Piece on the Floor

Part One
Anna Montgomery was sixteen year old royalty. With her “effortless,” perfectly highlighted, straightened, blown, combed, brushed, pinned, styled, accessorized, blonde hair and casual, but “oh-so-chic” style, she was the envy of every girl at Rockwood High School. Anna always had the pick of Rockwood’s most eligible bachelors. She broke a Rockwood record by winning every “best,” “most,” and “-est” superlative the yearbook had.
         Anna sat in her Junior English class as the teacher rambled on about Hawthorne or Poe, she wasn’t sure which. A tiny doodle had grown into a field of daisies within the hour. She had better things to do than to sit there. She tapped her pencil to her current favorite song, but it slipped out of her hand as she got to the drum solo.
         The wind made a soft “sorry, here you go” murmur as the pencil rose from its place on the floor. Anna sighed and rested her hand in a palm up gesture, which the pencil fell gently into. Anna continued her drum solo right where she left off, not even taking notice of the invisible force that graciously helped her.
         Anna possessed no supernatural powers; the wind did not help her, nor was it telekinesis. It was Olivia Haywood, the fantastic invisible girl. Though not technically invisible, she might as well have been. She wasn’t a particularly striking girl; consequently, teachers and students alike had a penchant for seeing right through her.
         Olivia, or “Ollie,” Haywood was one of the few students in Room B256 paying attention. She was genuinely engrossed in Hester Prynne’s classic letter. Ollie’s eyes darted across page after page, reading along with the English teacher’s “spirited” performance. Olivia read as Hester waded through the Puritan village, helping the town’s unwell, never caring for recognition.
         The Puritans would have loved Olivia. She was very plain, just the way they liked ‘em. Her face was pretty enough, but nothing extraordinary. She was lean, which just helped her to blend in with a thousand other girls. She had average looking braces, simple wire-framed glasses, and clean but understated brown hair. People will not pick on someone they cannot see, and Olivia had no qualities strange enough to be made fun of. She had no artificial limbs, glass eyes, webbed fingers, pimpled face, dirty habits, awkwardly placed bones, facial scars, rude mannerisms, or anything to make her noteworthy in any way.
         Olivia was content with her invisibility. She received an education without having to put up with torments or insults. Olivia would have liked a few good friends, but people are rarely interested in being friends with someone they can’t see. Olivia sat with three other girls at lunch. The other girls were friends with each other, but never saw Olivia outside of school. They envied Anna Montgomery and unlike Olivia, they longed to be as popular as she. The girls often tried to change their hair or clothes to be noticed; they were not content to be invisible.
         Although Olivia was content at school, she was far from being happy. Her face was dreary, her complexion gray-tinged. Her eyes were always attentive, but dull. They lacked a sparkle of life. Olivia seemed to always be looking down, even when taking notes from the board. She appreciated a funny joke, but she never giggled. Her lusterless hair hung limply around her long face. Olivia had excellent posture, but tended to shuffle along down the halls, very slowly, out of the flow of busying students. Olivia did not want other’s attention, but she simply wanted to be where she was happiest (and Rockwood was not it).
Nevertheless, Olivia was actually one of the happier teenagers at Rockwood High School. Olivia had a separate life away from the drama and pressures of school that bogged down her peers. She had figured out what made her happy by the age of sixteen, which some people never understand. She had a haven of her own where she was far from invisible.

Part Two
         The bell echoed through Room B256, a cue of freedom to students and teachers alike. As everyone shuffled around incessantly, Olivia quietly fit her copy of The Scarlet Letter into her backpack. With downcast eyes, she walked toward 853 Hillcrest Street. She knew this way well because her route was the same every day.
         Olivia continued on the sidewalk, past all the upper classmen honking horns at friends, past the underclassmen angry about not being upperclassmen, past kids shuffling into Mom and Dad’s car, past the way of life that is high school. Olivia viewed her peers’ passings and goings without interest. As she turned the corner onto Chestnut Boulevard, there was a slight change in her walk, slight enough that only she felt it. Her arms swung a little wider, and her feet lifted a little higher. Mrs. Kennedy, of Kennedy Flowers, waved at Olivia as she walked by. The first smile of the day stretched across Olivia’s face, her white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. The bright sun played on her hair, turning it to glittering shades of copper and gold. The post office was the halfway point. Like every Tuesday before this one, she dropped a crisp envelope addressed to Grandma Haywood into the mailbox. Olivia’s step picked up; now it was almost brisk. She lifted her head to take in the sights of the town square. Her favorite was the tiny grassy median in the road; it was always doused in flowers of every shade, courtesy of Mrs. Kennedy. Her eyes squinted into the sun to grasp a glimpse of the colonist statue, standing tall against the British, amidst his sea of petunias and begonias. Her blue eyes now had that sparkle she lacked not a full hour ago.
         A large white building shined in the dazzling afternoon rays a few blocks ahead.
         “Hello Ollie! I’ve got a treat for you today: ziti with meat sauce!” a lanky man with a huge black handlebar mustache called after Olivia.
         “Sounds delicious; I’ll stop by around seven, okay?” commented Olivia. Mr. Albano was always trying new dishes out on her. She ate at his restaurant at least three times a week.
         “I’ll make a fresh batch for my favorite customer!”
         Olivia strolled along, past the huge sign announcing “Saint Julia Billiart Hospital.” The sliding doors opened and Olivia walked into the huge white building she had seen from a block away. She felt her invisibility lifting.

Part Three
         “Ollie Ollie Oxen Free! Come ‘ere and get me a Jell-O off that cart,” a feeble looking man yelled from his hospital bed as Ollie passed by. His face was covered in age spots and his tiny patch of white hair stuck straight up.
         “Of course Mr. Calderon! How are you feeling today?” Ollie grabbed a red Jell-O, Mr. Calderon’s favorite.
         “Just the usual aches and pains, you know how it is. Thanks for the Jell-O sweetheart,” Mr. Calderon slowly lifted a plastic spoon to his toothless grin.
         Ollie had just walked into the door of geriatrics when Mr. Calderon had spotted her. With Mr. Calderon now satisfied, she continued down the long bustling hallway. Nurses scuttled from room to room, doctors could be seen dropping in, and families sat with their loved ones.
         Ollie had been one of those families just a year ago to the day. Ollie’s grandmother, Martha Burks Conrad, had heart disease and was cared for at Saint Julia Billiart Hospital. Ollie’s mother had had a falling out with her mother, Martha. Therefore Ollie had never been very close to her grandmother before, but started visiting her every day after school. She had found someone to confide in. Martha described her childhood, growing up during the Depression. Martha’s descriptions of her life were eerily similar to Ollie’s unnoticed existence. The two women bonded over the months, and Ollie became a regular at Saint Julia’s. She was a favorite among the nurses, always offering to help out when she could. It wasn’t long before she began volunteering every day, Martha was always commenting how very proud she was of her beautiful granddaughter.
         It was hard for Ollie when she finally lost her eighty year old counterpart about a month after she began volunteering regularly. However, Ollie continued to volunteer each day, missing only one day for her grandmother’s funeral.
         Just under a year afterward, Ollie was a valued member of Saint Julia’s Geriatrics Ward. The regular patients learned to depend on her for a kind conversation, something most nurses and doctors were too busy for. Of course there was a fair share of difficult patients, but Ollie broke many a hard shell, even if they refused to admit it.
         “Hey Ollie! You sign in yet?” a passing nurse asked. When Ollie shook her head, Nurse Carol continued, “I’ll sign you in. Frances is asking for you, Room 762.” Frances Shaffer had been at Saint Julia’s for a year, on and off. She suffered from a number of severe diseases that overlapped in symptoms half the time. She was a very petite woman with very slight shoulders. Her white hair was always combed and kept; Ollie always had to strain to hear the woman’s light voice. Frances’ family lived far away, so she loved a good listener. Ollie was an excellent listener.
         Ollie rounded the corner to Room 762 and heard that light voice say, “Ollie! Come, come, and sit down. Right there. Perfect!”
         Ollie sat in a hospital chair and looked at Frances Shaffer. She was a tiny woman, surrounded by machines bigger than she was, hooked into a dozen wires, but she was absolutely beaming.
         “I heard the most wonderful news today Ollie! My daughter just had another baby girl! Frances Elizabeth Mullen, my own namesake.” Frances clapped her hands gently, aware of the IVs.
         “Congratulations Mrs. Shaffer you…” Ollie started.
         “Frances, Ollie! Call me Frances, like my new grandbaby!” Frances’ eyes were twinkling behind her aging frame.
         “Well congratulations, Frances! I’m sure you’re very proud. Frances Elizabeth is you sixth grandchild, right?”
         “Oh yes! Six was always a wonderful number, isn’t it? I’ll get to remember another birthday; oh it’s lovely! You’re very lovely too, Ollie, always talking to a little old lady like me. You make this dreary ol’ hospital a brighter place,” Frances smiled wisely at Ollie, who could feel her cheeks turning red.
         “Wow! Well, thank you very much Frances.” Ollie looked at the floor. She never knew how to take a compliment.
         “No, really, Sweetie, you do so much. Everyone goes through a lot of pain here. Many of these patients, like me, don’t get to see their family everyday. You become a friend you can count on to listen and to care. You speak to me as though I’m a person, not a patient, not a senior citizen, and certainly not a body taking up space!” Frances’ voice picked up some here. She took a deep breath and smiled lovingly at Ollie again. She took Ollie’s hand in hers when she said, “Thank you for that.”
         Ollie was at a loss for words, not truly understanding, which was fine because Frances quickly filled the silence
         “Now… I think he wants you,” Frances gestured to a man in scrubs standing in the doorway, “Go ahead, I said what I needed to. Stop by before you go home though. Bye Sweetie, and thank you!”
         Ollie said goodbye to Frances, who was currently propped up in her hospital bed looking out the window. Ollie had never seen this man in scrubs before; she knew only a handful of staff from other wards.
         “Are you family?” the scrubs man asked.
         “Excuse me? Oh, no. I volunteer here everyday,” Ollie looked down and remembered she hadn’t picked up her visitor card because Nurse Carol had signed her in. After the family question, Ollie had a sense this wasn’t good news, “Is something wrong with Frances?”
         “She has a lot of things wrong with her. I’ve never seen a chart like hers; she’s quite the trooper, eh?”
         Ollie nodded in agreement and looked back at Frances who was now reading a magazine.
         “I’m Doctor Hahn; I’m Mrs. Shaffer’s surgeon today. Nice to meet you…”
         “…Ollie,” Ollie shook Dr. Hahn’s hand. Then his words sunk in, “Frances is having surgery? Will she be okay?”
         “We hope so, of course, but this is a risky one. Mrs. Shaffer is insisting upon it, for good reason though. If it is successful, she’ll be able to go home or a nursing home at least, and have a good eight years-“
         “Watching little Frances grow…” Ollie knew for a fact that Frances was a top notch grandmother; Ollie had seen the time that went in to picking out five (now sure to be six) perfect presents, reading every school paper sent to her, and kissing five (now to be six) little heads smack on the forehead.
         The doctor didn’t seem to hear this. He gave Ollie a hearty handshake and said, “Nice talking with you. You should be able to find out how the surgery went by nine tonight, just stop by the second floor and ask Rita at the desk how Mrs. Shaffer’s doing.”
         “Thank you,” Ollie replied.
         Ollie now understood Frances’ speech, she was saying goodbye.
         Ollie went about her rounds as usual, but the minutes seemed to drag. Her mind kept wandering back to Frances. Was she in surgery right now? Was she in pain? Would her family be there when she woke up?
         She usually went home around six, but she called her parents to let them know she would be staying later tonight. Finally, after the longest six hours Ollie could remember, she went to the second floor.
         This level was different from Ollie’s fourth floor geriatrics. There was a large front desk, filling half of the waiting room. There were a few chairs here and there, dated magazines, lots of people filling out forms on clipboards, and complimentary coffee. The biggest difference between geriatrics and surgery was the fact that she couldn’t see anything. There were two imposing double swinging doors which hid everything. She didn’t see any nurses, doctors, IVs, hospital beds, anything! It was all tucked away behind the doors.
         “Rita at the desk” was forty-something with curly permed hair stuffed into a bun. She was wearing too much makeup and was smiling profusely. Ollie approached the desk with extreme caution, partly because Rita frightened her and partly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how the surgery went.
         “Hello, I’m Ollie. Dr. Hahn told me to ask you how Mrs. Shaffer’s surgery went.”
         “Okay, just a minute, hun,” Rita typed quickly into the computer. Her smile dropped like a sack full of bricks, “S-H-A-F-F-E-R? Born July 5th 1925?”
         “Yes, that’s her.”
         “I’m afraid she didn’t make it, I’m very sorry.” Rita looked down.
         Ollie walked out of Saint Julia’s heading home after that. She certainly didn’t have it in her to try out Mr. Albano’s ziti. She volunteered in the geriatrics ward; people died. It was always sad, but this one hit deeper. Frances had a new granddaughter to see and seemed so able, but Ollie could remember times when Frances would politely ask Ollie to leave because she was in too much pain to talk.
         Ollie did not realize how close she was to Frances until she realized she would no longer see her. Her heart felt unfinished, like a jigsaw puzzle missing that piece on the floor. She had taken that one piece of a five hundred-piece puzzle for granted; until she saw how incomplete it left the jigsaw puzzle. Now she understood what Frances had meant. She, too, had had a piece of Frances’ heart. She made a difference and Frances wanted Ollie to see she had a piece of Frances’, Mr. Calderon’s, Nurse Carol’s, and everyone else she affected. Though Ollie didn’t inspire fashion trends, instill envy in girls, or make every guy drool like Anna Montgomery; Ollie affected people in a larger way. She was not invisible.