Sack of Meat
by Paula Bomer
The Nurse left work at five o'clock, walking down Dekalb Avenue toward Flatbush. He didn't frequent the bar closest to the hospital, although he guessed other nurses and doctors from Brooklyn Hospital did. He liked to pretend that he cared about his reputation, or pretend that he had a good one. He was still in his blue scrubs, still wearing his crocks. He hadn't shaved that morning; his hands had been too shakey. That had made things at work sort of interesting, but not for the first time. He got a few more “that hurts!” than some days, from yanking on a tube awkwardly, or moving the needle too much while giving a shot. He thought about the time the anesthesiologist, reeking of booze, confided in him, saying, “today is a really bad day to have surgery.” He lit a cigarette and bumped into someone. He was going to say sorry or excuse me, but he got a dirty look, so fuck it.
Aaah, his bar. A seedy little place off the Fulton Mall, with a warped pool table and low level Mexican coke dealers. He drank a double bourbon neat and ordered another one. After two more, he was feeling better. He went out to smoke.
“Got a light?” How ugly was she? That was his first thought. His second thought was, is she on crack? Man, words came pouring out of her skinny self. He half tried to follow them. And at the end of his cigarette, he started to try to get some words in himself. It half worked. They threw their cigarettes into the street and went back in, sitting next to each other. He bought her a drink. Shit, he made a hundred grand a year, he always bought the drinks. After another double, he thought she was pretty. Warm seeming. Maybe her eyeliner was halfway down her face, but she had something. She did. And best of all, he hadn't seen her before.
They went out for another cigarette.
“Are you a doctor? You look like a doctor.”
“Yeah, I'm a doctor.”
Two blocks away, at the ten dollar an hour hotel, she bent over the bed, still talking. She'd argued for twenty-five, seeing as how he was a doctor, but he got her down to ten. Shit, he bought her three drinks. That was twenty-five right there. And then, there it went, all of the warmth he thought she had, and all the nice feelings he had felt- he had, hadn't he?- went out the ash black window of the room, out the window and onto Livingston Street. Fuck her, he thought. Fuck her for arguing for more money. Fuck her for smelling bad. Fuck her. And then he thought, should I do it? Should I do it? People die all the time. He knew that. Hell, two people died at work today. What was a life? A sack of meat.
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Author's Note
I wrote this for the Nurse group.
Other stories by Paula Bomer
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The Nurse Left Work at Five O'Clock
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My word doc word count said 500?
Word counts are off, yes. One of the things on Carson's list is a better text editor.
This is great fun. More nurse stories. NPR has no idea what they started :)
Thanks, John for clarifying. I'm new and didn't want to break the rules! haha.
Maybe her eyeliner was halfway down her face, but she had something.
Wow, that was a funny line. Maybe I should say killer line.
Wow, you EARNED that ending, built up to it so nicely, yet I didn't see it coming the first time around. I felt like yelling at the narrator there not to do it.
Way to go. Ha, fuck her for smelling bad and arguing about money. Way to ratchet things up! Was that a subtle enough shout to the real Nurse R?
David, thanks for reading my story. I was just excited to make my nurse a man. Also, that line from the anesthesiologist? that's from a real one. Those two things- the man, the real quote- drove the story for me.
Paula, I can see how those two things drove the story. Very cool. In college I lived near a 320-pound offensive lineman. He was in the nursing program. Some of the other players gave him shit, but he was serious as hell about becoming a nurse. I like how you handle the gender/nurse thing straightforwardly. Very cool and should set your story apart from most (all?) of the others. If I hear one more Nurse Focker joke I'll get really mad and throw a book across the room.
It is always fascinating to me how gendered certain words are. I always expect a nurse to be a woman, so right from the start, I really wanted to read this. I like this story. I like that the narrator is largely irredeemable and repulsive. I like that you don't flinch from that. If anything, I'd suggest eliminating some of the conversational words he's thinking. I think they distract from an otherwise very tight, killer story.
Roxane, thanks so much for the editorial advice and for taking a look at this one.
very cool.
it's funny, i think normally i would automatically think a nurse would be a woman, too (gawd, i hate how our brains are sometimes unwillingly submerged with stereotypes) but i didn't in this case and i don't know why? maybe the title Sack of Meat put me in a male state of mind?
haha, yeah, sack of meat is not very feminine. I loved Roxane's editorial advice and plan on doing a revision-I think I want to lengthen it a bit and - cut the first line!!! I often cut the first line.
i can't wait to see whatever it becomes!
re: cutting the first line, i think that happens a lot with these kinds of prompts (at least for me). i also find myself moving the first paragraph deeper into stories sometimes... a weird quirk in how my brain works or something.
"A sack of meat"-- killer last line. Great atmosphere, great progression, handled with such finessed that I was surprised, and yet not, by the guy's murdery hints at the end.
I apologize for saying "finessed" instead of "finesse." Also, I wanted to mention that I think the shoes are spelled "crocs," not "crocks."
thanks for the spelling catch! I'm planning on a revise soon- and thanks for reading it and saying nice things- really appreciated.
Nurses make $100k/year? Tell ya, I'm in the wrong biz. :) Great, great short, Paula!