Room with a View

Pilot

Jacqueline's POV:

Doing my morning rounds, I see there's a new name on my volunteer list where Mr. Harold used to be, so I make my way down D Wing toward the patient's room. As I walk, I consider how odd the name on my list is. It can't be right, I think silently, my features completely neutral. Reading the name again, multiple times over, the names stay the same, James Grayson James. Meaning there was either a typo, or this person literally has two first names for their first and last name. And even his middle name- Grayson- could be a first name.

Approaching his room, D413, I take a long, deep breath before knocking on the door lightly. After waiting a moment, an appropriate amount for someone inside to get the door, I gently open it, finding the room dark, the only light coming through a closed window, though there isn't much with the shutters closed. As my eyes adjust, I see someone sitting on the window's ledge, though their features are completely hidden, "Mr. James? Are you alright there in the dark?"

I see him moving but not specifically if he's getting up or- he steps in front of the window light and I see now that he's walking towards me, a tall, slim figure moving through the darkness until finally his features are met with the crisp, bright light of the hospital hallways. Note one, he's no older than 20 and no younger than 17, making him about my age; second note, he's wearing sunglasses while in a dark room, indicating that he could be blind; note three, he's got one of those sticks blind people use, so he must be blind; and note number four, he's smiling happily, showing off perfect teeth-

"Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's rude to stare," his smile stays, though it looks much more playful suddenly.

I chuckle lightly, to keep up the tone, nodding, even though he most definitely can't see me, "yes, yes, sorry, I was just-"

"Trying to figure me out? Well I'm sorry, Nurse Jac, but that's not quite how I roll. It'll take some time," he chuckles right back, turning to go back into his room without another word. He clicks on the light switch and his head immediately moves to the ground.

Being the worrisome person I am, I go to switch the light off, only to have him give me an indescribable look through his glasses, a straight line replacing his smile, "leave it. When someone comes in, you give them the option to see. I can look down just fine."

Retracting my hand from the switch, I politely wait by the door with my arms behind my back. I'm not sure why I'm so uncomfortable, seeing how I'm never awkward with patients, but-

"So you stare at people guiltlessly but don't talk without being spoken to? You've got some pretty inconsistent manners, Nurse Jac," the young man chuckles as his smile returns to its rightful throne upon his face. Making his way a few more steps, he sits comfortably on his window ledge again, gesturing for me to follow his lead.

Doing as told, I sit beside him, lying my hands in my lap neatly, "why do you keep calling me Nurse Jac?" I inquire, finding it a little agitating when he calls me something that isn't my name.

Shrugging, he takes one of my hands in his, feeling the skin on it, "My night nurse told me someone named Jacqueline would be in this morning, and I assumed that's you. I also assumed that you're a nurse. Are you not a nurse?" He looks at me as his index and middle fingers sit on my pulse, probably so he can feel whether or not I'm lying; a trick taught to many blind people because a person's pulse escalates when they lie {{This is Fiction, just saying}}.

"No, I'm not a nurse, but I will be soon," I state honestly, "I'm a volunteer for now. I come in every morning and look over the long-term patients." Seeing Mr. James smile as I talk, I can tell he is in fact trying to see if I'm lying. Good thing I have nothing to hide.

"Do you like working with terminals?" He tilts his head a bit, and I find it a little odd that he's facing me but can't see me. As if he's picturing me in his head.

"Well, I don't really think of them as terminals. Like not all long term patients are terminally ill. Many of the people I take care of suffer from really bad burns, hearing loss, loss of sight, and many other things that simply keep them from being in average, everyday society," I explain, trying to stay calm because of Mr. James' fingers over my pulse.

"Have you taken care of many blind people?" He asks, his head still tilted and his fingers still in place.

I think of my last two years and shake my head, even though he can't see me, "no, only one or two. And they're usually not as young as you."

His eyebrows naturally furrow in confusion as he continues with his line of questioning, "what do you mean? Am I too young to be blind, is that what you're saying?"

"No, no, no, of course not," I assure him, "that's not what I meant at all-"

"Ha ha, gotcha!" He grins and laughs heartily at me, making me pause for a moment in realization that he's just playing around. I laugh too, because I don't want to seem like a 'square', but I can't deny that his joke actually worried me. And when his laughter subsides, replaced by a slight frown, it's easy to see that he knows; he's practically a mind reader, "sorry, was that a bad joke?"

Shrugging, I answer honestly, even though I would much rather say something like, 'nah, it's cool', "I mean, it's not that it was bad, I just- I guess it's just a sensitive topic."

"What do you mean? Like, do you get hassled?" His grip gets rather firm around my wrist, as if he's actually feeling protective over a complete stranger like myself. I'm sure that's not it, though.

"Well, it's not necessarily that I get hassled, but I don't get much respect. The nurses and doctors look down on me, some of the patients act as though I'm completely incompetent, and then everybody lacks respect for me in general because I'm a young girl," I stop my line of rambling, feeling as though I might be annoying Mr. James at this point, "sorry, you don't want to hear all thi-"

"It's okay," he takes his fingers off my pulse and simply holds my hand, comforting me, "it's not often I actually get real conversation in here."

I nod, understanding his pain, "yes, many of the patients I look over feel that way, that's why I come in so often. I don't really know what I'd do if I couldn't come in here," I chuckle, letting my walls down a bit as I grow more comfortable with Mr. James.

"Do you think you'll like looking over me?" A smirk arises on his charming, pink lips and I take my hand away immediately, knowing that my heart rate is bound to rise with the heat that's pouring over my cheeks.

"I- um- of course, yes. I'm sure you'll be a nice patient. Now, Mr. James, I must get back to my rounds. If you need me, remember you can always ask for me at the nurse's station," I bound across the room quickly, feeling rather awful for my withdrawn attitude, "have a nice day," I remark politely before exiting, feeling a large sigh leave my lips that I hadn't realized was there.

For a good moment, I stand outside Mr. James' door, contemplating over my behavior and mentally smacking myself for leaving in such a fuss. All he did was ask a simple question and I completely spazzed out. How am I supposed to show my face in there tomorrow, or for the next few weeks at that?