Once the 2 a.m. hour struck, the only sounds in the hospital came from the gentle humming of muffled televisions and snoring. Being a nurse aide in nursing homes (long term care facility, if I'm being politically correct) seemed much more chaotic, even during overnight shifts. If it were a game show, it would be called How Many Bed Changes Can I Do In One Night? or I Know You Have Dementia, Gertrude, But If You Swing at Me One More Time, It's Fucking On. Not on the acute-care floor. These people aren't here because their families don't want to sacrifice their time, energy, and money to maintain their well-being. These people need professional help for pancreatitis, total knee replacements, and alcohol detoxification. After midnight, if I don't bother them for vitals, I leave work before they ring their call lights again. So what do I do in my down time?
Desktop computers nestle in the coves between every two rooms down a dimly lit hallway. I hop into a chair, take my iPhone out of my pocket, and scan my badge. Usually it logs me straight in, but for security purposes we have to type our password in every few hours. My hands hover on the home keys and I stare at the screen as I type Sidney1 almost mindlessly. Shout-out to typing classes since second grade. My first CNA job was only five years ago and we used a pencil and paper to chart, I think, sounding way older than I am. We stay connected these days. I pick my phone up and use my thumb to click the one button it has. The time and date flash onto the screen. No notifications. There's a fucking surprise.
I click the Google Chrome button pinned to the taskbar. Even though it will only take a few seconds to load, that's a few seconds far too long for my Millennial brain to be unoccupied. I pick up my phone and unlock it with my thumb print. A screen I'm too familiar with pops up: a green Sailor Jupiter silhouette as my background with my calendar, e-mail, notes, settings, and iMessage icons arranged alphabetically. That's not an accident. I lightly swipe my index finger to my left and a new set of icons scroll as if I turned the page of a book.
They're all in folders, these icons. Once again, grouped by a common feature. I have a fitness folder with apps I use to log my caloric intake, take me on guided meditations, and count how many steps I take in a day. Another one has my music, podcasts, Pandora, and that cool app where I hold up to a speaker for five seconds while it figures out what song is playing. My photos, Tumblr, camera, and Instagram are in another one while the credit card I canceled but still owe on, my current bank account, and Venmo lives.
I go into the one with Instagram and click on the minimalist purple/pink/orange/yellow camera. I have no notifications, and the same photo of SZA from five hours ago is still at the top of my feed. A comment by Kehlani is the only one of 2,200 that pops up, and my heart aches from being excluded from a friendship so pure. I wish I could be their friend. The thought emerges from the depths of my unconscious and evaporates just as quickly as it arrives. I click on the magnifying glass at the bottom of the screen with no particular search in mind. There are videos and pictures displayed that are tailored to the content I've hearted and the people I follow. Big Brother doesn't let me down, either, because one of the first posts my eyes gravitate towards is one of my favorite EDM DJs. Jauz' green eyes pierce the camera and the faux flower headband that's clearly a filter lines his forehead. The caption reads, "EDC READY..." with a bunch of flower and heart-eye emojis. The geo-tag is in Las Vegas, Nevada, and I am once again reminded of the elite club of money I have never been a part of. I click the outline of a heart and watch it turn red.
The royal wedding was just hours ago, so that's a hot topic. Not for me, personally, as I couldn't give a shit less about what's going on in England, but that doesn't stop me from tapping a picture of a Tweet that includes a picture of the princess-to-be smiling in her white wedding gown with "In a world full of Nicki Minaj's; be a Meghan Markle #RoyalWedding" above it. I swipe the post to see that somebody replied with, "Okay but Meghan Markle didn't bring out the pink Lamborghini just to race with Chyna and take her wraith to China just to race in China. She not a bed Trini bitch that's mixed with China with a real thick vagina that can smuggle bricks to China. I'll pass." Being aware of my surroundings, I suppressed a cackle. Stuuuupid. Obviously I don't know who originally wrote the comparison tweet, but I have a slight annoyance towards them. It is rare that an English princess is (albeit half) Black. Ol' started off taking tourist pictures outside Kensington Palace and ended up getting married in that bitch. I don't know why people stay comparing people. This isn't Pride & Prejudice.
I'm not sure what the word "wraith" means at the top of my head. It gnaws on my thirst for knowledge. I exit the app and go into my web browser. I glance over my homepage of eleven bookmarks. I poke the link that takes me to my dictionary. It takes me two seconds to enter wraith. Below a small ad for King Sooper's I see: [reyth] noun.
1. an apparition of a living person supposed to portend his or her death.
2. a visible spirit.
Well, what the fuck does "portend" mean?! I look it up and find out it's a verb form of foreshadow. I go back to the original word and read over the definition one more time. Wraith. Huh. I softly nod to myself before returning to Instagram.
I click on pictures that stand out to me. A throwback to 1983 reads, "The only wedding I care about is Michelle Pfeiffer and Al Pacino behind the scenes of 'Scarface'." It's a cinematic jewel and I tap the heart a little too aggressively. I see a reply to a tweet that says, "When I tell you America hates Black people eh..." I touch it to do further investigating. The original post reveals, "3 Black men were hit by a truck & are being fined for not wearing reflective clothing, while the driver walks free." Only one comment appears underneath the photo and it tugs at raw emotions: "All lives can't matter until Black lives do..." And I'm shook. Living in 2018, I refuse to become desensitized by issues that matter. I swipe to the left and are two images next to one another. "Two people suspected of stealing 90 cans of baby formula from Walmart," it says with the mugshots of a Black man and woman. To the right is a happy family photo of a white man, girl, and lady. "St. Charles man killed daughters before telling wife to 'live and suffer'." I've seen too many media headlines where white perpetrators are presented in a wholesome, normal light while people of color are almost strictly represented by mugshots.
I hear a noise that indicates the computer logged me off from inactivity. Another security measure. I stretch my badge to get back in, but right before I reach it, a call light goes off. I lock my phone, slip it into my pocket, and head towards the room.
