Outsiders Interracial Imagines

Recovery Pt.1 - Sodapop

"He's not from around here. I think that's why he's so unresponsive."

"No. He's responsive; just doesn't talk much."

"Well, he sure is a looker."

"Kelly."

You gaze curiously at the young man your fellow nurses are talking about. He's got a bed near the small window, and his head is turned to face it.

Their observations are true: he doesn't talk much. But, knowing what he must have gone through in Vietnam you can't blame him for declining to speak.

Taking your eyes off him, you go back to finishing your charts. The others keep on talking; you were never a part of the conversation, really.

It's been like this for a while. You got stationed at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center three months ago. You're not the first black nurse to arrive, but you're still not one of many. You spend most of your long shifts alone, to say the least. Somehow, despite the fact that you are all here to save and maintain lives, the us against them mentality still lingers.

"Hey, Sweetness," someone says lowly, their hot breath so close that it tickles your ear.

Your body tenses, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You had moved on to checking inventory, and, upon hearing the voice, you drop the gauze in your hand.

Their cold hand finds your shoulder, and they begin to massage it gently. Your breath hitches.

But you don't say anything. This is your boss.

"Dr. Smith..." you manage to twist away from his grasp and turn to face him. He looks at you slyly, expectantly, and you scramble to find an excuse. "...I have to go check vitals," you mumble.

Stumbling out of the supply closet, you remove the stethoscope from your neck, and make your way to the nearest patient. The other nurses have gone- either to the break room to gossip or to other patients down the hall- and your heartbeat quickens from the thought of what would have happened if they were there.

As you're waking up a patient to check his vitals, you feel the breath on your ear, and tense up again. "Come find me during your break. You can't stay in here forever."

You feel him leave and you close your eyes. You don't want to keep doing this, to keep working like this. But you have to. You can't just pass up on an amazing opportunity at this prestigious hospital.

You eventually make your way through all your patients. Most are cranky and annoyed by the fact that you have to wake them up. Except for the last one, the young man by the window.

He's already awake when you get to his bed. He cooperates with you, sitting up as you check his breathing, and letting you check his pulse.

You examine his charts for his name. "How are you feeling...Mr. Curtis?" You squint, looking for his rank. "Excuse me: Lieutenant Curtis."

Your voice waivers a bit, still being shaken by the encounter with Dr. Smith, and you clear your throat to compose yourself. You can't tell if Lieutenant Curtis picks up on this or not. His eyes focus on you, but his face remains expressionless. He shrugs.

"Any pain?" you ask.

The look on his face hardens, fleetingly, before becoming blank again. "Always."

His answer takes you slightly aback.

"Well, it says here you received your dose for the period, but depending on how bad the pain is I can-"

"I want to get up. Sit by the window." Lieutenant Curtis no longer looks at you, but is gazing out the window once again.

You read his chart just moments ago. His condition makes you wary of permitting him to get up. But he looks at you again, eyes determined.

"There's...not much to see, Lieutenant," you stall.

"I want to get up."

"I don't think that that's a good idea for you right now..."

"I'm getting up."

"Lieutenant," you warn, edging closer to the other side of the bed, where the window is.

He throws back the covers, moving to swing himself out. You rush to his side, taking him up in your arms as the inevitable happens: he starts to fall.

"Perk of only having one leg, huh?"

His body is slumped into yours, and he adjusts himself to look you in the eye. He actually smiles, contrasting his usual blank expression. It's sheepish, but ultimately bitter at his failed attempt to stand.

You support him by his torso, and he holds onto you by your upper arms. "C'mon, let's get back in bed then," you urge. The bandaged stump, where his left leg should be, hangs off of the edge, and you begin to scoot it back on for him, ushering him back in the hospital bed.

"Nah, I wanna try again."

You sigh, becoming slightly frustrated at his indignation and stubbornness. "I can't let you do that. Not right now at least."

"Listen to the nice broad, Curtis," another soldier calls from a bed down the line.

"Go back to sleep, Reg," he calls back.

"Whatever, Pepsi-Cola."

A pained look passes over the lieutenant's face, briefly, whatever playfulness that had been there fading. He's distracted, and you take the opportunity to get his lower body back in the blankets.

"Are you in pain?" you ask, again.

"No," he deadpans. "It's just..." he pauses, "...nothing."

"Alright...If you don't need anything else, I'll be on my way." You glance at the door that leads to the hall, dreading what incident may be waiting for you on the outside.

You turn to go, but the young man grips your arm. "Wait," he whispers.

"Is something wrong?"

He beckons you closer with one hand, and you bend down to be level with him.

"See Lieutenant Jacobs over there?" He points to a man across the way, in the opposite line of beds. "They're gonna prep him for surgery in a few minutes...with Dr. Smith."

You pause for a second too long before responding. The fact that he is relaying this information to you leaves you in shock. "I'm...sure you're right. Dr. Smith is here to perform surger-"

"I know what happened."

This too shocks you and you find yourself moving your mouth aimlessly. You stand up to full height, trying to hide your surprise and underlying relief.

"Just wait five minutes," he mumbles.

You nod and mutter back, "Thank you."