emergency absence today

A podcast plays through Adil’s earphones. He is oblivious to the host’s words. The cadence of their voice anchors his frantic heart in his chest.

He is running late to a meeting at his economics internship. Everything is going wrong this morning, but it was doomed from the start of the summer. Last night he tossed and turned on his air mattress, fretting over his dysfunctional code. His data analysis was spitting out nonsensical results, and the figures kept coming out warped, no matter what he did. He has given up hope for a permanent offer at the research lab. He is probably going to be the only one in his cohort who graduates without a job offer. How humiliating - an MIT graduate with no offers. Everything he does makes him feel stupid and worthless. He is burning out of every opportunity given to him. Soon, his luck will run out and he will be exposed to the world as a massive fraud. He will return to Pakistan a mortifying failure. 

The sun is streaming down full force in Kendall Square. He is sweating profusely under his button-down shirt. Adil is taken aback by the intense, humid summer, after getting thoroughly assaulted by the merciless New England winter. It is one of nature’s cruel jokes. 

He sees the Kendall MBTA station ahead, approaching the entrance to the train outbound to Alewife. Harvard Square is one of the stops. He is aware of the trains hissing underground, rumbling metal on metal. An image flashes across his consciousness, second nature like a prayer: him flinging onto the track, a metallic screech then all-consuming darkness. Relief.

Adil rummages in his bag for his TPass, walking briskly.

Without warning, he feels a jolt and hears a muffled scream. Adil is wrenched out of his head. Hurriedly, he takes out his earphones.

‘’You idiot, what have you done!”

It takes Adil a moment to gather what has happened. He had bumped into a woman, sending her flying into a nearby pole. Now she is holding her right shoulder, her face scrunched with pain. She seems to be in her sixties. 

“I’m so sorry!”, he apologizes, beside himself. “I didn’t see where I was going!”

The woman exhales sharply and says nothing, her face still scrunched with pain.

“Are you okay?” he asks timidly.

“The hell I am!” she says in a low angry voice, almost a whimper. This terrifies him more than if she had yelled.

People are beginning to stare. Adil is aware of this but is strangely not self-conscious. His mind is clearer than it has been in months.

“Ma’am, you need to go to the hospital. Let me take you.”

“No, no, no, I have to get to Back Bay Station. I need to get to Copley. I will be fine,” she says in the throes of pain, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Did you book online? We can change your reservation. Please, Ma’am.”

“But my family is waiting for me.”

“They will understand, Ma’am, please.”

“Okay”, she relents.

He gently leads her to a nearby bench, then takes out his phone to book an Uber.

“Are you registered at a hospital?”

“Mount Auburn.”

“Okay, our driver is two minutes away.”

He drums out a quick email to his research manager, Nicole:

Subject: emergency absence today

Hi Nicole,

An emergency has come up on my end, that I need to attend to. I won’t be able to come in today and will be offline besides.

Apologies for any inconvenience this may cause.

Best,

Adil

Their Uber arrives. Adil helps the woman in, gingerly leading her by the left arm. 

They are en route to Mount Auburn.

“Ma’am, would you like some water?”

“No. Please call me Liz”, she says wearily.

Adil notices her ice-blue eyes, made more startling by powdery blue eyeshadow and her eyeliner, which is thick, erratic, and off the line of her silver-brown lashes. 

Nicole replies.

Subject: RE: emergency absence today

Hi Adil,

Thank you for letting me know. It's unfortunate that you can’t attend today's meeting, which is quite important for the team. The rest of us will cover the other items on the agenda today. Please make sure to catch up on what you missed. Let's aim for better attendance in future meetings.

Best,

Nicole

Adil feels a flurry of panic that dissipates instantly. His clarity of mind remains.

“Let’s reschedule your trip from BBY,” he says, holding out his hand for Liz’s phone. “My name is Adil, by the way.”

“You’re Indian?”

“No, I’m from Pakistan.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pull up to Mount Auburn. A sign at the entrance points to the ER.

“I can go from here,” Liz says, as Adil helps her out.

“Let me get you checked in at least”, he says, smiling gently.

The attendants take Liz’s information and ask her to take a seat. She is registered for right shoulder pain.

The waiting room is packed with patients. A man in a suit looks disheveled and nauseated. A young woman with a messy bun has her head in her hands. A willowy bald man lolling in a wheelchair keeps announcing periodically that he’s going to die. The despair is palpable.

“I’m going to wait with you until they sort you out, Liz,” says Adil, firmly. 

“Don’t you have work or school?”

“No. It’s my day off”, he lies easily. 

She doesn’t protest. 

Half an hour passes in silence between them. Liz exhales sharply from time to time, wincing.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?” Adil asks.

“Nine. A constant nine. I have had this shoulder pain on and off again for a month. Anything can set it off.”

Adil has a pack of puffed rice cakes in his bag. Lately, he does not have much appetite, and his clothing has become looser. Rice cakes are a quick, shelf-stable snack, so he always has a pack or two in his bag. 

He takes them out and offers one to Liz. She accepts and eats it clumsily with her left hand.

He asks if she wants anything from the cafeteria. He can run and get it.

“No, this will do, son”, she says between mouthfuls.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“No, everyone is in New York for my niece’s wedding. I don’t want to worry anyone until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“So that’s why you’re going to Brooklyn.” He had noticed this when he was helping her reschedule her Amtrak tickets.

“Yes. I have been looking forward to it for months.”

Two hours pass. By now, the pain has worn Liz out. She has her head on Adil’s shoulder, her right elbow resting on his bag. Suddenly, he hears quiet sobs.

“Liz, what’s wrong?”, asks Adil, alarmed.

“I’m so tired of the pain. What if it’s always like this? What if it never gets better?”

“It will get better. It will. The doctors will figure out what to do. They’ll give you a plan.” 

He is glad he stayed. This is not a place for anyone to be alone.

“Distract me. Tell me about your life. What do you do?” asks Liz.

He tells her.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Adil chuckles. “I can barely take care of myself at the moment. So, no.”

They talk for a while, Liz’s voice growing sluggish. She dozes off. Adil is careful not to move.

Eventually, a nurse calls Liz for an evaluation. Adil gently shakes her left arm, waking her.

“Go on, I’m right here.”

After the evaluation, the nurse escorts Liz back to the waiting room.

“They are overflowing with patients today. Six patients to a doctor!” she says, bewildered.

“Did they give you anything for the pain?” he asks.

“No! I told them it’s a level nine pain and it’s been five hours, but they said I have to wait.” She sat down sniffling, her head hung low. ‘’You should go home, son. We don’t know how long this is going to take.”

“Absolutely not. This is partly my fault. Keeping you company is the least I can do.” Adil can see Liz has no energy to resist.

He brings her a cup of water.

“Now tell me what you do for work?” he asks her.

“You won’t believe this,” she says taking a gulp of water, “but I’m an employment lawyer. People call me tough and intimidating in the courtroom. I’m usually not – weak - like this. I’m not like this at all.”

“I believe it. I just caught you on a bad day.” Adil means it.

By evening, Liz is finally called in to be seen by a doctor.

“Come with me? We’ll tell them you’re my grandson.”

Liz is on a stretcher parked near the emergency entrance. Her shoes are off and placed by Adil in a compartment under the post. A doctor examines her arm, happy she can move it all the way, a good sign.

She is taken for an X-ray to radiology. Adil waits by the empty stretcher. There is a persistent babble of whimpers and groans. 

The emergency doors fling open. Paramedics wheel in bloodied individuals, several with neck braces. Adil lowers his gaze, looking at his shoes. 

Liz receives her diagnosis around 8 PM. “Rotator cuff tendinitis,” says the doctor. “The tendons in the shoulder are swollen. It’s a good thing you hit your shoulder on that pole and came here. This can become quite serious if left untreated.” She is prescribed rest, ice packs, and a codeine-based painkiller, and advised to follow up with her PCP. 

“Can she have something for the pain now?” asks Adil. “The pharmacy closes at 7.”

Twenty minutes later, Liz is presented with a single pill. “Don’t drive”, warns the doctor. Adil hands her a cup of water, which she uses to swallow the pill. “Thank you for sticking up for me, son,” she says, with a slight smile. 

Adil adds two stops to his Uber ride, first to Liz’s house, and then to his apartment. 

“Looks like I won’t be able to attend the wedding,” says Liz, as they set off from Mount Auburn. 

“Wait till the morning, see how you feel,” Adil suggests. “But do give the arm a rest.”

They arrive at Liz’s house. “If you need anything,” says Adil, scribbling his number on a piece of paper torn from his notebook, “just me a call.” He hands it to Liz, knowing she will never use it. 

“Take care, Adil. Good night.”

On the way to his apartment, Adil thinks of Liz as a character in a story that ends on a cliffhanger. The ending is at his discretion.

He sinks into his seat, feeling slight pangs of hunger. He thinks of making an omelet. The car window is partially down, the night air smelling faintly like jasmine. The moon shines over the Charles River, the glittering Cambridge skyline animating its black waters with stars. 

He imagines an ending. Liz and Adil run into each other a few years from now. He finds her happy, thriving, and pain-free. He is also found happy, thriving, and pain-free.