“Zo? Zo! Talk to me!” An urgent baritone penetrated what had been a comfortable fog around my brain. My head hurt, my face hurt and when I opened my eyes, the flash of a red bubble light atop an ambulance from outside was disorienting. I winced, and then looked into the warm brown eyes of my boyfriend, Michael Woo. I’d been expecting him this evening, but not quite like this. It was supposed to have been a romantic evening that involved nobody bleeding. While part of the evening might feature me on my back, I did want dinner first.
“Hey.” I managed a crooked smile. “Is he okay?” I asked.
Michael looked confused, which didn’t happen often. He was one of the smartest people I knew. “Is who okay?”
“They guy I called the ambulance for.” I looked around. I didn’t see anybody in the store besides the two of us.
“I called the ambulance,” Michael said. “You were passed out on the floor in a puddle of blood. I thought you’d given yourself another concussion.”
“Another concussion?” This came from a stocky, khaki-uniformed woman with a nasal voice. I hadn’t seen her behind Michael. I assumed her to be a paramedic. The patch on her sleeve confirmed my suspicions when she came closer. Her eyes were also brown, but not warm; they were more like frozen earth. Above the eyes, thin eyebrows were penciled on in the same shade. Her matching wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail so tight I wondered if it hurt. “If you’ve got a history of falls with head injuries, you should go to the hospital.”
What, I’m Gerald Ford now? I don’t fall down that often. “It’s not something I would call a habit.” I sat up slowly, leaning back and resting my weight on my hands “It’s only happened once and that was almost year ago.”
“And the first time I met you, you were nursing a sprained ankle and another whack on the head.” Michael reminded me.
Don’t help, darling. “It’s not every day I trip over a dead body.” I tried not to think about that and looked at the paramedic. “I don’t need a hospital, and what do you mean there was no guy? Whose blood do I have all over me?” And one of my favorite silk blouses. My face felt unpleasantly sticky and I felt a little foggy. I put my head between my knees and took a deep breath. When the muzzy feeling in my head went away, I looked back up.
“Yours, ma’am,” the paramedic said with the patience of a nun. A cranky nun, mind you. She reminded me of Sister Mary Joshua who had had a fast hand with a ruler. We were never actually hit on the knuckles with rulers at Sacred Heart. Corporal punishment went out long before I enrolled in school. However, nothing gets your attention like a loud whack on your desk just centimeters from your fingertips. Unless it’s the three weeks of detention you get for wrenching the ruler out of the sister’s fist. I’d done that in another class. I focused on the cranky paramedic who said, “You gave yourself a bloody nose when you fell.” She handed me some gauze. My nose did hurt when I touched it gently, but blood was not, thankfully, flowing. I didn’t feel any lumps that shouldn’t be there. “But it’s not broken,” she continued. “And there’s nobody here but the three of us. Fill out the top section. Press hard.” She thrust a small clipboard at me. On it waited a form that demanded I fill out name, rank and serial number. I ignored it.
“No,” I insisted, talking to Michael and not the medic. He was listening. “I had just closed the store and was cleaning up a little bit--dusting the rack of new paperbacks. I was planning to dust for a few minutes and then have a drink by the fireplace while I waited for you so we could go to dinner.” Not atypical Sunday night behavior. My appetite, however, had gone the way of the man who was no longer there. “I heard the door open, and this strange guy staggered in. The only thing he said was call him an ambulance. After that he collapsed on my floor.” My blood-covered floor. Crap. I’d need ammonia to get the stain out.
“And you called 911?” The paramedic looked skeptical. She could also have been feeling put out, or perhaps it was a bit of both. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I knew my story sounded odd and I’d been there. I filled out part of the paperwork with the pen that was chained to the clipboard before I replied.
“Yes,” I said after a moment. “I called 911. From the store phone.” I looked around for the cordless handset. Logic would dictate it was on the floor near where I’d fallen. It wasn’t. I stood up shakily, shrugging off any help. My dignity was at stake. The handset was back in the phone by the register. I looked at Michael. “What phone did you use to call 911?”
“My cell.” He produced the latest Smartphone from his pocket.
The woman interrupted. “Look ma’am, are you going to come to the hospital? You’re going to get billed for this, whether you use us or not.”
I gave her what I hoped was a withering look. I was pretty sure my health insurance was not going to cover an unused ambulance. I wasn’t sure it covered a used ambulance, but I’d deal with that later. “I’m not going with you. I don’t need the hospital and I definitely don’t need an ambulance.” I gave Michael a mock glare. “Somebody over-reacted.”
“Her vitals are fine,” the paramedic said to Michael. I hate being talked about in the third person when I’m in the room. I cleared my throat to say something and she tugged on the clipboard, “Are you done with this?” I signed Z.T. Smith and handed it back. She inched toward the door, and paused one more time. “Are you sure, ma’am?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “Go. I promise not to sue you.” She stalked off, obviously peeved. I didn’t apologize. I didn’t call her, after all.