Impuls

But now she knows what kind of coffee they like in the Clark family.

* * *

– Johnson, get in here now!

Melissa, who was just telling Rebecca off, turns to Emily. She looks menacing: in her hand, the head nurse has another mountain of files – paper, stapled heavy staples, they balance on the bend of her elbow.

– Don't change your clothes!

Emily frantically goes over all of her screw-ups in her head – she could get fired for anything, just as she could get promoted. Forgotten bandages, unthrown garbage, even a stain on her robe – Royal Hospital is too strict about that.

I should have said hello to Clark.

While Rebecca removes the top layer of makeup and Dana adjusts her high stockings, Melissa stands across from Emily and hands her a sheet in a clear file.

– I just got it," she informs her. – Clark really asked to have you transferred to neurology, they never got anyone there after they got sick. So take the thirteen and don't forget to check in. – Grumbles: – That's how you come to work, and a man's gone off the staff. Who will work for you, I ask you?

– What?

BOOM!

It was the ball, falling downward at lightning speed, that bounced off the ground and ricocheted back into the sky.

Emily's legs shook.

Charlie. Why Charlie? They'd only seen each other a couple of times, hadn't even spoken to each other; it would have been more realistic to get a transfer request from Harmon or Higgins, though they probably didn't even know her name. But Charlie?

Charlie Clark!

Who asked very much for a translation.

Translate!

Emily feels something burning in her chest.

She knows how lingering it is, waiting to be noticed, to be taken under the wing of experienced doctors, to be given a real job, to be guided and forced to learn. Dana is winning over Powell, Rebecca is hovering around Dr. Campbell, the head of the emergency room, Sarah has been promoted to assistant pediatrician and now carries her coffee and keeps diaries.

It's all so mundane, so transparent, but it's still happiness, even if it's simple as hell, stupid as hell. Not to be involved in endless running from ward to ward, not to be on everyone's beck and call, but to have wards and patients to know by sight; to be useful, to be needed.

And then Emily realizes that's the end.

Because if you're noticed, you're no longer invisible.

And she doesn't know if she needs it that way; because when they take off your mojo of invisibility, all that light-reflecting foil, you become someone else. Not yourself.

The doubt must be written all over her face. So Melissa puts her hand on her shoulder and adds a little softer than usual:

– You did good, Johnson.

Charlie.

Charlie Clark.

Rebecca shoves her lipstick into her locker in a rage.

* * *

Emily clutches the cup of cold coffee in her hands, somehow shoves her things from the locker into a large paper bag, picks up her Crocs, and leaves without saying goodbye.

She knows it's not a new world, not a fairy-tale transformation from beggar to princess, but it's at least a step. Maybe this glass corridor leads her to a new life.

A neon-lit BLOCK F sign, a pair of small staircases, familiar loft trim, ivory doors. A thin woman's voice comes from Donald Ray's reception room: Table for four, I know it's Friday, but it's for Professor Ray, you know? Fine.

Emily squints a little: table for two on Sunday, the best; but it's for Miss Johnson, you understand me, don't you? Deal.

The private secretary in her head adds cheekily: Just don't talk to her about work, she doesn't like it.

All dreams are quickly shattered by reality: apart from the break room, nothing really changes, and if this was a life elevator, it's only horizontal – her duties remain almost the same, only less chaotic. Maybe she'll get a couple hundred pounds added to her paycheck; maybe she'll meet new people.

She's lucky-the door is ajar, as if it hadn't been locked on purpose, and there's no need to look for someone with a pass. Dr. Harmon is still asleep on the couch – he doesn't seem to have changed his clothes or combed his hair or slept once in the past week. Emily clears her throat: She doesn't have the key to her new locker or his number, and she needs help right away.

Harmon jumps up instantly: One second and he's on his feet, looking at her through his unique tiny glasses. There are questions in his eyes. Lots of questions.

– Hello. – Emily decides it would be a good idea to start with the basics of politeness. – I was transferred here from the sanitation department. – She holds out a piece of paper. – I'll be here now.

– Keep it," James waves her off. – Who needs paper, you can't cure, ha-ha, you can't cure, can you?

Emily, who's forgotten the way he talks, nods cautiously.

– That's what I say… So, Johnson, from Mel, well, that's great, Johnson, congratulations, you've made it, ha-ha, you heard that, huh? People. No one's a man around here, ha-ha, we're all oxen plowing fields.

He disappears behind the door to the dressing room, and Emily has no choice but to follow him.

Along the walls stretches a row of very wide lockers with wooden doors. Despite the unreliability of the construction (one bump and the closet collapses with the door), it looks stylish – brick-white walls and dark brown, almost black, furniture. Instead of benches, there is a long, stacked couch with backs. Another door at the end of the room leads to the showers.

There is no separation between men and women; when she asks him how to change, Harmon smiles oddly, shrugs his shoulders nervously, and speaks in a cursory voice:

– So you get into your uniform here, and you wash yourself there if you have to. Here's the key, you take care of it – it opens all the doors, just like Alice's, ha-ha, great. – He takes the key out of an empty locker and gives it to her. – Always lock the door, so keep it tidy, we like tidy here. The kitchen is for the whole ward, and these rooms are for the juniors only, okay? So even Ray can fry his own eggs for breakfast, ha-ha, eggs, here, with us. And they can take a shower if they're too lazy to go to the OB, they have their own, they're lazy… So, give me your badge and I'll make you a pass, don't lose it, it's not recoverable from the juniors. Understand?