worried, wild-eyed look, she must have mistaken him for an escapee from the mental
ward upstairs. Her startled expression was magnified by the thick-lensed glasses she
wore. Then a flicker of distaste touched her face. Hippies! her look seemed to say.
She stood up, stepped to the counter and smiled as she glanced at Lydia across
the lobby. Her lips smiled only. Her eyes still held the same coldness.
“Yesssss...of course,” she hissed at George. “You do have the one hundred dollar
admittance fee, don‟t you?”
George turned white. “”Admittance fee?--Hundred dollars?” came his choked reply.
“I don‟t...”
“Well, we can‟t admit her unless you can pay the fee. Hospital policy--this isn‟t
Community General, you know.” She spoke with a condescending tone, slowly and
distinctly as though Lydia had all the time in the world, when actually the young lady
was nearing the critical three-minutes-between-contractions stage.
George‟s own sympathy pangs were coming even closer together and he wasn‟t
sure he could stand much more of the old gal‟s total indifference. George looked over
at Lydia. She was holding herself and looking at him with such pleading eyes, he
wanted to throttle this bitter old woman who was keeping his girl from the attention she
needed.
“I...I just don‟t have it.” he said hopelessly.
“Then I‟m afraid you‟ll have to take her to Community.” she said, obviously enjoying
their discomfort.
Lydia groaned loudly, and the woman, exhibiting no concern whatsoever, gave the
girl a look of impatience.
“Wait a minute!” cried George, grasping at straws. “How about the pink-slip to my
car?”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before she spoke. “Well...that
is highly irregular, but I think it has been done in the past. Yes--if that‟s the best you
can do.”
George turned on his heel and sprinted for the car. In the glove compartment he
found the pink paper. It was fresh and new. He had received it only day-before-
yesterday. He‟d scraped up enough from his tutoring to pay for the car, the only thing
he owned except for the clothes on his back.
He ran up the steps and back to the desk where the sour-faced old biddy waited
with outstretched hand. She flinched slightly as their hands touched. Then she studied
the document for a few moments and nodded. She pressed a button. A nurse came
from another room. Without a word she saw what was needed and quickly brought in a
wheelchair. The nurse, at least, showed some compassion for Lydia. Clucking like a
mother hen, she and George helped Lydia into the chair. George hooked the old
shopping bag over the handles of the wheelchair and said apologetically: “Uh...her
things. She might need them.”
Lydia gave him an adoring, though pained look as he kissed her. The nurse
flashed him a friendly smile, turned the chair around and pushing it ahead of her,
trotted off down the long white hallway.
George blew a kiss after them
“Young man,” croaked the woman at the desk. “You still have to fill out these
papers and sign them.”
