Nurse

My doctor requested a simple blood test so I went to the lab within their office suite.  No one was there.  Another doctor emerged from her office to see me waiting, and since she was ushering another patient to the line, went hurriedly to fetch someone.  The woman came scurrying, with a small plate of food, perhaps being shaken from her break.

"Name, date of birth?"  she said, with some sort of accent (Russian?).  I told her, and she asked me which arm and I pondered which one seemed more veiny today.  "It doesn't matter for me,"  she said curtly.  I also confided that I sometimes faint when I have blood drawn, something I always feel I should let nurses know before they have to shake me awake.  "Should be fine,"  she once again answered tersely, "It's hardly any blood."  I agreed with her, but all the same, dutifully wanted to let her know, lest something happen.

All the same, she asked if I had eaten.  And as the blood started to flow into the vile, she uncomfortably and awkwardly broke her brusque nature to get me to talk.  "So tell me something about yourself."  There was no hiding her motive.  Nothing about her had indicated to me that she was the small-talk sort.  And nothing about her had indicated that she would take my concerns seriously or that she though herself unable to control my body's propensity to faint by her expert blood-drawing skills.  And yet, she had listened to me and was willing to do something outside our established interaction to help me and take care of me.  Even after she had finished, she kindly wished me well in my music making.

How many people might open their hard exterior when someone if put under their care?  Perhaps all of New York is soft inside, waiting to be given the chance to serve another.