull up my pants, and tighten the drawstring around the waist. These things never seem to fit me right. I have a dull headache from the twelve-pack of beer I drank last night as I watched cars pass by on the highway. That's what passes for entertainment here in Georgia. Thankfully, I only threw up once this morning, but I haven't eaten anything all day. I adjust my stethoscope and my name tag. clay gardener. med tech i. This means I do anything I'm told to do. I'm seventeen years old, the youngest employee at the hospital. I stop at the nurses' station. Empty metal charts litter the desk. Mrs. Hunt, the nursing supervisor, is talking on the two-way radio. Five minutes ago she paged me and asked me to empty the trash in the ER. "Can you airlift the patient to the nearest trauma center, over?" she's saying. "Biggs, that's a negative. ETA in three to five minutes. Unit one, over and clear." Mrs. Hunt glances my way. "Clay, help me set up for a trauma patient." I swallow, but my mouth is still dried out from last night's beer. I hope I know what to do. "Yes, ma'am," I answer. The other employees call her Big Mama behind her back. I don't. Well, sometimes, maybe. She hired and trained me for my job here as an orderly. I get to do what nobody else wants to do. I'm the one who mops the vomit or blood off the emergency room floor or wipes sweat from the gurneys. I work all over the hospital. Most people see my job as nothing but menial labor, but Mrs. Hunt says I'm an important part of the team, and she gives me more responsibility than a lot of the other orderlies have. She says I'll make a great doctor one day. Sometimes I imagine myself as a doctor, but then I get a big lump in the back of my throat. I don't like dreaming the impossible. She's a big lady, and she's good with little kids and drunks. I've heard she deals with little kids and a drunk at home. She loves hearing about the cross-country bike trip my best friend, Joey, and I plan to take next year and my desire to go to college. But I have to win the lottery first to be able to pay tuition, and then actually get admitted somewhere. In the trauma room, Mrs. Hunt flips switches and turns dials. Sounds of bubbling, swishing, and beeping fill the air. I pull yellow plastic gowns, masks with goggles, and gloves from overhead cabinets. Mrs. Hunt connects clear blue tubing to the oxygen. "You were late again today," she says. This morning I rode my bike four miles to work with a hangover. I don't plan on ever doing that again. I place a lift sheet on the gurney. Head down, I smooth out the wrinkles. I imagine the suction machine is draining all the oxygen from the room. I force in a breath. "Yes, ma'am. It won't happen again. I promise." I glance at my watch. I get off at 7 pm. I've been here almost twelve hours, but it feels like a hundred. Mrs. Hunt unfolds a blue pad and places it at the head of the stretcher. She doesn't smile or nod. I wonder how mad she is at me for coming in late again. I get the backboard and place it on the gurney. I hear sirens blasting. The double doors of the ambulance entrance whoosh open and two EMTs slide a stretcher inside as they perform CPR. "Sixteen-year-oldHarazin, S. A. is the author of 'Blood Brothers ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780385733649 and ISBN 038573364X.