The Opposite of Winter

by Carla Spataro

"Miss Jane, you out there?"

"Yes, Mr. Williams, I'm right here." She reaches for his hand, finds it in the humid blackness. "It's going to be okay. Just try to relax."

"Is there much water coming in?"

Jane's ankles are wet, her sneakers soaked through. "A little bit," she says. She and the other remaining nurse have managed to get all the other patients up to the second floor before the electricity went out. Mr. Williams is the only one left at sea level.

"Sure is hot, isn't it Miss Jane?" She squeezes his hand, can hear him straining for breath without his oxygen. "Guess there ain't no getting me up to the second floor now, is there?"

"We can try if you want to."

"I don't see no point, do you?"

She shakes her head only because he can't see her in the dark.

"Why don't you sit up here on the bed with me? Leastways then your feet won't get wet."

"Might be a little late for that."

"Oh, well, hop on up here anyway." He pauses, pats his chest. "Been a long time since a woman's been in my bed."

Jane laughs despite the suffocating closeness and climbs into the bed next to Mr. Williams.

"We going to live Miss Jane?"

"I sure hope so."

They are quiet for a time, listening to the rain pound heavy against the boarded-up glass, the wind ripping shingles off the roof.

"Sure is hot." The old man pushes at the thin blanket covering his wizened body.

"Try and be still if you can. Think of someplace cold."

"Never been no place cold. You?"

She smiles and pats the old man's leg. "I spent the winter in Michigan once. Coldest three months of my life." Jane scoots down to the end of the bed and leans against the foot board. "It was so cold there that sometimes little icicles would form on my scarf from the condensation of my breath. The lake would freeze into these crazy, gnarled fists that would bunch up against the shore line and the snow was so deep it came up to my thighs."

"That sounds mighty cold."

Jane tries to hold the picture of the snow in her mind. "You comfortable enough Mr. Williams?"

"I reckon I'm as comfortable as I'm…" his voice dissolves into two shallow breaths. "It's just so damned hot. I wish…"

"Mr. Williams?" Jane crawls to the head of the bed, gropes for the old man's carotid pulse. In an instant her feet are on the floor, the water now halfway up her calves. She lowers the head of the bed, puts her cheek to his mouth. No breath. In the darkness her hands fumble around for the Ambi-bag up near the head of the bed. Her fingers brush against it, but somehow it slips away from her and lands in the rising water. She hasn't put her mouth on a patient in years. What now? Hand under his neck, tilt up chin, pinch nose closed, seal mouth over mouth—two full breaths. Measured. Counting. Two inches above the old man's sternum. Heel of right hand down, heel of left hand down, fingers locked, elbows straight. Compress. One. Two. Three. Brittle ribs crack, bone grinds against bone. Four. Five. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Sweat is trickling down Jane's face, burning her eyes. Repeat. Repeat. The water is up to her knees. Repeat. Mr. Williams is gone. Through the howling wind Jane can hear the other nurse calling out to her from the top of the stairs and she pulls the thin blanket over the old man's face. Outside the storm slams up against the boarded up windows as Jane makes her way to the second floor.

About the Author

Carla Spataro is co-publisher and fiction editor of Philadelphia Stories. For over five years, PS has showcased fiction, poetry and art from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware, serving as the region's venue for emerging and established artists alike. Spataro has become a fixture of the Delaware Valley's literary scene, promoting book fairs, reading series, writers' conferences and numerous other events like Push to Publish. First and foremost a fiction writer, Spataro is also the program director for the Rosemont Writers' Retreat, an adjunct professor at Rowan University, and the midwife of 322 Review.

322 Review publishes provocative emerging and established artists. Conceived and operated by former Rowan University graduate students of the Master of Arts in Writing Program, 322 Review is aggressively seeking the best fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and mixed media works of visual art.