loaded Jaime, still unconscious, into the ambulance, with me following. Inside, the EMTs began drilling me with questions about Jaime.
“Age?” they asked.
“Twenty-seven,” I replied, grabbing his hand. It was hot and sticky to my touch.
“Does he have any medical conditions?”
“No,” I said, stroking his hand, “Oh, wait, yes. He has a weak left shoulder.” The EMTs looked at me. The older one furrowed his brow.
“Any allergies?” the older EMT asked, and I felt my stomach fall through my body, straight to the ground. The world had temporarily stopped, yet I could feel the room inside the tiny ambulance spin. When it stopped spinning, I had two very concerned EMTs still staring at me. “Any allergies?” the older one asked again.
“Yes,” I said. “Nuts.”
The EMTs didn’t say a word, rather looked at my face and then looked down at my left hand, still clutching the bag of cashews and bottle of water.
“I didn’t give him any nuts,” I said, feeling my face heat up. The younger EMT reached back into the supply drawer and took out a needle. “But I did kiss him. He couldn’t possibly have had an allergic reaction from my eating nuts and then kissing him.” The older EMT rolled up Jaime’s sleeve while the younger one flicked the needle twice. “Could he?” He drew down the needle—hard—and Jaime woke up with a start. His body lurched forward as the older EMT helped him sit up and then lay back down.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re going to be all right, honey,” I said.
“You lost consciousness,” the older EMT told him. “We’re just going to take you to the hospital for observation.”
Moments later the EMTs were lowering Jaime’s gurney onto the ground and into the emergency room doors. I ran alongside them, holding Jaime’s hand as we entered the hospital.
“What relationship are you to the patient?” a hospital employee asked me, furiously scribbling on his clipboard as we wheeled Jaime toward an empty bed in the emergency room.
“I’m his fiancée,” I lied. I was afraid that only family was allowed to be in the emergency room with patients, and I didn’t want to leave Jaime alone. Jaime pretended not to hear, the way any single man in his late twenties pretends not to hear when his girlfriend mentions marriage and/or engagement. The attending physician came in to examine Jaime and a nurse showed me to an area where I could sit down. A sign above me indicated that cell phone use was not allowed in the hospital and I reached into my bag to turn mine off.
“Excuse me, miss, do you know a Priya St. John?” a different nurse asked me. I ran out to the reception area and threw my arms around my friend Priya.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked me. “Donnie in the mail room saw the whole thing and now the entire firm is talking about it.”
“You know how Jaime’s allergic to nuts?” I said, and Priya nodded her head. Anyone who had ever been out to dinner with Jaime and me knew that he was allergic to nuts. Anyone who had ever sat at a table next to Jaime and me at dinner knew that he was allergic to nuts. I showed her the bag of nuts, still curled up in my hand.
“You are not having a very good day,” she said, grabbing them and throwing them in the nearest garbage. She’s a good lawyer, I thought. Getting rid of the evidence.
As I shook my head, looking for further sympathy from Priya, I felt a presence behind me, a set of angry eyes on my back. I turned around to find Jaime’s mother, Celia, staring me down.
“Wot deed you do to my son?” she asked me in her thick Cuban accent, still shooting a deadly stare my way. She always looked at me with hatred, as if I had been personally responsible for the Bay of Pigs invasion.
“Jaime’s back here,” I said, bringing her back to Jaime’s bed. Priya wisely stayed behind. Most of my friends were mortally afraid of Celia. The smart ones, anyway.
“Ay, dios mio!” she called
“Age?” they asked.
“Twenty-seven,” I replied, grabbing his hand. It was hot and sticky to my touch.
“Does he have any medical conditions?”
“No,” I said, stroking his hand, “Oh, wait, yes. He has a weak left shoulder.” The EMTs looked at me. The older one furrowed his brow.
“Any allergies?” the older EMT asked, and I felt my stomach fall through my body, straight to the ground. The world had temporarily stopped, yet I could feel the room inside the tiny ambulance spin. When it stopped spinning, I had two very concerned EMTs still staring at me. “Any allergies?” the older one asked again.
“Yes,” I said. “Nuts.”
The EMTs didn’t say a word, rather looked at my face and then looked down at my left hand, still clutching the bag of cashews and bottle of water.
“I didn’t give him any nuts,” I said, feeling my face heat up. The younger EMT reached back into the supply drawer and took out a needle. “But I did kiss him. He couldn’t possibly have had an allergic reaction from my eating nuts and then kissing him.” The older EMT rolled up Jaime’s sleeve while the younger one flicked the needle twice. “Could he?” He drew down the needle—hard—and Jaime woke up with a start. His body lurched forward as the older EMT helped him sit up and then lay back down.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re going to be all right, honey,” I said.
“You lost consciousness,” the older EMT told him. “We’re just going to take you to the hospital for observation.”
Moments later the EMTs were lowering Jaime’s gurney onto the ground and into the emergency room doors. I ran alongside them, holding Jaime’s hand as we entered the hospital.
“What relationship are you to the patient?” a hospital employee asked me, furiously scribbling on his clipboard as we wheeled Jaime toward an empty bed in the emergency room.
“I’m his fiancée,” I lied. I was afraid that only family was allowed to be in the emergency room with patients, and I didn’t want to leave Jaime alone. Jaime pretended not to hear, the way any single man in his late twenties pretends not to hear when his girlfriend mentions marriage and/or engagement. The attending physician came in to examine Jaime and a nurse showed me to an area where I could sit down. A sign above me indicated that cell phone use was not allowed in the hospital and I reached into my bag to turn mine off.
“Excuse me, miss, do you know a Priya St. John?” a different nurse asked me. I ran out to the reception area and threw my arms around my friend Priya.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked me. “Donnie in the mail room saw the whole thing and now the entire firm is talking about it.”
“You know how Jaime’s allergic to nuts?” I said, and Priya nodded her head. Anyone who had ever been out to dinner with Jaime and me knew that he was allergic to nuts. Anyone who had ever sat at a table next to Jaime and me at dinner knew that he was allergic to nuts. I showed her the bag of nuts, still curled up in my hand.
“You are not having a very good day,” she said, grabbing them and throwing them in the nearest garbage. She’s a good lawyer, I thought. Getting rid of the evidence.
As I shook my head, looking for further sympathy from Priya, I felt a presence behind me, a set of angry eyes on my back. I turned around to find Jaime’s mother, Celia, staring me down.
“Wot deed you do to my son?” she asked me in her thick Cuban accent, still shooting a deadly stare my way. She always looked at me with hatred, as if I had been personally responsible for the Bay of Pigs invasion.
“Jaime’s back here,” I said, bringing her back to Jaime’s bed. Priya wisely stayed behind. Most of my friends were mortally afraid of Celia. The smart ones, anyway.
“Ay, dios mio!” she called
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