FIVE
May 13th, 2015
The boy hasn't left my side yet.
Yet.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he wants to befriend me.
But I do know better.
"Good morning, Sunshine."
"You must be that creep who calls girls 'Sunshine' randomly. I hate to break it to you, but it's just weird in real life."
"What do you expect me to call you, then? Girl?"
Giving him a thumbs-up, I shrug, sniffling. Runny noses drive me nuts. I swipe the back of my hand against my nose so he won't see snot dribbling down my nose.
"Oh my God, Girl, your nose is bleeding!" he shoots out of Olivia's Chair, alarmed.
My finger shoots to my lips and I lift the top of my hospital gown to wipe it off. He looks like he's about to be sick, planting his butt back in the plastic chair.
"Olivia," I mouth in warning. When he gives me a blank look, I scribble her name down on my notepad.
"Olivia? Who's Olivia?"
"The nurse," I write, and he snickers.
"You know her name isn't Olivia, right? Why do you call her that?"
I shrug, and lean back into my pillows, my head throbbing. His slightly hyperactive personality does not help.
And it is kind of annoying.
My silence doesn't discourage him. In fact, it seems to make him try even harder, so I really don't know what to do.
Pattering footsteps make themselves heard, and the boy looks like he's having a fit.
"What happened?" I'm about to write, when I'm interrupted by the one and only.
"What are you doing in here, boy? Didn't you leave yesterday?" Olivia shrieks. He laughs nervously, saluting her and casually walking to the door.
"Small devil boys," Olivia mutters and takes my temperature, checks some monitors, and writes some more in her clipboard. "The doctor will see you soon."
*
I'm guessing Olivia has taken a liking to this strange dude, because he's by my side when I wake up.
Again. As in, the sixth day in a row. I'm beginning to think he's a psychologist in disguise, which is the only explanation that I can come up with. Or he just really, really, likes annoying me.
Monday, he jabbered on endlessly about his favorite bands, and asked me about mine.
I didn't answer, of course.
Tuesday, he made some really lame puns that I fought really hard not to laugh at. Olivia leaned against the doorframe halfway through that, sighing about her lost youth or whatever it is that adults sigh about.
Wednesday, I began to give up hope, realizing that the dude was proving to be beyond difficult to get rid of. Still, I continued to respond with silence, in hopes of discouraging him.
Thursday, which was probably the worst one out of them all, he brought along a guitar with him and sang me a song, which he'd apparently written just for me. It resembled a donkey yodeling.
And Olivia thought that too, because she politely came in and told him to leave because he was disturbing the patients on the upper floors.
Friday - that's today- he admits that that was the first time he'd ever played a guitar.
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