Endless Supply of Characters

            After thirty-five years of working as a nurse, I’ve obtained an endless supply of characters and plots for stories. I’ve written fiction about a retired homicide detective from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but none of his dealings come close to some of the memories that have accumulated over those years on the job. The thing that caused my thoughts to wander back to those some memories was a necktie.

            It was given to me by a fellow worker named Nancy who manned the switchboard. She was a buxomly blonde, pleasant and well-spoken. The switchboard was centrally located in an area that was nearly devoid of phones. It was much easier for me to answer calls from the switchboard than for me to hurry to another area to find a phone. I became friends with all of the operators, but this memory and the tie was from Nancy.

            When I entered the “communications room” one evening, I mentioned that the blouse that she was wearing was nice. It was black with splotches of colors in a deep yellow, a dark green and vivid violet. The darkness of it enhanced the blondeness of her coif. When I complimented the blouse, she replied, “This old thing. I hate it.”
            I said, “It looks very nice on you.”

            Again she snarled, “I’m going home and throw it away.”

            “Why? It’s a pretty blouse.”

            “”If you think it is so pretty, I’ll go home, wash it and you can give it to your wife,” she replied.

            I knew that I wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing, so I made the call and said as I departed, “I still think it’s a nice blouse,” and hurried away before she could respond.

            Because I interacted so much with the operators I always bought a small gift for them at Christmas, especially when I knew their likes. I can’t remember what I got Nancy that year, but later when I came into the switchboard, she scooted her chair back and pulled out a long thin box covered in bright wrapping paper and a large bow from a niche beside her.

            “”Here, this is for you,” she said. Her face was transformed by a sly smile. She watched, the smirk growing larger as she watched me unwrap it. It was a tie made out of the material of that old blouse. As a nursing supervisor, I wore a corresponding tie for most occasions. The patients, families, and staff seemed to like it and I still have nearly one hundred ties in my arsenal.

            When I wore it for the first time and Nancy saw it, she swore and said, “#%*#, it makes a nicer tie than that old blouse.”
            Nancy is dead now and I only pull that tie out once a year on New Year’s Eve. I wear it in memory of her and the story. I plan to wear it to church to celebrate the upcoming New Year. This is for you, Nancy.