Situation

Edwina Campion left work, giving some excuse to the nearest student, and drove from the college across town to the Pantheon Medical Center before she could analyze why. All she knew was that she ought to be there, at Ben’s side. Because Orville probably wasn’t. And she was right. Mrs. Johnson was there, and a young anxious-looking nurse. Ben was in a bed, somewhat recovered. His speech was not slurred, his face did not droop. “Hello, Edwina,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Hello, Mrs. Campion,” said Ayana Johnson. “Now that someone else is here, will you please excuse me, Mr. Stillman? I am going back to the store. I am glad you are feeling better.” Ayana was without a verdict regarding her move to full-time work, and as she watched Ben regain his ability to speak properly, that had not been the first thing on his mind. Ayana couldn’t help thinking it should have been. Wasn’t he mumbling something about it before the ambulance came? She knew that his “incident” could have been worse, and she berated herself for her rapid slide to selfish concerns.

On the way out she ran into Orville, who looked worse than Ben. She told him the good news and pointed in the direction of Ben's room. Orville seemed confused as to what time of year it was. “Oh, Lord,” thought Ayana, but she wanted to get back to her safe place, her desk in the office behind the display room. It was just a short walk, but she had the urge to run.

Not knowing exactly what else to do, Edwina sat down on the small blue plastic chair where Mrs. Johnson had been sitting. The nurse drifted away. Ben gazed benignly at Edwina, his hands limp on top of the bed-sheet like two white fish (one hooked on a line), his face damp but untroubled. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment, then Ben said, in a stage whisper, “I’m supposed to tell you that Orville got a vasectomy. He wanted you to know. He didn’t mean to deceive you. I think it was an impulse buy.”

Edwina was offended, her privacy weirdly invaded by a man she had always been hesitant to socialize with or get to know, even though she’d rushed over here to check on his welfare for Orville’s sake. “Actually, I know that, Ben,” she retorted with a mini-scowl. “You know how I know? I found the receipt! I don’t know why he told you before telling me. He must have a list, and I’m last on the list.” She rose abruptly and turned to leave, but Orville had just found his way to the room.

“Ah, Edwina! You’re here!” Orville smiled weakly and made some sort of waving gesture.

“We’ll talk later,” Edwina hissed, and departed.

“Isn’t this the oddest situation, Orville?” Ben was back to his usual observational self, though here he was flat on his back with a tube or something coming out of his hand and small wires attached to his temples. “It was not a real stroke. That is yet to come,” he mused.

Orville felt he had to dutifully report: “I went to see your mother.” Ben also felt he had to dutifully report: “I took the opportunity to tell Edwina about your procedure.” Both statements were like punchlines to separate jokes that they had forgotten to set up as comics are supposed to do. There was no ‘ba-da-ba-CHING.’

A different nurse entered; older, more authoritative. “How are you feeling now, Mr. Campion?” She fussed briefly with his tube and wires. “My throat is dry, and my belly is rumbling, ma’am,” said Ben, playing the needy patient. Water was provided. Food was promised. Orville, now seated in the blue plastic chair, sighed and closed his eyes and waited for deliverance.

— Macoff