“Hey there you are, I’ve been looking for you,” my mom calls to me, pulling a med cart behind her.  I look up to her from my notebook, wondering what she’s gonna have me do now.

“Can you bring this to room 510?  Please? I gotta go check up on my NICU babies,” she informs me, not even waiting for me to respond.  She leaves the med cart in front of me and rushes away into the elevator.  I throw my head back into the couch with a groan.  I shut my journal closed and drag the cart behind me.  The day had been pretty slow.  I sat in the NICU for probably an hour, before going to say hi to some of the younger kids.  I don’t know why they liked me so much.  They were nervous around me at first but usually after a day, they had me reading their books to them in silly voices and playing superheroes or Barbies.  Barrett had fallen asleep and would probably be out for the night, even though it was only six.  That was normal for him though.

I knock on 510, waiting for a response.  I hear shuffling around before an “Oh yeah, come in!” comes from behind the door.  I push the door open, entering the room.  Fairy lights had been added around the trim of the ceiling, and the picture wall had been finished.  I abandon the cart, drifting towards the now hundreds of pictures.  They filled the whole wall from the top to halfway down.  The Empire State Building, pyramids in what I assumed were in Egypt, butterflies covering trees.  My brows furrowed because the spacing was weird.  Empty rectangles rested next to almost every picture except for a few.  And the ones where there weren’t empty spaces, duplicates of the picture next to it took its place.  Who needed two pictures of the same thing? I was trying to make sense of the wall before someone broke through the silence.

“Um… who are you?”  My heart jumps in my chest and I spin around to see a girl standing there, her eyes confused.  I blink a few times, feeling embarrassed for some reason.

“Oh… I was delivering your med cart,” I defend, gesturing to the cart.    Hazel--brown?  Was there green? I don’t know, but god were they entrancing--eyes moves to look at the cart skeptically before looking at me.

“You look really young to be a nurse, so why do you have my medicine cart?”  she questions, walking over to it to inspect the bottles that rest on the cart.  She looks disappointed and pushes past me to her desk.

“Um…”  I’m trying to explain why I’m there, but watch as she grabs a cardboard box, and sets it on her bed.  She pulls the med cart towards her and plops down.

“My mom is a nurse here.  Caroline?  She asked if I could bring the cart to you,” I finally explain.  She looks at one of her medicine bottles, before opening the box and taking out a journal.  She writes something down in it and then takes out a small red plastic box.  Her hand grabs the medicine cart and her fingers wrap around the pop cap, twisting it off before pouring the pink tablets into the box. Her fingers push it to the corner of the cart and continues on like that.

“And you can just do that?  Dios, ya lo odio año,” she responds shaking her head.  I chuckle, wishing I understood Spanish better, and get a 360 to get a better view of her room.

“You gonna be here long?” I ask, which after I say it, I realize sounds insensitive.  Before I can respond, she scoffs.

“No, I just moved my whole life in here for a checkup,” she quips.  I raise a brow at her, going to examine her desk.

“Okay calm down with the sarcasm there,” I retort back, picking up a plant.

“Hey!  Don’t touch my stuff,” she snaps quickly.  I look back at her.  Her face is turned into a scowl, hazel or green colored eyes full of disgust.  Her stance is completely annoyed and utterly angry.  I lift up my hands in defense.

“Okay sorry.  Why are you so picky anyways?” I inquire, gesturing to the now-organized med cart.  The top of the cart was labeled with stickers going from Sunday to Monday, with times on the sides from nine am to eight pm and all the plastic boxes in rainbow order up and down.

“None of your business.  Can you please just go?  I still have to unpack,” she demands, getting off her bed, and heading over to bins on the bay window seat.  She pulls off one of the lids and lets out a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I inquire, standing on my tiptoes to see if I can see the contents of the box.  She turns around with annoyance laced across her face.

“Are you deaf?  Can you go?  Please?” she says, harsher this time.  I stare at her for a few moments, taking in her appearance, trying to read her.  The mess of curls was held back by a scarf but some still escaped the scarf.  She wore a deep yellow sweater, with gray boxer shorts under it.  I could tell she knew this routine.  She knew the way of moving in and out of doctor's offices, in and out of hospitals, and in and out of treatment.  She knew it all too well.  How quickly she unpacked her stuff into her room.  With the few new patients we had it took them at least a day or two to unpack just a box.  They were too struck by sadness to unpack or do anything.  But she had it done in less than five hours.  She was already in comfortable clothing, knowing to just settle in instead of worrying about how to dress.

“Okay,” I murmur, before turning around and closing the door behind me.  I let my hand rest on the handle, thinking.  What was she sick with?  How long had she been sick?  Questions raced through my mind, and I wanted to ask her all of them.

“What were you doing in there?” Rosa’s voice snaps behind me.  I turn around to see her hand resting on her hip and her head tilted to the side in disappointment.  I flash her a smile.

“Mom asked me to deliver the med cart, to our new patient,” I explain, a smile resting on my face.  Rosa raises a dark brow.

“Yeah okay mentiroso, it doesn’t take ten minutes to deliver a med cart, c’mere,” she orders, gripping my arm.  I shout in retaliation as she drags me into the girl's room.

“What do you--oh, Rosa hola, I’m sorry.  Pensé que era este otra vez,” she apologizes, but her eyes darken at the sight of me.  They were deep pools of maple syrup now.  Her arms are folded over her chest.

“Te está molestand? I will send him straight home if he is,” Rosa questions, releasing my arm to gesture back to me.  Oh dear god, I would be in so much trouble.  I fold my hands together as if I was praying, pleading with this girl to please let me live.  Rosa would beat me with her shoe.  The girl raises a brow, questioning the decision to make.

“No, he was fine.  Gracias, Rosa,” she says, and I let out a silent release of breath, mouthing her a thank you.  And I think I see a small smile form on her lips.

 Rosa turns to me and shoos her hands at me.

“Go, go, it’s time for her meds.  Aléjate de mí,” she orders, pushing me out the door.  It slams behind me, and my back rests against it, a small grin spread on my face.