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Atlas & Alice | Issue 3, Spring 2015

Green Scrubs The first thing they ask after everything else is if you’d like to wear the green scrubs or the regular hospital gown with the ass hanging out. “Are you sure the green scrubs is what you want to wear?” they ask. “You’re sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in a gown?” Even without green being your favorite color I’m sure you’d be most comfortable in the green scrubs. Apparently you do too because you say green scrubs, of course green scrubs, and then they take everything we’ve brought in with us and put it all in a large paper bag they say they’ll lock in a cupboard and we can have back when we leave. This is strange, we both agree, and even more strange when they then lock all the drawers and cupboards in your room, batten down the hatches like we are together a course of destruction, like size medium latex gloves are something worth protecting from the likes of us. The nurse is a very large man with light steps and soft hands that he sanitizes at every opportunity. He doesn’t answer when we ask him why they’ve taken our things or why they’ve hidden even the remote to the television, which is heartbreaking. “What’s the meaning of this?” I ask, and he doesn’t answer, and all I really want to do right now is sit by your side and hold your hand and watch Animal Planet on the television and every once in a while reassure you that everything’s going to be alright, but the remote to the television is gone and the television is mounted too high to be able to turn it on without the remote and also right now I wouldn’t necessarily believe me if I said everything was going to be alright. “We don’t want to steal your latex gloves!” I want to tell him. “Why have you taken our things?” “She’s wearing green scrubs,” is all he says. These are the meanings of green, which I look up when I finally return home, alone, to the clothes in your closet arranged by color, mostly green, which you wear all the time and which wearing has never done anything but bring out the blue in your eyes: 1. Of the color between blue and yellow in the spectrum, colored like grass or emeralds: the leaves are bright green. 2. Consisting of fresh vegetables of this color. 3. Denoting a light or flag of this color used as a signal to proceed. 4. Covered with grass, trees, or other plants. 5. (Of a product) not harmful to the environment. 6. (Of a plant or fruit) young or unripe: green shoots. 7. (Of wood) unseasoned. 8. (Of a person) inexperienced, naive, or gullible: a green recruit fresh from college. 9. (Of a memory) not fading. 10. Still strong or vigorous. 11. (Of a wound) fresh, not healed. 12. (Of the complexion of a person) pale and sickly-looking: “Are you all right? You look absolutely green.” You are some of these thing often and others only every once in a while and some not at all, like 2 for example. I have never known you to be consisting of fresh green vegetables. But I have known you to be 6 sometimes, 5 and 9 and often 10, 3 when you’ve had too much to drink and fumble up the stairs and 16

Profile for Atlas and Alice Literary Magazine

Atlas and Alice Literary Magazine  

Issue 3 | Spring 2015

Atlas and Alice Literary Magazine  

Issue 3 | Spring 2015

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