Monica was awakened early the next morning at eight o'clock by the rattling of dishes outside her door. "I have some liquid for you, Miss," said the chubby black woman upon entering Monica's room.
"What kind is it?" inquired Monica. "Orange," came the reply. "Do you like it?"
"Yes," answered Monica, "about the only kind I really don't like is tomato and strong tasting grape. As a matter of fact, I really am not much of a juice drinker."
"Our juice is really great," said the woman, her flashing eyes adding luster to her smile. "What is your name?" asked Monica.
"Sadie," she replied. "Mine is Monica."
"Glad to know you, Miss Monica," said Sadie, "I'll be bringing in your juice for the next week so maybe we'll get to know each other a little better."
"That'll be great," replied Monica.
Monica noticed that Sadie had black curly hair peppered with white streaks. As with quite a number of black people, telling the age of Sadie was difficult and no one would probably hit her age of fifty-five years with much accuracy. Sadie's two hundred pounds would look better on a frame larger than her five foot-two inch hulk. Her features didn't give an indication of her heritage, with her lips being formed precisely, her nose being small and delicately fashioned.
Sadie's teeth highlighted her smile with their clean shine and if she wore a lighter surface, one would mistake her for being white. "If you want something other than juice, you be sure to tell me so I can bring it to you," said Sadie, as she shuffled from the room. "I will. And, thanks."
Monica had finished her breakfast and was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, when she heard a knock on the open door outside her room.
"Is anyone home?" asked a voice from outside her room. She couldn't see the person to whom the voice belonged.
A hand of a man came sliding around the wall, which blocked her view of the entrance to some extent, then the body of Bob popped into the room.
"Hello, Monica!" he said, going to her bedside. Bob bent over and kissed Monica on the lips, squeezing her right hand very gently with his own.
"Bob, I really am glad to see you," Monica said, her eyes sparkling. "Seems like every time I was here to see you, you were fast asleep."
"I suppose I have spent most of the time that I've been here asleep," she agreed.
"The doctor released me the night of the accident because he didn't think there was anything wrong with me," said Bob, "other than a jolt to the head. How do you feel, Monica?"
"I feel okay."
"What did the doctor say was wrong with you?"
"It seems as though I have a brain concussion and my back was hurt a little in the crash."
"The pickup truck that hit us must have been going pretty fast," Bob spoke, as he walked to one of the chairs. His vise grip right hand held the top of the seating unit as he picked it up and moved it to the side of Monica's bed.
"Yes, said Monica, "no sooner had I yelled 'Watch out!' then the truck smacked into us. There wasn't anyplace for us to go."
"If I had been watching the other guy, maybe the accident wouldn't have happened," said Bob, his jaws and mouth drooping. "I don't believe the wreck was your fault, Bob," said Monica in a low voice.
"The fellow driving the pickup was killed, Monica. Did you know that?"
"Yes," she replied, "I heard he was drunk, too."
"He was married and along with his wife, he had five little kids. The oldest is around fifteen and the youngest is three, I believe," added Bob.
"What will the poor woman do?" said Monica squinting her eyes.
"I really don't know," said Bob, "but she is even in more trouble because the accident was her husband's fault. As a matter of fact, we may wind up having to file a suit against his estate if either of our insurance companies give us any problem. Your car had been demolished, Monica. I don't know if anyone around has informed you about that little problem."
"No, nobody mentioned that my car was no longer among the living, Bob. I really will miss the automobile," she said, biting her lip.
"Yes, I know how much you loved your car, Monica, but even though you lost the auto, you are still alive," said Bob. "And being alive is more important than any automobile."
"Is being alive really important?" asked Monica.
"Heck, yes!" answered Bob, raising the tone of his voice. "You'll be out of this hospital shortly, Monica, as soon as your head is ok and they fix your back problem."
"I guess you are right, Bob," she smiled.
"You will see, Monica," he said, in a very short time you and I will be back doing the things we did before the accident and don't forget about our wedding plans."
"I won't forget our plans for the wedding, Bob," Monica spoke softly. "I just hope you don't forget about them."
"What would make me want to forget about them, Monica?" he asked. "I love you as much now as I did before the accident, nothing has changed my feelings, for you."
"That is good, Bob, and I am glad to hear you still love me and want to marry me. I thought that maybe you found another girl while I have been cooped up here in the hospital."
"Why would I be looking for another girl when I have the prettiest one in the world already?" He smiled, reaching for her hand.
"Now you know that I am not the prettiest woman in the world, Bob, because there are many girls on this earth who are much more attractive than I am."
"I guess that is true, Monica, but I don't know of too many who can cook the way you do. Your lasagna is out of this world and there just isn't anyone who can make pies and cakes the way you manufacture them. In fact, if you were able to bake enough of them, I could stand on the streets or in shopping centers and sell the pastries for a living."
"I don't think my baking is that great," said Monica, laughing little. "Certainly not good enough to sell to other people."
"Why not?" asked Bob.
"Do you know how many lousy pastries are passed off as good food? Well, I will tell you, plenty. How many times have you bought some baked good and found it was going stale, if it wasn't already or that the taste of the product was terrible and nothing about the item tasted the way you thought it would?"
"I will have to admit that I have done exactly what you said, and wound up throwing most of the pie or cake away, even doughnuts have found their way into my garbage can."
"See, Monica, already you are agreeing with me about your cooking ability. After you get out of this hospital, we will open a baked goods store with you as the head baker. You will have to do all the baking on Mondays, so that you have the products ready to sell for the rest of the week."
"I can see now that I will have to do all the work while you just sit around and give me advice," laughed Monica.
"Not quite, you will need a business manager and someone who can test your products to make sure they are up to standard and even beyond standard. Now, I can't think of anyone better to do that job than myself. Naturally, if we wish to sell all your wares, it is important to have someone close to you that has the ability to determine the salability of your products."
"So you really don't want me. It is my baked goods that you are after," said Monica. "I really want both." Bob smiled and laughed.
"How can I really be sure that you won't steal all my pumpkin and chocolate pies and eat them yourself?" she asked.
"You won't ever be sure about that prospect. But, don't let a little thing like me stealing your pies bother you, Monica, because you can bake cakes and have them to sell."
"As I recall, you like cake, too," she smiled.
"I do have to admit, Monica," he laughed, "there does happen to lurk in my taste buds and affinity for certain types of cakes and it just so happens that the ones you bake do something special for my appetite. But don't worry yourself because I couldn't possibly eat all the goods you could make. Not at one sitting, anyhow."
"You are crazy," Monica laughed.
"Some other people have told me that, including one psychiatrist, when I was taking a test for a management position for a flaky company."
"You never told me about this before, Bob," Monica smiled. "Maybe you and I should not see each other for awhile, at least until you have had some time to rehabilitate yourself." Monica's thoughts drifted to the rehabilitation, which she would have to endure if she wanted to continue on in life and be useful.
"Is something wrong, Monica?" asked Bob, noticing the far-away look in her eyes. She didn't answer.
"Monica?"
"Oh, I am sorry, Bob," she said, "my mind just wandered away from here, but I'm back with you now."
"I thought I was beginning to bore you with all my talk about the psychiatrist."
"No, nothing like that," she responded, "tell me about your experience with the head shrinker."
"Okay, I'm glad you asked about the subject," said Bob. "It was like this. A company that I applied to for a job as a manager of sales requested that I take the test given by this psycho-outfit, for which they would pick up the tab, including my travel expenses to and from the place. The personnel manager at the company where I applied for the job told me the test was necessary so they could find out how I stacked up with all the other candidates. So, what the heck, I decided to drive into town one day and take a crack at the battery of tests since I had never had any exposure to such a thing. The morning I drove into town was nice, (but as usual, finding a parking place was tough and I decided to pull into an indoor garage). So, I drive into this place and wouldn't you know it, I have to go all the way to the roof to park my car. When I arrive on the ramp leading to the roof, I see this man coming towards me clutching the wall. I wondered what he was doing and I blew my horn for him to get out of the way. He didn't move and, as I got closer, I saw why he wasn't moving too fast and clutching the wall. The man was bleeding profusely from three different spots on his body. I jumped out of my car after stopping and rushed to his aid, but he fell to the pavement before I reached him. He did tell me that two men had accosted him on the roof and stabbed him with scissors. One of the men he knew, and he told me his name, then he died. I ran back to the elevator inside the garage to go to the entrance floor, and upon reaching the first floor, I notified the attendant about the death and he called the police. They came and questioned me and I told them everything I knew and later on that day, the police arrested one of the men responsible for the murder and several days later, the other fellow was arrested."
"That was intriguing," said Monica.
"I didn't get to the best part, Monica," he said. "When I got through with the police, I walked over to the building where I was to take the tests and entered the office of the consulting company. I introduced myself and the secretary tells me to have a seat and that so and so would be with me in a few minutes. Now remember, I am about two hours late for the test. The secretary was right, out comes this so and so, beard and all and asks me where I have been. I go through the story for him and he tells me that I have to be looney to come up with such a fabrication.
"Now, you know, Monica, I really felt that I had done a good deed for society and this shmuck tells me that I am crazy. Two thoughts came to my mind, the first one was to smack him right in the nose, and the second was to pull out all the hairs in his beard one by one with a pair of long nose pliers. Then, I had a better thought, why not tell him to go to hell, which is exactly what I did and when he said I couldn't talk to him like that, I stood up in front of him almost touching his nose with mine and called him a bearded schmuck. Try to collect your money for not giving me the tests, I told him. Well, needless to say, I struck a sore bone in his wallet, because he soon was alerted to the problem of not being able to charge for something that he didn't accomplish. This bearded fellow tried to make me stay and take the tests, apologizing for his accusation that I was a storyteller and that he had acted too hastily. I almost told him to kiss off not saying what I was thinking."
"What did the company personnel man say when he heard you didn't take the tests?" asked Monica.
"Talk about being a jackass out of the same mold as the psycho tester, Monica, the personnel man said I didn't give the tester a chance to remedy his error. He informed me that I probably wasn't the man for their opening as I couldn't stand up under fire and there wasn't any place in his organization for people who couldn't accept a little criticism. I quickly pointed out to him that he was also a shmuck and that he could shove the job up his butt but it would probably catch on the way in, because his butt matched his brain, which was certain to appear in 'Ripley's Believe It or Not' for the smallest part on a human."
"You did get the job then, didn't you," Monica smiled. "Not quite."
"How could the man at the company refuse to give a person like you the job whenever you stood up for your rights against everyone, and furthermore, why wouldn't it be more acceptable to hire someone with guts?" asked Monica.
"The problem with a great many personnel people, Monica, is that they never understand the other person and in fact are always looking for someone who fits the pattern they set up for certain positions. I know a vice-president of personnel who is one of the biggest doe-doe birds in the universe. He sees himself as one of the greatest members of management in the company and strives along the lines of hiring minorities because the president of the company has the same feeling. The result is that competent people get shafted because this individual has standards which don't mean anything to anyone except people with the same ideals."
"I think that psychiatrist was right about you, Bob, that you really are crazy, but in a sane sort of way," laughed Monica.
"Hello, you two," said Doctor Stepanic, upon entering the room. "Seems as though you two are really having a good discussion about doctors."
"Hi, Doctor," greeted Bob.
"Doctor Stepanic," said Monica, "how are you doing today?"
"How I am doing isn't important, Monica," returned the doctor, "it is how you are doing that is important."
"I am okay," she said, "even though I have been talking with a nutty character by the name of Bob."
"Time for me to leave," said Bob, "I can tell whenever I am not appreciated."
"You don't have to leave," said the doctor, "I am going to look Monica over and then I'll be going."
"I really do have some other things to attend to today and may as well get started on them," said Bob. Bob kissed Monica on the forehead and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, Bob," said Monica, "good-bye."
Bob walked to the doorway, waved his right hand at Monica, then slipped out the opening.
Doctor Stepanic waited for a few minutes until he was sure Bob had gone, then he said to Monica, "Did you tell him about your condition?"
"No, I didn't," she said, "I wanted to, but we just started talking and I really couldn't bring up the problem. I'll do it tomorrow when he comes back."
"You can tell me now," said Bob, as he appeared once more in the door entrance. "I just stopped back to see if there was anything you wanted me to get you, Monica?"
"I can't think of anything I really need, Bob," she said, "but thanks very much for asking."
"Alright," he said, "I'll see you tomorrow...you, too, Doc."
"The longer you put off telling Bob about not being able to walk, Monica, the harder it will be for both of you," said Doctor Stepanic. "Yes, I know," she agreed.
"Let me take a look at you and see how everything is coming along," said the doctor, "and then I can get out of your hair."