Three RNs on Their Lunch Break

In the photograph engraved on his tombstone he looked so young, stumping us, because, while he was younger than us, he’d always struck us as an old soul. Jen touched where the rough engraving of his hair gave way to the smooth black granite. What wasn’t in the photograph was us in the booth around him, happy hour, numbing ourselves with cosmo-ritas, having lost one. We recalled how badly we’d wanted laughter and how, when the alcohol landed, it came. We’d been cropped out, red eyes, scrubs and all. Although we knew we weren’t supposed to take offense, we did.

Photo credit: Howard Ignatius