My Kind of Town
Who's Bobo?
>> Queen's Medical CenterQuinn Ah Sun had never been as glad to see anyone as he was when the nurse who been here before entered his room and said it was time to change the dressing on his right thigh where he'd been shot last night. Somehow she had the ability to nurse just with her presence, to heal with a touch and a smile.
A heartbeat after Quinn realized she was more than a beacon of goodness and hope in his world suddenly gone berserkowitz, that she was a very attractive woman, he also realized that he didn't know her name.
Halfway across the room she stopped, the warm smile suddenly replaced by a frown. She reached under the chair and picked up an 8 1/2-by-11 piece of paper. "I think this is yours," she said, handing him a photocopy of an old newspaper story.
It was from the year 1981, a Police Blotter item about the disappearance of entertainer Clarence "Bobo" Ah Sun.
"How did this get here?" Quinn said, baffled.
"I'm not sure."
This didn't make any sense. Quinn had asked his cousin Lily to go to the State Library and research newspaper archives for mentions of the Ah Sun clan 21 years ago, hoping to find clues as to why their fathers quit speaking. But Lily hadn't been back since then, at least not that he knew about. And when he'd called her just minutes ago, she'd refused to speak with him, telling her maid to tell Quinn to "go straight to hell." So how did this photocopy get under the chair? And who was Clarence "Bobo" Ah Sun?
All of the Ah Suns were related, but Bobo was a name he didn't know. No, this didn't make any sense at all.
But when the nurse gently pulled away the sheet that covered his legs, and lifted the hospital gown to get a better look at his thigh, he set the paper aside. Her touch, warm yet expert, gave him hope and confidence.
"What's your name," Quinn said, "if you don't mind my asking?"
"Nina," she said and looked up from her work with a smile, making eye contact, just managing to keep the butterflies out of her voice. "Nina Ramones."
"Thank you."
"For what?" she said, blushing and looking away.
"For ..." Words suddenly failed him. At least, there were too many words, too many emotions to express. "for making me better."
She looked up, making eye contact again. "That's why I'm here."
"Thank you, Nina," he said again, taking one of her gloved hands in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"I can't do my work if you're holding my hand," Nina said. "But if you like, there will be time for that later."
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com