"You're giving me a hard time
What am I supposed to do with a hard time,
Especially from you?" -A Flock of Seagulls
i. in which a breakfast of dubious nutritional value is consumed.
Some days, you just have to scream "Brains!" at the top of your lungs. Most of the time, you can make do with just thinking it while making crazy zombie faces at the new orderlies, but today was not one of those days. It all depends on the weather. Also cheese.
"Mrs. Claus is hot," I said, conversationally and all cool-like, over a nice bowl of Froot Loops and a nutritious glass of orange drink a la Flintstones vitamins.
"Huh?" Turk wasn't really awake yet.
"That's nice, Martha." Neither was Dr. Cox.
"Orangeade?" I asked, and Carla yelled "Diabetes!" from the other room. I mean, damn does that woman have good hearing. Da-amn- capital D capital Amn.
Which reminded me: "Uh, Dr. Cox, what are you doing in our kitchen?" I was really kind of freaked out about that, to tell you the truth, but I was trying to be all calm and suave and not-panicky-new-guy-ish.
He blinked, long-short-long in Morse code, and smiled his oh, you're going to get it now newbie smile and said, "well, Sandra, it's because I'm desperately in love with you and want to have ten buh-zillion of your babies." And then he leaned in to kiss me.
Which was when I woke up. Screaming.
ii. in which the time of year is firmly established.
It's Christmas time at Sacred Heart, and my heart was all a-twitter at the thought.
"Ah Nancy, so nice of you to grace us with your presence today," Dr. Cox drawled in that I'm too cool for school way of his, and I chose to take him at his word. I smiled. Like I said, feeling no pain, yo (and, if I forgot to say it, I’m sayin’ it now- no pain, yo, not a bit of it). And it was rather nice of me to show up, wasn't it? "Uh, Gloria? That was a little thing we in the know like to call sar-casm. No need to wet your panties over it."
Buzzkill. "Buzzkill."
But we’re doctors, and there was a girl with sparkly tights hovering outside the door of exam room three. I was a bit parched, really, I could've done with a Gatorade or a nice cool can of orange soda, but I’m a professional and was more than willing to ensure that she wasn't dying of some frighteningly horrible disease. Like the plague. Or chicken pox.
“Eh, Suzy?” Dr. Cox snapped his fingers like baby snapping things, and said, “Stop drooling. Also, as you’ll no doubt be thuh-rilled to hear, the frighteningly shiny girl you’re gawking at oh so subtly is Mrs. Caulfield’s granddaughter.”
Mrs. Caulfield has had the flu, the grippe even, forever. She is also the devil. Elliot and I played rock paper scissors to decide who had to deal with her after she came screaming into the hospital like a banshee (using words like “Nazis,” “lawsuits,” and something German-ish that sounded suspiciously like “castrate”). I picked paper, but Elliot snapped at my hand with her scissor-fingers, so I’ve been stuck with Mrs. Caulfield ever since.
And, finally, I was rewarded. And so I said it out loud.
“Shut up, Mary,” Dr. Cox said at the same time Elliot snapped “shut up, JD.” It was like music, only not as good. It was like A Flock of Seagulls.
iii. in which the nature of Volkswagen is contemplated.
"Brains!" I yelled, and slipped-n-slid down the corridor. The janitor smirked.
Mrs. Caulfield was screaming something in that strange Germanic language of hers, and since my German never progressed beyond "Oktoberfest" and "Fahrfegnugen" I (probably luckily, considering the spittle flying from her mouth) had no clue what in the world she was saying. She sounded angry, though. And possibly homicidal.
Her granddaughter, if that's who she really was, blushed and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Julie."
“Dr. Dorian,” I said, “but my friends call me JD (bah dum bum)." Her hand was sweaty, but soft like something really soft. And small. It felt good in mine, and I shook my manliest doctor handshake, the one I learned from Dr. Cox lo those many years ago. I call it Dr. Bob and it plays the bongos. Ah, Dr. Bob, how I love you.
“So my grandmother?" Julie asked, looking at me all cross-eyed. "She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”
"Well, of course she is," Dr. Cox said. I may have screamed like a girl a little there (the man is stealth like a Navy SEAL, that's how stealth he is), but, then again, maybe I didn't. Dr. Cox just raised his voice and continued, "Rhonda here's become quite the good little nurse these past few years, and god knows anyone as evil as your grandmother is obviously immortal."
Julie's mouth opened, fish-like, and then closed. She stomped away, sparkly tights twinkling like stars.
Dr. Cox looked at me and smirked. "Looks like my work here is done, then."
iv. in which J.D. has an epiphany.
"It's just," I was trying to explain to Turk why Dr. Cox's little stunt with sparkly tights girl was bothering me so much, "I mean, I know he kinda trusts me now, and then this. Why?" It's possible I came off more like a whiny five-year old than a slightly peeved professional, but that's the thing about Turk. He just lets me be. Me. Like in a song.
"I don't know what you're so upset about, dude. I mean, he pulls that kind of shit all the time."
And then he smacks me down and holds me head in the toilet. "Yeah, but this was different, it was almost like-"
"I love you, Sandra, and I want to have ten buh-zillion of your babies." His mouth practically, finally, on mine.
"Like?"
I started. "Nothing," I said. "Like nothing. Gotta go to the place with the drugs-and-stuff-you-know-the-pharmacy-now bye."
v. in which everyone goes to Disneyland.
Jordan is completely tone-deaf, but that didn't seem to be stopping her from belting out "you scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot" as she strutted down the hall. I was pretty sure that was aimed at Dr. Cox, but I scurried out of her way, just in case. Or, you know, strolled leisurely over to the nurses' station and tripped over my foot, landing in front of Carla (who promptly began to laugh her ass off).
"Oh, Bambi," snicker snicker, "you okay down there?"
"I meant to do that," I started to say, but then Jordan was there and I was hiding behind Carla's legs, saying a quick prayer to Buddha and Allah and anyone else who might've been listening that I would turn invisible right there. Which of course led to thoughts about invisibility cloaks and being a wizard and "oh, JD Potter, you're so brave. What are you going to do now that you've saved the universe once more?" flashing to me riding The Matterhorn with Dr. Cox in a Goofy hat.
Speaking of which-
“Ah, if it isn’t the delectable Mrs. Claus.”
“And if it isn’t Santa himself. How positively jolly you look today, Perry.”
My brain hurt. "Ouch."
Dr. Kelso bounded down the corridor smiling his most evil smile, the one that looks like moldy cheese must taste, and he practically drooled as he said, “ah, Perry, Jordan, so good of you to volunteer to be Santa and his missus for our little Christmas party in the children’s ward. I know how disappointed you were last year when Ted and his two-dollar hooker friend got the roles.”
Dr. Cox growled. Jordan growled. Dr. Kelso smiled.
I was still confused, so I just nodded my head knowingly. Kind of like Gandalf or that guy who looks just like him in the Harry Potter movies, the one with the silly name that sounds like something you’d call your boring History teacher in junior high. You know the one, Professor Mumblesmore. Professor Dumberbore. I could've done this all day, but Dr. Kelso was holding a black garment back at me and looking far too happy with himself for my peace of mind.
Dr. Cox laughed. Jordan laughed. I wanted to cry.
vi. in which our story finally reaches its conclusion.
“Yo, Ave Maria,” Dr. Cox called, and I skipped over to his side. Skipped because I was wearing tights. I was an elf, though, not a cross-dresser, and the tights felt kind of funny on my private parts. “Talking,” Dr. Cox snapped, and I knew I'd just said all of that out loud. At least I didn’t mention the part where we danced a tango and I wore a pretty pink dress and tiara. Now that would've be embarrassing. “Still moving your mouth, Magdalena,” he sneered, and I shut up.
"Happy Christmas your arse I pray God it’s our last," Jordan "sang," thrusting a little red cup of eggnog into my hand.
Mmmmm, nog. “Mmmm, nog.”
And cookies! There were cookies, ones with little red and green sprinkles and one broken dreidl with blue frosting that made me so sad I had to eat it. So of course I sang my cookie song, "cookies is hoes, everyone knows, cookies ain't got no bling-bling," which made Jordan roll her eyes and look up.
"Ooh, look Perry, mistletoe," she cooed. "Right above cute widdle Caroline's head." And then she kissed me, tongues and all, and the robot in my brain barely had time to start proclaiming "danger, JD Robinson, danger" before Dr. Cox pulled her away.
He kept looking back and forth between us, sputtering a bit and eyes bulging out like a cartoon. And it was like my dream because his face was getting all big and loom-y and his mouth was slightly open, only I didn't wake up, oh no, I didn't scream. And then his lips touched mine.
Mmmm, I thought, he tastes like nutmeg. And then Jordan bit my ear and I passed out.
fin.
[once more into the fray]