Tik Tok Tenacity

“Last night I dreamed I wore my elf ears to work,” I say as my co-worker scrolls through my TikTok feed while we sit together at lunch. “It was hard to use my stethoscope, though. My ears kept falling off.”

Monica looks up from my phone and cocks one eyebrow at me. “You sure it’s a dream? After all, you are still wearing your tiara. I meant to talk to you about that.”

My hands fly to my head in horror. She laughs. “Kidding! Geez, you’re easy. That’s so funny.”

“Hilarious,” I mutter, and take another bite of my tuna sandwich. “Check out the pinned videos. They’re my favorites.”

“They’re all the same guy,” she complains. “And they’re all doing the same thing. Where are the dancing ones? Didn’t you used to do other stuff? These are all singing.”

I nod. “Duets. My older stuff has dancing in it. But I really like the duets.”

She bends closer to the phone. “Lip-syncing? Heh. It looks like you’re both really doing the singing. Why all the same guy, though? Aren’t there other folks out there to… duet… with?”

“Well, yeah. But I like his style.”

"Yeah, but all the same guy? He is hot, though. I’ll give you that. Gorgeous eyes. They’re so… green.”

“Yes. So. Very. Green.”

She stares at me for a moment, considering. “You’re really into this guy, aren’t you?” She sits back in her chair. “I thought you didn’t like guys.”

“I don’t. Not in the context you mean, anyway. I don’t date guys. But this one is different.”

“If you’re talking about the long hair and jeweled headpiece and crazy makeup, I get it. He’s definitely not your typical guy.”

 “And… he lives here in Tampa. Can you believe it? Of all the places on this planet to inhabit, he lives here.”

 “What? How do you know that?”

 “We may have exchanged a couple of messages through TikTok,” I offer.

 “May have? What?” she squeals, “Tell me all!”

 “It’s not that big a deal. We just chat a bit through TikTok. The only things I know so far are that he lives in Tampa and works at a shoe store.”

“A shoe store? An elfin god like that, and he works at a shoe store?” Confusion flits across her face. She glances down and gives him another look-over before glancing back up at me with narrowed eyes. “You gonna meet him?”

 “Trying to. He’s a bit… elusive.”

 “Figures.” Monica glances at her watch and rises suddenly, grabs her lunch bag and stuffs her half-eaten food back in. “Omigod, I’m gonna be late. Gotta run—Mr. Stamper is one of my patients today. You know how cranky he gets if his snack is late.”

“Ha! He’s a kitten. I’ll see your Mr. Stamper and raise you Miss Fornall.”

“No! Not Miss Fornall! You’ve got Fornall?”

 I sigh theatrically. “Yes.”

“You win. See you later. Don’t get close when she’s eating her pudding. Ask me how I know.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. I don’t think I want to know.”

She laughs and punches my shoulder before leaving. “No, you really don’t,” she agrees. “Later, Katy.”

I nod at her. “Later.”

I still have a few minutes and I spend it on my phone, obsessively viewing my latest TikTok duet with J. Yeah, that’s the name he goes by. Just… J. This one is the best yet. He chose an incredibly cool song, a sort of gothic folk, which matched perfectly with his style—long, straight blonde hair, a jeweled headpiece with small white pearls interspersed with diamonds hanging in thin strands, accentuating the elf ears sticking out of his hair. His makeup is better than mine could ever hope to be, with playful highlights and an emerald line bisecting his chin. And the fangs! Tiny fangs peek out from his lips when he smiles. Thick eyebrows and artfully drawn eyeliner frame the greenest eyes I have ever seen. Is the eye color real? Maybe. If so, his eyes are probably the only thing real about him in these videos. Maybe they’re contacts. I squint at my phone, hoping it will give up any J secrets, but it stays stubbornly mute.

I fire off another in-app message to J, asking him when we can meet. I’m not sure why, but he never says yes to my requests. And there have been many. He seems to want to meet, but something is there, holding him back.

Sighing, I give up, grab my lunch bag, and head back to my floor. No doubt Miss Fornall will be waiting, along with my other five patients.

She is. And they are.

Two admissions, three IVs, one run-in with the charge nurse and two bed changes later, it’s time for Miss Fornall’s snack. I try to talk her into something less messy, like maybe a cookie, but she’s adamant—she wants her chocolate pudding.

Being the exceptionally kind and compassionate nurse that I am, I bring her the pudding and open it for her, handing it to her along with a white plastic spoon. Making sure she can navigate appropriately from hand to pudding to mouth, I then phase out, trying to decide my next TikTok venture. Should I wear the elf ears? Or go for something a bit more… standard? Sedate, maybe. Serious.

TikTok is how I maintain my sanity. Carving out some “me” time in my crazy schedule is critical. I’d always wanted to be an actress or a singer, but I ended up being a nurse. Not that nursing isn’t important—obviously it is, and I’m happy to help people, but after a while, I just get all filled up with what everyone else needs. What about me? What about what I need?

Enter TikTok. The first few videos I created were horrible. I had no idea what I was doing. In the past few months, though, they’ve gotten much better. Enough for J to take notice. The first time I posted a duet with him, he favorited the video and complimented me on the execution. The next…

A retching sound reaches my ears and I instinctively leap back, but it is too late to completely dodge Miss Fornall’s projectile vomiting. It catches the bottom of my scrubs and covers my shoes. My very expensive, special nursing shoes. My almost-impossible-to-find shoes.

I stand there for a moment, looking at my feet in horror. I allow myself one tiny shriek before hurriedly composing my face and plastering on a smile. (See, I am an actress.) “It’s okay, Miss Fornall. I’ll just get this cleaned up.”

Miss Fornall doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered.

Later, my patient taken care of, I slip off to the staff bathroom and try to repair the mess.

Monica walks in as I’m standing at the sink, barefoot and pant-less. I’ve attempted to wash the bottom of my scrubs and am now holding them under the air dryer. My shoes are a hopeless mess. I’m not sure how, but it’s even inside the left shoe. I’ve scraped and rinsed and there they sit, balanced on the edge of the sink, forlorn, splotchy with stains that I know will never come out. Neither will the smell, most likely.

“Miss Fornall?” she asks.

“Miss Fornall,” I confirm.

Monica passes by them and stops, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, they reek!”

Like she needed to tell me that.

“I don’t think that’s going to come out.”

“I know.” I sigh and struggle into my still-damp scrubs. “And I still have four hours left on my shift. Hey, do you know any good shoe stores here? Ones that sell these?” I gesture to my sodden shoes.

“Yeah. I think Feet First sells them. You know, the store on Bay to Bay Boulevard.”

Relief floods me as I stick my shoes under the air dryer, turning my face away from the stench. “Good. I’ll go after work. I’m picking up an extra shift tomorrow and no way am I going to wear these for a whole shift.”

I stuff my feet into the still-wet, stinking mess and shuffle out of the bathroom with a hurried goodbye.

Who knew four hours could drag on for what seems like days? The only bright spot is a notification from TikTok that I have a message. Ducking into the med room to read it, I hold my breath. Is it from J?

It is!

I scan it first in case it’s something horrible. It’s not. Then I go back and read it closer.

“K,” it starts. (I go by my real first name, Katy, on TikTok, but J apparently has a thing about initials and calls me K.) “K, I do really want to meet. We have a real connection. I know it. But I need you to be patient. Can you do that, K?” He signs off, of course, as J.

I sigh. Well, it’s not a complete no, right? As for patience, he really does not know me. But he’ll learn. I send him a quick, “Of course, J! Take your ever-loving (oops, I delete ever-loving from my phone) time. No hurry. K.”

Somewhat satisfied, I stuff my phone back into my pocket and make my way back to my patients.

I notice the hospital staff giving me a wide berth as I hurry past them; the stench announcing my arrival by at least ten paces.

Finally, this inglorious, wretched shift is over. Never have I been so happy to see a shift end. I fly out the door, make my way to the parking garage, and in three minutes flat, I’m on my way to the shoe store.

Feet First is sandwiched between Joe & Son’s Olive Press and the Kelp Sushi Joint. An unlikely combination, I think. Maybe they won’t notice my reeking shoes with all those other… odors… competing.

It is a vain hope.

I wander around the shop looking at the shoes perched on tiny acrylic thrones. Apparently, there is only one salesperson in this store, and there are two other people waiting to be served, besides the current customer. Said salesperson hunches on the floor, slipping a sneaker onto someone’s foot. All I see of her is a shock of red hair, which sticks out at odd angles.

This is going to take a while.

A small boy jumps on one of the chairs and proceeds to leapfrog his way across the room. He ends up on the chair next to me. He stands there a moment before hollering, “You stink, lady!”

“I know,” I say glumly.

“Bobby, get off the chairs. They’re not trampolines!” Bobby, of course, doesn’t listen to his harried mother. He boings his way across several chairs. “The saleslady is going to toss you out,” Mom says as a final threat.

The saleslady pops her head up at this threat. She gives a tiny shake of her head, and her mouth curls up at one corner.

She looks familiar to me for some reason, although I’ve never been to this store. I stare at her, trying to figure it out. She catches me staring at her and her green eyes suddenly go wide and round.

Her very green eyes.

Wait—I know those eyes.

She ducks back down and ties the sneaker she’d just put on her customer’s foot. Once the second shoe is put on, the customer gets up and walks around as he tests out their comfort.

I find a chair to sit in, one that faces her, and pull out my cell phone, pretending an interest in it as she finishes up with the customer. I sneak glances at her out of the corner of my eye as she works.

The customer leaves, taking the two other people with him, including the boy leaping from chair to chair, making one final leap to the floor. The bells on the door jingle madly as they walk out.

It’s just her and me now.

She hesitates, then approaches me, a cautious look on her face. I expect her to run out of the door at any moment.

“Can I help you this evening?” she asks politely.

I glance at her name tag, pinned to the front of her emerald t-shirt. That green matches her eyes perfectly.

“Yes, thank you… Julia,” I say, trying to keep a light tone to my voice. She really looks spooked. I point at my offending feet. “I sorta had an accident today with my shoes.”

“That… is really gross,” Julia says. You can tell she caught the reek—she’s breathing out of her mouth to forestall any possible accidents of her own. “How’d it happen?”

“Miss Fornall. Miss Fornall happened.” At her inquiring glance, I clarify. “Work accident. I’m a nurse.”

She knows that though, I tell myself. She (when I thought she was a he) had discussed our vocations. Maybe it’s not her? Or him? Am I wrong? Julia… J… a coincidence?

Those green eyes, though…

“I’ll be right back,” Julia says and disappears through a door behind the counter. For a moment, I think she’s run away for sure, but she comes back, arms full of shoe boxes, and lays them at my feet.

With extraordinary grace, she kneels and, without blinking an eye, removes my sodden, stinking shoes, and with a couple of sanitizing wipes, cleans my feet for me.

I’m a bit embarrassed at the level of attention, but I say nothing because it feels so damned good.

She even brought socks, which she put on before opening the first box of shoes. “Size six, yes?”

“How did you know that?”

She gives a gamine grin. “That’s what I do,” she says, with a sweeping gesture around the store. “I’ve been doing it a long time.”

She puts the shoes on and ties them. “Try walking around, see how they feel.”

I do, and they’re perfect.

I sit back down. “I’ll take these.” Is it J or not?

She nods and puts my old shoes in the box. “I’ll burn these.”

I have to know. Of course I do. I start our duet. “You used to buy me scotch…”

Her hands go utterly still, then she looks up at me and tilts her head. “Still do…”

I continue the song, “Yeah, but now too much is never enough… to take me back to that dance hall where you got thrown out ‘cause they thought you were drunk…

"I wasn’t…” she sang.

“You couldn’t lie then…”

And both of us finish the lyric. “And you sure as hell can’t lie to me now.”

“J,” I breathe.

“K,” she says, then giggles.

“I thought you were a guy,” I say, an accusing note in my voice. I try to tamp it down.

“You’re not… disappointed?” she asks. She looks down, then back up at me, those emerald eyes looking through my very soul.

I slide to the floor and take her into my arms. “Not even a little.”