You're Not Asking
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Author’s Note: Written to fulfill the writers’ challenges – 5 words (face, tight, king, deathwatch, and pray) and “The Other Guys”.
“We’re going to keep Tony here overnight, Kono, just as a precaution really. It’s definitely a dislocated shoulder, but the bump on his head needs to be monitored. You or someone else can come by and pick him up in the morning.” The doctor said, glancing down at the open chart in his hands one last time before flipping it closed. He capped his pen and slipped it into the breast pocket of his crisp, white coat. “He’s one fortunate man, having a spotter there. Not everyone is so smart or as lucky, for that matter. The Pipeline is dangerous, I keep saying it, but everybody is a pro.”
“Mahalo, Doc.” Kono replied “He’s not too keen to being here, for sure. But, well, better here than down among the coral with the fishes. I’ll make sure he gets home in the morning.”
Kono shook Doctor Thompson’s hand and watched silently as the man moved into the next curtained cubicle. Running a hand over his face and up through his unruly black hair, made wild by the ocean, he breathed out a heavy sigh. After a day spent at the beach and an afternoon in the emergency room, the big Hawaiian felt drained. He stepped behind the curtain one more time to tell his surfing mate that he would be by to collect him in the morning and then made his way to the exit.
As he stepped into the weakening sunshine outside the hospital entrance he took in a lungful of fresh air and started down the steps towards his car. Nearing the parking lot he saw a petite blonde in a brilliant orange dress, with her head bowed, heading towards the doors he just exited. Something about her quick step and the way she carried her handbag in front of her stuck a familiar cord, causing him to stop and crane his neck to look around at her. The sun glinted off her golden hair as she mounted the steps. It was then he knew who it was and turning himself bodily, he hurried after her.
Kono, not allowing his eyes to adjust again to the dimmer interior of the hospital corridor, nearly missed seeing the back flap of the orange skirt turning the corner in front of him. He stepped up his pace and taking a tight corner himself, watched as the elevator door slid closed in front of him. Jabbing a meaty finger on the up-arrow button on the control panel he watched the bright red arm on the dial above the sliding doors tick off the floors as the car made its ascent. He thanked his lucky stars that this particular hospital was only four stories as he pushed through the door marked ‘stairs’.
Exiting a similar door two floors up, Kono leaned back against the light green wall next to the Kona King coffee vending machine and fought to catch his breath.
“Sir? Are you okay?” The nurse looked anxiously at the red faced man. “Do you need some assistance?”
“No, I’m – wait. Yes. Did you see a wahine in an orange dress, maybe two minutes ago or so? Blonde, white handbag?” Kono asked breathlessly. Fumbling in his pocket for his badge, only to realize that it was locked in the glove compartment of his car.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we do not divulge information about our patients or their guests. I would recom-“
“Kono?” A woman’s voice off to their right interrupted the nurses’ directive. “Why . . . I mean, what brings you here?”
“Jenny. Are you okay?” Kono stepped away from the flustered woman in front of him and stood next to the distraught looking Jenny, who had just stepped out of one of the patient rooms. “I saw you come in and thought . . .”
“You thought it might have been Steve, or Danny . . . or even Chin, maybe.” She tilted her head to the side and waited for the impulsive Hawaiian to explain himself.
“Actually. Well, you see. No. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.” He glanced over her shoulder and saw a frail man in the bed closest to the window. An oxygen mask covered much of his grey face and a small monitor next to the bed bleeped regularly. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
“That man in there is Henry Fullton, he’s . . . he’s my father. It’s . . . he’s not in the best of health, Kono.” She spoke so quietly that Kono had to lean closer to hear her. “All my life he’s been a major part of my world, taking care of me and supporting me as a child. Being my friend as an adult, after my mother . . .”
Kono studied the woman next to him as the grief seemed to etch itself deeper into her appearance. Her shoulders were sagging beneath the weight of it all, he thought sadly. Her usually smiling eyes were beginning to brim with tears. Her hands folded up under her chin, as if she were about to pray.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” He asked solemnly, reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder.
“ Oh, Kono. I . . . I couldn’t ask you t– . . .”
“You’re not asking, Jenny.” He interrupted softly, “I’m offering.”
She led the way into the sterile smelling room, where Kono dragged the two yellow plastic guest chairs closer to the bed. And for the rest of the evening Jenny regaled him with stories of her father and his many (often wild) exploits in the Navy. He only left her side once, and quite briefly at that, during their deathwatch and that was to fetch her some coffee.
“Mahalo, Doc.” Kono replied “He’s not too keen to being here, for sure. But, well, better here than down among the coral with the fishes. I’ll make sure he gets home in the morning.”
Kono shook Doctor Thompson’s hand and watched silently as the man moved into the next curtained cubicle. Running a hand over his face and up through his unruly black hair, made wild by the ocean, he breathed out a heavy sigh. After a day spent at the beach and an afternoon in the emergency room, the big Hawaiian felt drained. He stepped behind the curtain one more time to tell his surfing mate that he would be by to collect him in the morning and then made his way to the exit.
As he stepped into the weakening sunshine outside the hospital entrance he took in a lungful of fresh air and started down the steps towards his car. Nearing the parking lot he saw a petite blonde in a brilliant orange dress, with her head bowed, heading towards the doors he just exited. Something about her quick step and the way she carried her handbag in front of her stuck a familiar cord, causing him to stop and crane his neck to look around at her. The sun glinted off her golden hair as she mounted the steps. It was then he knew who it was and turning himself bodily, he hurried after her.
Kono, not allowing his eyes to adjust again to the dimmer interior of the hospital corridor, nearly missed seeing the back flap of the orange skirt turning the corner in front of him. He stepped up his pace and taking a tight corner himself, watched as the elevator door slid closed in front of him. Jabbing a meaty finger on the up-arrow button on the control panel he watched the bright red arm on the dial above the sliding doors tick off the floors as the car made its ascent. He thanked his lucky stars that this particular hospital was only four stories as he pushed through the door marked ‘stairs’.
Exiting a similar door two floors up, Kono leaned back against the light green wall next to the Kona King coffee vending machine and fought to catch his breath.
“Sir? Are you okay?” The nurse looked anxiously at the red faced man. “Do you need some assistance?”
“No, I’m – wait. Yes. Did you see a wahine in an orange dress, maybe two minutes ago or so? Blonde, white handbag?” Kono asked breathlessly. Fumbling in his pocket for his badge, only to realize that it was locked in the glove compartment of his car.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we do not divulge information about our patients or their guests. I would recom-“
“Kono?” A woman’s voice off to their right interrupted the nurses’ directive. “Why . . . I mean, what brings you here?”
“Jenny. Are you okay?” Kono stepped away from the flustered woman in front of him and stood next to the distraught looking Jenny, who had just stepped out of one of the patient rooms. “I saw you come in and thought . . .”
“You thought it might have been Steve, or Danny . . . or even Chin, maybe.” She tilted her head to the side and waited for the impulsive Hawaiian to explain himself.
“Actually. Well, you see. No. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.” He glanced over her shoulder and saw a frail man in the bed closest to the window. An oxygen mask covered much of his grey face and a small monitor next to the bed bleeped regularly. “I’m sorry. I should go.”
“That man in there is Henry Fullton, he’s . . . he’s my father. It’s . . . he’s not in the best of health, Kono.” She spoke so quietly that Kono had to lean closer to hear her. “All my life he’s been a major part of my world, taking care of me and supporting me as a child. Being my friend as an adult, after my mother . . .”
Kono studied the woman next to him as the grief seemed to etch itself deeper into her appearance. Her shoulders were sagging beneath the weight of it all, he thought sadly. Her usually smiling eyes were beginning to brim with tears. Her hands folded up under her chin, as if she were about to pray.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” He asked solemnly, reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder.
“ Oh, Kono. I . . . I couldn’t ask you t– . . .”
“You’re not asking, Jenny.” He interrupted softly, “I’m offering.”
She led the way into the sterile smelling room, where Kono dragged the two yellow plastic guest chairs closer to the bed. And for the rest of the evening Jenny regaled him with stories of her father and his many (often wild) exploits in the Navy. He only left her side once, and quite briefly at that, during their deathwatch and that was to fetch her some coffee.