GRAVEYARD SHIFT
3:31am she appeared wearing black stretch exercise pants, knee-high red socks, a long sleeve white shirt, and an orange reflective vest. A warm muggy night, her gaunt face spooked me. She said, “I’m going for a run.”
Without thought, I blurted, “You need to go to the hospital. You need food, not exercise.”
“OK,” she said quietly.
I was the night security guard at the red brick condo building. It was a braid factory in another life, making rope and parachute line for the U.S. Government. I wondered if the residents could hear the old factory machines or the voices of the long-dead workers in the quiet of the night. You couldn’t get in or out without me. Most emergencies I called 9-1-1, but in this condition, I thought she’d run away. I had never seen her before, but there are many I never see doing 11pm to 7am. “Do you live here?” I asked.
“I am staying with mother, but she left for a few days or weeks.” Her affect was, as they say, flat. I decided to take her to the hospital, leave a note, and suffer the consequences if someone complained.
“You are going to need a wallet—ID and health insurance card. Do you have a key?”
“No, Mom said, don’t carry it; security could unlock doors.”
I waited outside the apartment while she got her stuff. She came out with a purse and a water bottle.
Downstairs, I put up a sign: Back in 15 mins, but changed the 15 to 25.
Thinking: La Llorona, a Latin American folktale. The woman wanders the night with a cape covering her face. If someone sees her skeleton face, they die of shock.
Thinking: I need to find something to talk about on our ride to the hospital. I asked, “Where do you live?”
“Cincinnati, where I went to school.” She said.
“What did you study?”
“Psychology and art history.”
“Could you find work with that background?”
“I did, in an art gallery.”
“Did you like it?”
“Very much. I hope to return soon.” Then there was silence.
“Do you follow sports?”
“Baseball, the Reds.”
“Who is your favorite player?”
“Joey Votto; he’s a very good hitter.”
La Llorona means The Crying Woman. Her husband leaves or dies, and she takes her children to the river and drowns them. Those folktales don’t play.
“I’m a Red Sox fan with Dustin Pedroia my favorite. Plays 100% all the time.”
I didn’t have a plan after retirement; sat around and watched TV. I stopped doing things I loved like reading and walking. Became difficult just to have everyday interaction with people. I wanted to take the clicker to situations I wanted to end. A friend got me this job to get me back into the world. The graveyard shift saved my life.
I stopped in the ER circular, and walked her in. The head nurse said, “Hello Emily, not doing too well, huh?” And then to me, “Thank you.” Emily seemed pleased with the greeting. I mumbled good luck because I didn’t know what to say. Just say something I told myself.
Back in the car, I turned on sports radio. At second base Dustin Pedroia jumps in the air every time a pitch is thrown. It is more than reaction; you must move your body. No, that’s not it. It is not just doing something; it’s keeping your eye on the ball.
On came a commercial, so I pushed a button for another station. A man’s voice said, “I liked her but she was not my type.” Then a woman: “Were you attracted to her?” I said back to the radio, “We talked in a real way, like regular people do. It wasn’t special but it was to me. Attracted, yah, but not in that way. But in the way where you are attracted to the beautiful and broken at the same time.”
On stormy nights when the wind is howling, parents say to children: That’s La Llorona. Go to sleep or La Llorona is going to get you. When La Llorona gets you….
Not a believer, I said a prayer anyway for Emily and for anyone out there wandering, who has lost their way.