By the time I got the tube secured his skin had pinked up considerably and his heart rate had increased to more than a hundred. By the time we loaded him into the back of the ambulance his eyes were open and he was gagging violently, no doubt upset to wake up and find a large tube in his throat. By the time we got to the hospital I'd been forced to remove the tube and he was breathing well on his own. He was a little confused and dopey but awake and able to talk. When we brought him in to Nina's emergency room I was positively glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done, convinced that out of all the times I'd been needlessly called, for once I'd actually been NEEDED.
And what did Nina, the good doctor have to say to me after she heard the progression of the call?
"You're supposed to try abdominal thrusts on an unconscious choking victim before you resort to the Magills." She said icily. "Did you miss that part of the class back in ambulance driver school?"
She actually wrote me up for this, making me answer to our county emergency medical services authority. I was given a written reprimand in my file for failing to try a less invasive method of clearing the airway first. The medical director, to give him credit, was at least apologetic as I signed it. He mumbled something about how the ends don't justify the means and then explained that "certain doctors" seemed to have a problem with the whole world.
Though I'd been pissed at her, she'd after all turned one of the high points of my career into a disciplinary procedure, I'd understood even then that I was partially responsible for what had happened. I understood even better looking at her now in the cafeteria, sitting alone and reading a book while she picked at a plate of cafeteria spaghetti. After all, the experience with Richie was fresh on my mind. Had what she'd done been much different than what I'd done? We'd both attacked visible symbols of past torment. We'd both given in to basic human nature.
Was it too late for Nina? I wondered, looking at her. Was the damage to her already done?
I took a deep breath and headed her way.
"Okay if I sit here?" I asked her when I arrived.
She looked up at me with suspicion plain in her eyes, perhaps wondering if I'd come to renew the teasing she'd been so familiar with in grade school. While waiting for an answer I looked at her, marveling over the power of suggestion. Nina had been called ugly since the third grade. It was an accepted fact among everyone that she WAS ugly. But the funny thing is, that she really wasn't. She was skinny and had small breasts; a late bloomer as I've mentioned before. Her face was without any make-up but it was smooth and actually sort of pretty. Her brown hair was unstyled but looked just like everyone else's hair all the same. She was called ugly and probably felt ugly because we'd all agreed back in third grade that she WAS ugly.
It was also assumed that she was dumb, a natural conclusion based on the fact that she never said anything to anybody. It had been assumed of me on my first trip through school too. Obviously she was far from dumb. One did not make it through four years of college, four years of med school, and two years of residency if one lacked intelligence. Could there be meaningful conversation here perhaps? I saw the book she was reading, 1984 by Orwell, a very deep book.
"Please?" I asked again, "I won't bite you."
Her eyes softened a little, as if to say that she was reserving judgment for the moment. "Sure." She finally said.
I took the bench across from her, setting down my food, drink, and napkin. "That's a good book." I offered, nodding at the cover. "I've read it quite a few times. Very thought provoking."
She nodded, not saying anything, keeping her eyes firmly on the page. Suspicion was radiating off of her in waves. Maybe it was too late, I wondered.
"Its also," I went on, "The most depressing book I've ever read. Is this your first time reading it?"
"No." She said softly. "I've read it five or six times."
"Then you probably know what I mean." I said. "I mean the thought that everything is controlled. Everything. The entire war is just a production to keep the masses from bettering themselves. The entire writings of history are rearranged on a regular basis to control the way people think. Even the resistance doesn't really exist. When you get to the point that they are captured and you find out that they'd been known about the entire time." I shook my head. "It's just a depressing thought, a depressing book.
But also one of my favorites."
She was looking at me now, confusion and a little curiosity shaping her features. "It's one of my favorite books too." She said carefully, as if expecting me to start laughing at her or speaking in a fake lisp.
"Have you ever thought," I said, "That all of that stuff in 1984 could actually be happening now? That we, as proles, wouldn't even realize it? I mean, think about it, with today's technology how hard would it be to re-write history, or to control the media, or to keep track of everyone?"
"Not very hard at all." She said, putting the book down for the first time. Careful interest was visible now. "Sometimes I swear that it's really happening to some degree or another. Maybe I'm just paranoid."
"No." I shook my head. "I'm sure most intelligent people know that you can't possibly know what's REALLY going on, how things REALLY work. I'm pretty certain that they don't really work the way we're taught in government class though."
She smiled, revealing white, perfect teeth. Strange I'd never noticed that before. Probably because I'd never seen her smile before. I wondered if anyone else had.
We continued to talk about 1984 and other books by Orwell. The only other one that I'd read was Animal Farm but she'd read them all. She explained the basic plots of them and the underlying message with animated clarity. Once she started talking to me I found her conversation intelligent and her insights well thought out. I almost forgot that I was talking to a teenager. Before I realized it lunch was over and it was time to head for the next class.
"Nice talking to you Nina," I told her with frank honesty as I stood.
"Thank you." She squeaked, her face blushing, her eyes confused.
"Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." I told her and smiled. "It's nice to talk to someone who thinks like you do, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes." She nodded. "I'll be here tomorrow if you want to, you know, talk some more."
"I'd like that." I said, giving her a wave and heading for the door.
I was cheerful as I walked alone through the crowded halls, making my way through kids in groups, heading for driver's education. I was thinking that maybe Nina could be softened a little bit after all, and I'd truly enjoyed talking to her. What was that they said, still waters run deep? It seemed that was true in her case. If only I could figure out a way to reach Mike. If only meaningful conversation could be the key to derailing him from his path.
My thoughts were sidetracked as I found myself walking behind Richie Fairview. He was with two of his cronies and was trying, in his idiotic way, to strike up a conversation with a group of cheerleaders that were walking the same direction. The cheerleaders were trying there best to ignore the trio of thugs and Richie, deciding to up the ante a little, began reaching for their skirts, trying pull them up.
At the sight of this all of my anger at Richie and bullies in general came flooding back. He didn't know I was behind him but he was about to find out. I kicked out my foot, catching his back leg just as he was stepping forward. He stumbled forward and crashed to the hallway floor, scraping up his elbows and hands and sending up a chorus of delighted giggles and laughter from the cheerleaders.