Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling by Lucy Frank

time-out sometimes
    when you’re pregnant.
    “Except the only time-out I got
    was in the damn hospital.
    On the damn tubes
    and evil juice again.
    “Which, as you can see
    from the pictures,
    didn’t mess up Joya,
    thank God, but …
    “TMI, right?
    “Only reason I’m telling
    you is so if you ever think
    about stopping your meds,
    no matter how much you hate
    taking them, you’ll think of me
    and know
    it’s the dumbest
    stupidest,
    most asinine
    thing you could do.”
    “C hess? You still awake?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Whatcha doing?”
    “Lying here.
    Staring at the ceiling.”
    “Before?
    When I said
    I didn’t care
    about Joya’s father?”
    “Yeah.
    I know.”
    “C hess? What time is it?”
    “Twenty past three.”
    “I could use a bowl of that
    ice cream around now.”
    “Me too.”

SEVENTH DAY
    “L ook at you,
    all dressed and ready to go
    before they’ve even come
    to draw your blood. That’s one thing
    you won’t miss, I know!”
    Celandine, the night aide, smiles
    as she takes my very last vitals.
    “You better tell your mom to feed you up.
    That or buy you smaller pants.
    “And how you doing, Miss Shannon?
    Looks like you’re getting some of
    the old sparkle in your eye.”
    “Still here. Still me.
    Don’t ask
    About the gas.”
    “I don’t wanna hear the G-word,”
    she warns the surgeons.
    “And don’t tell me it’s Job One,”
    she tells the duck brigade.
    “I got my daughter to get back,
    my GED, get my ass to college
    so I can be a doctor
    like you guys, only better.”
    “It’s fuckin’ gas.
    It’s passed before,
    it’ll pass again.”
    “H ey. I hear someone’s leaving us,”
    says Dr. Nguyen on his way out.
    “Bet you can’t wait
    To kiss this place good-bye.”
    Shannon turns her TV on.
    Even through the curtain
    I can feel her eyes.
    “Is it weird to hug your
    doctor?” I ask the Orange Croc Doc
    when she officially declares me
    good to go.
    With a “Hmmph!”
    worthy of Mrs. Murch
    as she trudges to the bathroom,
    Shannon tells her IV pole,
    “Next she’s gonna be talking
    about hugging me.”
    “Don’t bring my lunch.
    I’m outta here,” I tell the lady
    who comes to take away
    my breakfast tray.
    “The only reason I’m still here is
    my mom has to stop by her office
    before she can drive up
    to get me.”
    Shannon turns her TV louder.
    “I won’t be needing that,”
    I tell Green Jacket Man
    when he parks a wheelchair
    beside my bed.
    “Thank you for taking such good care
    of my trash,” I tell the cleaning man.
    “I’m leaving today.
    I’m going—”
    “YO! NEWSFLASH, CUPCAKE!
    WE KNOW THAT! EVERYONE
    IN THIS HOSPITAL
    KNOWS THAT!
    “WANT ME TO RENT THE
    GOODYEAR BLIMP
    SO THE WHOLE WORLD
    WILL KNOW?”
    A few laps
    around the nurses’ station.
    Check my phone.
    Think about texting
    Bri or Lexie.
    Decide it might feel easier
    when I get home.
    Inspect myself
    in the bathroom mirror.
    How many times
    can one person pee?
    Check my phone.
    Try on my other sweats,
    the other tops,
    twist my hair up,
    braid tiny braids,
    try to tie my hair back
    with my hospital bracelet,
    which I probably should not
    have bit, sawed, nipped
    with my nail clippers,
    because now some alarm
    might go off
    when I try to leave.
    “Shannon. Why does my hair look so bad?
    It looked so good yesterday.
    “These pants are so baggy!
    Like I’ve got on, like, Pampers …”
    Her TV’s blasting now.
    I yank open the curtain.
    I grab her clicker.
    Kill the sound.
    “HEY!
    WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
    “Shannon. I don’t mean
    to be annoying you.”
    “Yeah? Well, you’re like the dogs
    in our kennel, pacing in their cages,
    ears up, tongues dangling, butts wiggling.
    I’m surprised you don’t bark
    anytime anyone goes past!
    It’s setting off my evil juice!”
    “I’m setting off my
    evil juice. Sorry.”
    “And what’d I tell you
    about apologizing!”
    “How ’bout
    ‘We don’t take stress,
    we give stress’?”
    “Yeah, well,
    don’t give your stress