A gentle breeze travels down the extensive hallway, as a flood of noise creeps between each corridor. The unpleasant stench of an infirmary passes through the air, although it begins to feel as though there is not much air left to breathe. Staff members push carts of supplies through the somewhat serene first floor of the building. Medical students and interns move empty wheelchairs and gurneys with slight enthusiasm. The unanswered telephones regularly ring from the front desk, while the names of wanted physician echo from the loudspeakers. The occasional cough or sneeze soon becomes too mundane to take notice.Normally as congested as the streets of New York, Roosevelt Hospital is not the most common place for eager tourists to encounter, let alone familiar residents to visit. However, this being an exceptionally miserable night, anything seems possible. It has to be raining, of course. In reality, it is more of a scattered drizzle. This unusually bitter weather creates an unpleasant atmosphere for a mid-October evening. As late as it is, most of the hospital has decided to pack it in for the remainder of the day, a remainder of less than an hour until midnight.
Samantha Lee, as bright of an individual as she is, finds herself in a particularly gloomy mood. Barely twenty years old, this profound young girl is often found sauntering the walkways. It is not that she receives any medical attention, but rather she spends much of her time visiting a dear friend. Many envy their lifelong relationship and become inspired by it. Not even money or drugs could separate them on an intellectual level. Unfortunately, as clean as Samantha has been, she is well aware that not even a bond as strong as theirs can fix their problems right now.
She forces herself to continue dragging her aching feet. Staring at the ground, she hears the noisy padding of each step. Every pace seems to require more energy than the last. An overwhelming sense of fatigue begins to set in. It becomes more difficult to focus, as her vision is beginning to blur. She is well aware of how miserable she looks, but ultimately had no energy to bother or care. She feels the front of her head throbbing with a great deal of pain. As the sound increases, she is convinced that her eardrums eventually explode.
Once reaching the elevators, a fairly large group is already waiting in a semi-line formation. She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh of frustration. It is certainly not her intention to come back. Having spent most of her day here already, she drudgingly decides to return only to retrieve her camera. The sooner she finds her friend’s room where she left it, the sooner she plans to leave for good. She knows there is nothing she can do to shorten the line in front of her, but realizes that the small amount of patience she has left is running dry.
Her eyes stay completely glued to the floor. She has no desire whatsoever to give the people near her a friendly greeting or even a smile, which is extremely out of character for her. Her only desire is to get home as quickly as possible and try to forget that this day even happened. The irritatingly loud squeals of children pinch her ears, adding to her headache. She bites her tongue to say something to the parents standing right next to them, doing nothing to settle them down. She begins to question whether the camera was even worth coming back for.
The elevator rings; she takes in a deep breath. The size of the crowd is obviously too large for everyone to fit. Samantha was never one for small areas, tending to feel claustrophobic in even an airline bathroom. The group manages to tightly squeeze in, looking awfully uncomfortable to her. It briefly crosses her mind that they may possibly be related to one another. Feeling a bit of relief, she unfolds her arms and manages to crack a smile.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” she explains. “I can catch the next one.”
With that, the doors shut and she is the only one left standing. Samantha glances at her rugged shirt and filthy pants. She realizes, with very little interest, how filthy she must be. She ponders the events of her day and reaches the conclusion that today could not have been any worse. In the history of bad days, she believes that she may have just experienced the pits. Just thinking about it sends too many negative messages. Several moments pass, which seem like eternity. The light above the elevator illuminates and dings rather faintly. Just as the doors open, she suddenly feels a strong presence hurriedly brush past her. She takes a glimpse of a man in dark clothing, clenching her teeth. She brushes it off and follows directly behind him.
As the elevator doors close, she notes that the button to the fourth floor is already lit. She thinks for a moment, trying to remember the floor to the patient’s room. Her fingers wonder aimlessly, though she knows it will not come to her. On impulse, she decides to press for the sixth floor. With her distraction, the unsteady ride begins.
Samantha takes almost no note to the tall man, who is situated in the right hand corner. As he leans against the wall, she senses a slightly positive attribute in the room. However, it soon fades once she feels the wave of heat enter the tiny cubicle.
An abrupt jolt of pressure causes the entire elevator to tremble, as a deafening sound of rattling follows. The lights begin to flicker, causing total darkness for a brief moment. She can feel as though it begins to move much slower and is becoming more rickety. She unexpectedly remembers why she hates long car rides. The fact that she has a difficult time keeping herself from being motion sick is inevitable right now.
The man mumbles several curse words under his breath, his voice sounding strangely memorable. Her breathing is so loud; she can hear it bouncing off the walls. Samantha turns her head to find perhaps the most shocking image of her entire life: John Lennon is standing right next to her. Her heartbeat increases and her sweating palms become just as unsteady as the ride itself. Surprisingly, she finds that even celebrities are like ordinary people.
The elevator finally comes to a full stop. Her head becomes dizzy and extremely light. Not only does she feel sick to her stomach, but she begins to wonder if she will be able to stand. Her eyesight becomes cloudy and dim. She feels herself tip over slightly. "Whoa, there…” he calls out. She stops completely in her tracks, as a sudden awareness flows through her mind. “Ey, are ye all––?”
“Mmhmm," she interrupts. With her eyes tightly shut, she slowly places her hand onto the bar for support. "We...well, I think I am anyway.”
‘My God,’ she thinks to herself. ‘That’s John Lennon…I’m going to die on this elevator with a Beatle.’ In attempt to calm herself, she swallows hard. Her breathing is arid and heavy, her heart still fast and loud.
“Ye sure?” he asks. She suddenly looks up. His expression is filled with concern, possibly even fear. A face that she has recognized all of her life, through magazines, television, and record sleeves, is staring right back at her. The only thing she finds herself able to do is nod, completely befuddled, as her skin becomes even paler.
He lazily takes his hat off and shakes it out a bit. Samantha tries to collect her thoughts. The realization that she is now stuck on an elevator has barely passed through her mind yet. She studies his face carefully. He stands there, looking into space. She is surprised to notice how lifelike he is in person, although how different he looks from everything else. It is as if he is stepping out of time and taking a break from reality. She knows that she sure has.
"I'm sorry,” her voice cracks. “It's just that hospitals sometimes get to me, you know?"
“Ah, yes,” he grins sympathetically, gradually finding himself a comfortable position on the floor, Samantha soon joining him. The worry immediately leaves his face, as he leans his back contentedly. “I know what ya mean all right.”
He reaches into his back of his jacket and swiftly pulls out of his pocket a crumpled pack of cigarettes, more than half of them missing. Also in his hand is a dark, rusted lighter. He fumbles with it for several moments, as he searches for something to substitute as an ashtray.
“I find meself ‘avin’ the same problem,” he tells her, seemingly distracted.
Before she even notices that the cigarette is in his mouth, it is already lit. He holds it steadily between two fingers, breathing it in deeply. He closes his eyes and lifts his head towards the ceiling to allow the exhaled smoke to float upward. His facial expression begins to change. A sense of relaxation is beginning to set in. The aroma of nicotine fills the atmosphere and the sight of smoke circulates through the minuscule room. It sure beats having the smell of a hospital, she thinks to herself, aware that both are common odors for her.
“Well, gurrl,” he turns toward her. “Looks like we may be stuck ‘ere for awhile.”
“Looks like it,” she softly replies.
Just as he is going to put the pack away, he suddenly motions it towards her.
“Ciggie?” he offers.
She shakes her head nonchalantly, realizing her stomach is feeling too unsettled for a smoke. Rarely does she refuse a cigarette. Tonight, however, she figures that she ought to focus on what is right in front her for the time being. This is surely more than enough for a person to take in for one day. Shrugging, he simply places them back in his pocket.
Sam watches as he takes another drag, mesmerized by his presence. The overwhelming sensation is not nearly as strong as she first felt. She knows that it will eventually pass with a matter of time. The feeling of disbelief and insecurity is beginning to creep in. He continues to enjoy his cigarette, as his eyes stare aimlessly towards the floor. His appearance seems more human to her than before and she feels much more accepting to the situation.
She fears the likelihood that a man such as he keeps more than just a pack of cigarettes on him. Although she does not recall detecting anything suspicious as of yet, she hopes that this will not be the time or place for him to experiment with any other substances. This is the sort of thing that she was primarily here for. And she herself would not have any of it.
“I’m ‘ere to visit me famous wife,” he suddenly says. “She’s givin’ birth to our mop-top son,” he chuckles. “Women can take all that the pain, I suppose,” he pauses, amused by his own wittiness. He looks directly towards her with a degree of inquisitiveness. “Why ye ‘ere? Ye visitin’ as well?”
Samantha hesitates at first, completely baffled at the fact that he would possibly care enough to ask her such a thing. She is pleased, but wavers to answer him. “I, er…” she stammers, but quickly changes the subject. “Oh, so you know it’s a boy then?” she asks, praying that he forgets his original question.
“Nah, I dunno. They never do tell ya, do they? Doctors…no, see, I don’t need no doctor to tell me anythin’ about me own flesh and blood. They can’t tell ye how to love yer child or how to raise ‘em proper,” he says. “It’s just a matter of opinion.”
Dead silence enters the air. The next several moments remain eerily still.
“A boy,” he suddenly exclaims. “It’ll be a baby boy, I know it…a beautiful boy.”
“Any names?”
“A few…none that ‘ave really stuck out yet. It’s gotta be the perfect one, y’ know?”
She nods thoughtfully. “Speakin’ of names, I didn’t catch yers.”
“It’s Samantha,” she says. “Or just Sam, is fine.”
“Ah, Sam,” he says. “Suits ya,” an immediate grin appears on his face. “Eh, yer color’s finally comin’ back, Sam.”
She sighs happily. The next few minutes are filled with silence. Both think deeply about their day and consider what is next to come. At this point, she feels much more at ease than before. She realizes that not only is this man human, but that he also suffers from everyday problems. This leaves her with a much more positive energy. Her camera is quickly forgotten. “Ye’ ain’t that talkative, are ya?” he says. ”Well, that’s all right, I guess. Actually, it’s nice, seeing as how I could use some peace and quiet. I can get meself a couple a minutes a shuteye, if ye don’t mind,” he slouches down in his position, ready to enter the dream world.
“That sounds pretty good, actually,” she tells him, feeling fatigue quickly set in. She leisurely tilts her head back and closes her eyes. She knows enough not to stare at him and respects his privacy. They each slowly drift into a soft sleep.
About twenty minutes pass until she wakes up, finding her bladder full and that her foot asleep. Not very long after this, John finds himself drifting back to reality also.
“Well, what’s the matter with ye then, gurrl?” he inquires, stretching his arms.
“Nothing…” she says. “I hafta go pee,” embarrassed, she quickly changes her mind. “And my head’s still hurting.”
“C'mon now, it can’t be that long till they get us outta here. Dun’t worry, Sam. Ye’ll be all right,” “I could go for some food.”
“Yeah,” she bites her lip nervously, staring at the floor. She never lifts her head.
“Somethin’ else bothering ye?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she says.
She takes a long glance at the man. His dark hair is pulled back tightly in a ponytail, causing his eyes to ironically resemble that of an Asian man’s. He is wearing his trademark, round shaped glasses, although slightly dark tinted. His Adam’s apple is large enough to see from across the room. She suddenly understands why he would want to retire at such a young age. Not much of a strong believer in organized religion, she begins to feel much more open about the power of other people and the existence of hope, perhaps even faith.
“Can ye believe it?” he suddenly begins. “Some nurses ‘ave been buggin’ me all day for a bloody autograph. People who work ‘ere. Can ye believe that?”
“That’s awful,” she replies.
“I know what it’s like wantin’ to meet somebody famous. But for Christ’s sake, me wife and I, we’re just normal people, too,” he shakes his head, disappointed. “And all for a lousy piece of paper with me signature.”
This sounds quite unprofessional to Samantha, seeing as how she visits this hospital nearly everyday. It is not often that celebrities walk in, nor is it often that nurses pay that much attention to a single patient at one time.
“Do ye ‘ave the time?” he asks, lighting another cigarette.
“Midnight.”
“It’s me birthday,” he proudly announces.
“Oh, happy birthday to you,” she replies, although she is well aware of his date of birth, as well as many other aspects of his life that she would never dare to share.
He nods his head with slight enthusiasm.
“How old?” she asks, appearing to be oblivious.
“Lemme see,” he ponders. “Thirty-fo…er, thirty-five, I think,” he laughs freely. “Don’t hold that against me, though. I just hate gettin’ old. Enjoy yer youth while ye can.”
“Think your son’s born, yet?”
He stares toward the ceiling. “I dunno” he says. “I sure would like to think that he and me could share the same birthday, y’ know?” He finished his cigarette and lights another one.
Another ten minutes pass, mostly in silence. Abruptly the lights begin to flicker on and off, as the sound of an engine begins.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaims softly, rising to her feet. “We’re back in business.”
The elevator begins to slowly drift upward. A sign of relief can be heard from both of them. Preparing for his quick and easy exist, he grabs his hat and stands up. It is obvious that he has worked on his routes and plans. It seems like such an unimaginable way to live to her.
“Thanks, Sam,” he tells her with sincerity. She looks at him puzzled.
“For what?” she questions.
He pauses for a moment to think and takes a breath. “For…not mentioning a part of me life that most people always harass me about. I really appreciate just ‘avin’ a good conversation with people sometimes, y’ know?”
She nods. The doors open and it is time for his final departure.
“I’ve warmed up to ye, Sam,” he admits. “Yer not so bad. Not like them.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, there,” she smiles. With that, John winks at her and is quickly off to see his wife and child. Taking one last look at him, she cannot help but wonder what his future will bring. A place like New York City is certainly not one where you encounter many friendly people. She just hopes that he will not one day find himself being too nice. ‘It could cost him his life,’ she thinks to herself, as a shiver travels down her spine.
