I Ended Up with the Ugly One

Dear Diary,

The events of the past few days have left me reeling, but as I sit here reflecting, I need to put it all down to make sense of the chaos. It began with a blinding flash of light, a thunderous bang, then nothing but darkness that stretched on endlessly.

Eventually the darkness started to fade, and a voice broke through: “Thomas Wilson, this is the rescuer, something exploded over there.”

Through the ache, I sensed a hand on my neck. I fought to lift my eyelids, and it took effort, but there it wasa rectangular pendant etched with zodiac symbols… followed by the gaze of a woman in a white coat.

“To the operating theatre!” came a voice right beside me.

As I lay there later, my mind wandered back to when I was much younger. My parents had returned from work. Mum went straight to the kitchen after a quick glance into the room where I was doing homework. Dad stepped in and noticed straight away that my mood was low.

“Tom, what’s wrong?” he asked, patting my head.

“Nothing,” I muttered, still a fourth-grader.

“Go on, spit it out!”

“It’s nearly Women’s Day. The teacher kept us back today and said we have to get gifts ready for the girls.”

“So what’s the trouble?” Dad smiled.

“Equal numbers of boys and girls, and she picked who gives to whom,” I sighed hard. “I ended up with the plain one, Emily Robinson.”

“Every girl wants a gift on Women’s Day, even the ones who aren’t pretty,” Dad spoke to me like I was grown. “How did she sort it? By alphabet?”

“No, by zodiac signs.”

“How does that work?” Dad couldn’t stop himself from smiling again.

“By compatibility. Emily’s a Virgo, and Virgos match best with Taurus. I’m a Taurus.”

“That’s handy if you match! Grow up and maybe you’ll even fall for her.”

Dad couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud. Mum hurried into the room at once: “What’s going on here?”

“Laura, go to the kitchen,” Dad’s face went serious. “I need a proper talk with our son.”

Once Mum left, I asked in a low voice, “Dad, what do I do now?”

“Get the gift ready!”

“What sort?”

“Tomorrow at work I’ll make one for your chosen girl.”

“Dad, what gift could you make? You work at the factory.”

“Yes, but I’m in the electroplating section. We handle every kind of metal coating.”

“I don’t follow, Dad.”

“You’ll see tomorrow!”

The next day Dad brought a pendant on a chain, rectangular and shining like gold. One side showed the Taurus and Virgo signs engraved, and on the other, written small but neatly: “To my classmate Emily on Women’s Day! Thomas.”

It looked so striking! And after Mum tucked it into a plastic bag, it seemed even better.

It was the day before Women’s Day. Lessons were off. First the pupils gave the teacher a gift, and she thanked them for ages. Then she told the boys to hand out their gifts to the girls.

What a rush started! All the boys hurried to their assigned girls. I went up to Emily Robinson and said what Dad had drilled into me: “Emily, happy Women’s Day! Maybe one day fate will bring Taurus and Virgo together.”

After the rehearsed words, I walked back to my seat and never noticed how this girl I saw as plain had her heart pounding.

Not long after, Emily’s parents shifted to another neighbourhood, and she started a new school from fifth grade.

Back in the hospital I opened my eyes to the white ceiling of the ward. I tried shifting my arms and legs, but only the left arm worked.

“Where am I?” I called out, unsure who to.

Footsteps sounded, and a patient on crutches came to the bed, looked me over, and asked, “Coming round? You’re in the emergency surgery ward.”

“Are my arms and legs still whole?” I asked quietly.

“Everything seems in place,” he said with good news. “You’re just bandaged head to toe.”

“That’s fine if they’re all there.”

A nurse came over and asked kindly, “How are you feeling?”

“What’s wrong with me?” I answered with a question.

“Your life isn’t threatened. Arms and legs will work. Just plenty of scars left,” she passed me the phone switched on. “Your mum asked to ring when you wake.”

“Son,” Mum’s voice came through tears.

“Mum, everything’s fine,” I tried sounding cheerful. “They said only small scars will stay. I’ll be out soon.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay overnight. Son, I’m coming now.”

“Mum, don’t get too worked up!”

I set the phone down and tried a smile at the nurse. “Thanks!”

“They won’t discharge you quickly,” she smiled back. “You’ll be here three weeks at least!”

“What happened?” the neighbour asked once the nurse left.

“I’m a rescuer. Oxygen cylinders at the factory started exploding,” I began recalling. “They called us in. We arrived before the firefighters. The room was massive, three injured inside. We ran in, cylinders scattered, fire in spots. We started carrying victims out… I was last… Near the door another cylinder blew… I don’t remember after that.”

“You really caught it bad.”

“Thomas Wilson,” the nurse called. “A colleague from work is here for you.”

“Hi, Tom! How are you?”

“Arms and legs are whole!” I answered hopefully. “But I can only greet with my left hand right now!”

“Don’t fuss over it!”

“What happened after?”

“We were already out when it blew. We rushed straight back, pulled you out… you were covered in blood… doctors were already there…”

“Thanks!”

“Tom, what are you on about?!” A smile spread on my friend’s face. “Looks like they want to put us up for medals.”

“I’ll be discharged by then.”

“Right, I’m off. Rounds soon. Nurse said not long.”

Before he left, a doctor around forty came in: “How are you, hero?” He stepped to the bed.

“Fine.”

“Talking means you’ll live. Let me check you!”

“Did you stitch me?”

“No, Dr. Emily Robinson. She’ll come the day after tomorrow.”

Two days passed. I was trying to stand. The leg pain stayed strong, right arm torn. At least ten wounds across my body. Two on my face; when it exploded I hit the gate, lucky I got my right hand out first. I checked the mirror. Face still swollen.

Today the doctor who spent five hours stitching me in the theatre was due for rounds. I felt a bit on edge.

Then she entered. Young, slim, glasses but they suited her, white coat looked right on her. At twenty-seven I’d already been married, but it ended after six monthspersonalities clashed, though really my ex didn’t like a rescuer’s pay.

“Hello,” she said, heading to my bed.

“Hello. Was it you who stitched me?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Something wrong?”

“Let me examine you!”

She leaned over… Right before me the pendant with zodiac signs hung from her neck.

“Emily Robinson!!!” I called out.

She looked closely at my swollen face.

“Sorry!” she said, still not knowing me.

“I’m Taurus,” I said, pointing to the pendant.

“Tom Wilson?” Her lips shook. “You remember me?”

“Of course, Emily.” Seeing tears, I put my palm on her hand.

“Sorry!” She pulled a tissue and wiped her eyes. “I never thought we’d meet this way.”

She didn’t come back to my room that day. But I’d worked out her shifts matched mine: day, night, two off.

I didn’t want to seem helpless to her. All the next day I tried walking in the ward holding beds, and twice, gripping the wall, I reached the corridor.

Evening came. The day doctor left. New shift showed in the corridor talk. Rounds now…

Suddenly shouts and quick steps in the corridor. That happens when another victim arrives.

It was ten o’clock. The nurse came and turned off the light. But sleep wouldn’t come. Past midnight footsteps sounded in the corridor, then quiet, and in the silence I felt more than heard someone crying out there. I got up and carefully went out.

At the duty desk sat my old classmate, head on her arms, crying. I went over and rested my good hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Emily?”

She stood and pressed into my shoulder.

“I operated on a woman hit by a car,” she started, voice breaking. “I did everything possible and impossible… She’s in intensive care now, but she won’t survive. Two children… her husband is with her in the room.”

“Calm down, Emily.”

“Three years a surgeon and I still can’t get used to people dying.”

“Calm down, calm down. That’s our work. In five years I’ve seen many deaths too, but we’ve saved plenty of lives,” I sighed heavily. “That’s why my wife left. She said I come home not myself and don’t earn enough. But I always bring home forty thousand poundsit’s enough to live on.”

“Same for me,” she looked at me. “Guys see me as odd. Never married, still live with parents like a kid.”

“Come on, we’re only twenty-sevenlife’s ahead.”

“No, Tom, we’re already twenty-seven.”

“Dr. Emily Robinson, her pulse is dropping!” the nurse shouted, running out.

“Sorry!” Emily rushed to intensive care.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Morning the nurse gave the usual injection.

“Is the woman from last night’s operation alive?” I asked, even surprising myself.

“Alive, but in critical condition.”

Three weeks later the wounds on my body had healed. I saw Emily on her shifts, and I felt pulled to her more and more. But the emergency surgery ward wasn’t the spot for personal talk.

During a morning round the male doctor said, “I’m discharging you today,” smiling. “From the hospital. Straight to your clinic, they’ll decide how much more sick leave.”

“I can pack!”

“Yes, don’t rush. They’ll prepare the papers now.”

After he left I shaved. In the mirror I noted the two scars left didn’t spoil my face, rather added some strength. The other scars weren’t worth noticing.

I packed and stepped into the corridor. A patient came toward me, holding the wall.

“She pulled through after all!” I thought with relief.

The nurse came out and handed the discharge. “Goodbye, Thomas! Don’t end up back here!”

I had my own one-bedroom flat, but I went to my parents. Mum had waited and worried so much. She’d even taken time off.

“Son!” She pulled me into a hug.

“All good, Mum. See, I’m alive and well.”

“Come, I’ve cooked. You’ve got so thin.”

“Oh, how I’ve missed home food!”

“Until you recover and marry you’ll stay in your old home. Your room’s still empty,” she called like to a child. “Go wash your hands!”

Before evening I went to the barber’s. Stopped at my flat for some clothes. Mum started sorting them at once.

Evening Dad came from work. We sat together as before and talked till late.

I went to bed in my old room where childhood and youth passed, but didn’t sleep right away. My thoughts turned to tomorrow: “Clinic first, then work. And in the evening…”

With the idea of the next evening I finally drifted off, long after midnight.

The next day I went to the clinic in the morning. Spent till lunch moving between offices. After lunch I headed to work, just as my shift started.

“Where are you off to?” Dad asked.

“Dad, remember long ago when I was in fourth grade? You made a pendant for a gift to a classmate.”

“The plain Emily Robinson? I remember.”

“You also said, ‘Grow up and maybe you’ll fall for her.'”

“I remember that too.”

“Dad, Emily’s a surgeon now. She operated on me. And she still wears that pendant on her neck.”

“Well, would you look at that!”

“Dad, your words came true. I’m going to her!”

At twenty-seven it’s not too late to start life with someone you care about.Dear Diary,

The events of the past few days have left me reeling, but as I sit here reflecting, I need to put it all down to make sense of the chaos. It began with a blinding flash of light, a thunderous bang, then nothing but darkness that stretched on endlessly.

Eventually the darkness started to fade, and a voice broke through: “Thomas Wilson, this is the rescuer, something exploded over there.”

Through the ache, I sensed a hand on my neck. I fought to lift my eyelids, and it took effort, but there it wasa rectangular pendant etched with zodiac symbols… followed by the gaze of a woman in a white coat.

“To the operating theatre!” came a voice right beside me.

As I lay there later, my mind wandered back to when I was much younger. My parents had returned from work. Mum went straight to the kitchen after a quick glance into the room where I was doing homework. Dad stepped in and noticed straight away that my mood was low.

“Tom, what’s wrong?” he asked, patting my head.

“Nothing,” I muttered, still a fourth-grader.

“Go on, spit it out!”

“It’s nearly Women’s Day. The teacher kept us back today and said we have to get gifts ready for the girls.”

“So what’s the trouble?” Dad smiled.

“Equal numbers of boys and girls, and she picked who gives to whom,” I sighed hard. “I ended up with the plain one, Emily Robinson.”

“Every girl wants a gift on Women’s Day, even the ones who aren’t pretty,” Dad spoke to me like I was grown. “How did she sort it? By alphabet?”

“No, by zodiac signs.”

“How does that work?” Dad couldn’t stop himself from smiling again.

“By compatibility. Emily’s a Virgo, and Virgos match best with Taurus. I’m a Taurus.”

“That’s handy if you match! Grow up and maybe you’ll even fall for her.”

Dad couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud. Mum hurried into the room at once: “What’s going on here?”

“Laura, go to the kitchen,” Dad’s face went serious. “I need a proper talk with our son.”

Once Mum left, I asked in a low voice, “Dad, what do I do now?”

“Get the gift ready!”

“What sort?”

“Tomorrow at work I’ll make one for your chosen girl.”

“Dad, what gift could you make? You work at the factory.”

“Yes, but I’m in the electroplating section. We handle every kind of metal coating.”

“I don’t follow, Dad.”

“You’ll see tomorrow!”

The next day Dad brought a pendant on a chain, rectangular and shining like gold. One side showed the Taurus and Virgo signs engraved, and on the other, written small but neatly: “To my classmate Emily on Women’s Day! Thomas.”

It looked so striking! And after Mum tucked it into a plastic bag, it seemed even better.

It was the day before Women’s Day. Lessons were off. First the pupils gave the teacher a gift, and she thanked them for ages. Then she told the boys to hand out their gifts to the girls.

What a rush started! All the boys hurried to their assigned girls. I went up to Emily Robinson and said what Dad had drilled into me: “Emily, happy Women’s Day! Maybe one day fate will bring Taurus and Virgo together.”

After the rehearsed words, I walked back to my seat and never noticed how this girl I saw as plain had her heart pounding.

Not long after, Emily’s parents shifted to another neighbourhood, and she started a new school from fifth grade.

Back in the hospital I opened my eyes to the white ceiling of the ward. I tried shifting my arms and legs, but only the left arm worked.

“Where am I?” I called out, unsure who to.

Footsteps sounded, and a patient on crutches came to the bed, looked me over, and asked, “Coming round? You’re in the emergency surgery ward.”

“Are my arms and legs still whole?” I asked quietly.

“Everything seems in place,” he said with good news. “You’re just bandaged head to toe.”

“That’s fine if they’re all there.”

A nurse came over and asked kindly, “How are you feeling?”

“What’s wrong with me?” I answered with a question.

“Your life isn’t threatened. Arms and legs will work. Just plenty of scars left,” she passed me the phone switched on. “Your mum asked to ring when you wake.”

“Son,” Mum’s voice came through tears.

“Mum, everything’s fine,” I tried sounding cheerful. “They said only small scars will stay. I’ll be out soon.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay overnight. Son, I’m coming now.”

“Mum, don’t get too worked up!”

I set the phone down and tried a smile at the nurse. “Thanks!”

“They won’t discharge you quickly,” she smiled back. “You’ll be here three weeks at least!”

“What happened?” the neighbour asked once the nurse left.

“I’m a rescuer. Oxygen cylinders at the factory started exploding,” I began recalling. “They called us in. We arrived before the firefighters. The room was massive, three injured inside. We ran in, cylinders scattered, fire in spots. We started carrying victims out… I was last… Near the door another cylinder blew… I don’t remember after that.”

“You really caught it bad.”

“Thomas Wilson,” the nurse called. “A colleague from work is here for you.”

“Hi, Tom! How are you?”

“Arms and legs are whole!” I answered hopefully. “But I can only greet with my left hand right now!”

“Don’t fuss over it!”

“What happened after?”

“We were already out when it blew. We rushed straight back, pulled you out… you were covered in blood… doctors were already there…”

“Thanks!”

“Tom, what are you on about?!” A smile spread on my friend’s face. “Looks like they want to put us up for medals.”

“I’ll be discharged by then.”

“Right, I’m off. Rounds soon. Nurse said not long.”

Before he left, a doctor around forty came in: “How are you, hero?” He stepped to the bed.

“Fine.”

“Talking means you’ll live. Let me check you!”

“Did you stitch me?”

“No, Dr. Emily Robinson. She’ll come the day after tomorrow.”

Two days passed. I was trying to stand. The leg pain stayed strong, right arm torn. At least ten wounds across my body. Two on my face; when it exploded I hit the gate, lucky I got my right hand out first. I checked the mirror. Face still swollen.

Today the doctor who spent five hours stitching me in the theatre was due for rounds. I felt a bit on edge.

Then she entered. Young, slim, glasses but they suited her, white coat looked right on her. At twenty-seven I’d already been married, but it ended after six monthspersonalities clashed, though really my ex didn’t like a rescuer’s pay.

“Hello,” she said, heading to my bed.

“Hello. Was it you who stitched me?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Something wrong?”

“Let me examine you!”

She leaned over… Right before me the pendant with zodiac signs hung from her neck.

“Emily Robinson!!!” I called out.

She looked closely at my swollen face.

“Sorry!” she said, still not knowing me.

“I’m Taurus,” I said, pointing to the pendant.

“Tom Wilson?” Her lips shook. “You remember me?”

“Of course, Emily.” Seeing tears, I put my palm on her hand.

“Sorry!” She pulled a tissue and wiped her eyes. “I never thought we’d meet this way.”

She didn’t come back to my room that day. But I’d worked out her shifts matched mine: day, night, two off.

I didn’t want to seem helpless to her. All the next day I tried walking in the ward holding beds, and twice, gripping the wall, I reached the corridor.

Evening came. The day doctor left. New shift showed in the corridor talk. Rounds now…

Suddenly shouts and quick steps in the corridor. That happens when another victim arrives.

It was ten o’clock. The nurse came and turned off the light. But sleep wouldn’t come. Past midnight footsteps sounded in the corridor, then quiet, and in the silence I felt more than heard someone crying out there. I got up and carefully went out.

At the duty desk sat my old classmate, head on her arms, crying. I went over and rested my good hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Emily?”

She stood and pressed into my shoulder.

“I operated on a woman hit by a car,” she started, voice breaking. “I did everything possible and impossible… She’s in intensive care now, but she won’t survive. Two children… her husband is with her in the room.”

“Calm down, Emily.”

“Three years a surgeon and I still can’t get used to people dying.”

“Calm down, calm down. That’s our work. In five years I’ve seen many deaths too, but we’ve saved plenty of lives,” I sighed heavily. “That’s why my wife left. She said I come home not myself and don’t earn enough. But I always bring home forty thousand poundsit’s enough to live on.”

“Same for me,” she looked at me. “Guys see me as odd. Never married, still live with parents like a kid.”

“Come on, we’re only twenty-sevenlife’s ahead.”

“No, Tom, we’re already twenty-seven.”

“Dr. Emily Robinson, her pulse is dropping!” the nurse shouted, running out.

“Sorry!” Emily rushed to intensive care.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Morning the nurse gave the usual injection.

“Is the woman from last night’s operation alive?” I asked, even surprising myself.

“Alive, but in critical condition.”

Three weeks later the wounds on my body had healed. I saw Emily on her shifts, and I felt pulled to her more and more. But the emergency surgery ward wasn’t the spot for personal talk.

During a morning round the male doctor said, “I’m discharging you today,” smiling. “From the hospital. Straight to your clinic, they’ll decide how much more sick leave.”

“I can pack!”

“Yes, don’t rush. They’ll prepare the papers now.”

After he left I shaved. In the mirror I noted the two scars left didn’t spoil my face, rather added some strength. The other scars weren’t worth noticing.

I packed and stepped into the corridor. A patient came toward me, holding the wall.

“She pulled through after all!” I thought with relief.

The nurse came out and handed the discharge. “Goodbye, Thomas! Don’t end up back here!”

I had my own one-bedroom flat, but I went to my parents. Mum had waited and worried so much. She’d even taken time off.

“Son!” She pulled me into a hug.

“All good, Mum. See, I’m alive and well.”

“Come, I’ve cooked. You’ve got so thin.”

“Oh, how I’ve missed home food!”

“Until you recover and marry you’ll stay in your old home. Your room’s still empty,” she called like to a child. “Go wash your hands!”

Before evening I went to the barber’s. Stopped at my flat for some clothes. Mum started sorting them at once.

Evening Dad came from work. We sat together as before and talked till late.

I went to bed in my old room where childhood and youth passed, but didn’t sleep right away. My thoughts turned to tomorrow: “Clinic first, then work. And in the evening…”

With the idea of the next evening I finally drifted off, long after midnight.

The next day I went to the clinic in the morning. Spent till lunch moving between offices. After lunch I headed to work, just as my shift started.

“Where are you off to?” Dad asked.

“Dad, remember long ago when I was in fourth grade? You made a pendant for a gift to a classmate.”

“The plain Emily Robinson? I remember.”

“You also said, ‘Grow up and maybe you’ll fall for her.'”

“I remember that too.”

“Dad, Emily’s a surgeon now. She operated on me. And she still wears that pendant on her neck.”

“Well, would you look at that!”

“Dad, your words came true. I’m going to her!”

At twenty-seven it’s not too late to start life with someone you care about.