X is for X-Ray

London 2023

The outside of St Thomas’ Hospital was something out of a horror movie. The building was white. Not bright white like a modern build, or cream white like an ancestral home; a faded white like teeth stained from enamel. There were no lush gardens or green spaces like other hospitals that pretend they aren’t a canister of death, just gravel paths speckled with stones like multigrain bread. Overfilled wards weren’t enough to distract from the blinking lights or the one lift that never worked. 

Abeke counted each blink, as if it was the pulse of the building. There was not much else she could do, the pain which had started in her toes had slithered up her foot, then her calf and thigh. What had been a simple ballet class gave her anxiety. Would she dance again? Had she wasted her potential with nothing to say for it? What would life after ballet even look like? 

She memorised the studio, so she wasn’t spotting. When she turned, she thought she had her eyes on the red flashing light in the corner but really the red she saw was her blood from her jaw as she spun down to the ground.

She had counted 87 blinks since the ambulance had dropped her at St Thomas’. She wasn’t sure if that was regular or not. Most hospitals, to some degree were falling apart: the chipped paint falling into ponytails, beds with stiff wheels and droves of nurses quitting. 

It was hard to keep counting the blinks . It was hard to not ruminate on the choreography . It was hard to not judge the creepy building for being so creepy. Abeke tried to move her neck, the brace was only suffocating when she thought about it. “Can I take this off please?” The nurse ignored her. She figured she didn’t hear her. “Nurse can I take this off please?”. The nurse looked at her, up and down. Abeke was comfortable in the tight leotard and tights prancing around the studio; in the emergency department, with the nurses eyes peeling over her, she felt exposed. “I’m going on break.” Abeke’s eyes followed the nurse as she walked away, hips swaying and lips smacking gum. 

The blinking lights were getting less distracting as the walls inched closer to her. Nobody forced her to do all those fouettes, nobody told her to go to class late and miss the warm up. At the end of the day there was nobody to blame but herself. Her breaths were louder than the chit chat and grumbles of the waiting room. Perhaps people watching would be an ample distraction. There was a man in a black tracksuit with a brown bottle in his hand, maybe it was liquor, maybe it was a spirit. Abeke didn’t drink so she was unsure. It smelled like the alcohol wipes from the ambulance journey. He staggered over to the bathroom, following a young girl in a mini skirt. Her milky skin was splotched with purple. Her ankles were red from her heels rubbing at them, diligently chafing them away. Abeke heard the disapproval from an older lady on her left, cheeks splotchy, a similar colour to the bruises on the young woman’s legs. As the man to her right walked away, she took in a deep breath. His stench had been tormenting her. He smelled like day old tobacco. Not in an endearing way like her uncle Steve who smelled more like the cologne he smothered to compensate for the bitter smell. It was a mix of tobacco and sweat, unforgiving and unrelenting. Even after he followed the doctor to another room, Abeke coughed from the sharp tang he left behind.

She dug her hand into her bag. “Ow.” Not thinking about the brace on her neck really did make her forget it. Gingerly, she dragged her phone out of her bag and up her body. 

Her battery was low from twenty nine missed calls. Several of the calls were reasonable. A couple from her parents and her flatmate Marco. The other dancers had sent some generic ‘Oh my God. I heard what happened, get better soon. Keep me updated.’ texts. 

Nineteen of the calls were from Ade.

Ade.

They had met at a museum. It was a Saturday and classes were cancelled. It was too late to book anything else and quite frankly, Abeke was not in the mood for ‘pushing her boundaries’ as her ballet teacher had encouraged her to explore other styles of dance. Instead, she flicked through her notes app ‘London Bucket list’. After six months living in London, she had seen nothing and been nowhere. The worst part was that because she hadn’t explored other styles of dance, she couldn’t even say dancing had taken her around the city. It had kept her firmly in place. When she hopped on the bus 360 to South Kensington, she wasn’t sure which museum she would visit, not until she met Ade. 

Ade Allen was average in height, clean shaved head and bright eyes. Everything about him seemed gentle,  his accent, the way he spoke, the way he gestured his head as he looked for directions. His skin was bright like cocoyam and his jacket fell from his shoulders like a draped tablecloth. 

He asked her for directions to the ‘African Fashion Through Time’ Exhibition. With all the extra free time she had, she’d agreed to take him to the museum herself. He gave her his spare ticket and her decision was settled. The Victoria and Albert Museum was the museum of the day. She bumped into him again after hours of roaming the vast halls and galleries. She gave him her number and after weeks of scanty replies, back and forth, she finally agreed to meet him for a coffee. 

That was meant to be on Monday. 

In forty eight hours.

She had planned to text him to cancel their upcoming plans. She would hate for him to travel from north London to see her and be left hanging. She had not planned for the stream of texts he’d sent her, each more desperate than the rest. 

‘Abby Baby, where are you?’

‘Abeke mi, are you ok?’

‘Abeke don’t be like this. Pick up my call.’

‘Who do you think you are to ignore me like this?’

The taste of old blood in her mouth was more appetising than his tone. Nausea flooded through her as her phone began to buzz again. Baby? Abeke mi? They had only met that one time at the Victoria and Albert Museum. They had barely had any conversation. They were certainly not on ‘baby’ or any possessive terms.

“Hello?” She meant for her tone to be firm and decisive, to put him in his place for the slew of messages and yet her voice cracked. Other than asking the nurse for help, she hadn’t spoken much.

“Wetin be this one?”

“I’m literally in hospital, I can’t do Monday.”

“So hospital means you can’t pick up my call?”

“Yes. I was in an ambulance.”

“I forgive you.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter where we are so long as it is you and me. I’ll come check you in the hospital.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I don’t understand.” 

Her thumb clicked as she hung up the phone.

The X-ray was uncomfortable. The radiographer twisted and turned her leg for the ‘correct angle’. With each tug, Abeke tasted more blood in her mouth. With each inhale she smelt it too. The white, blinking light of the waiting room was more appealing than the X-ray room. It was a harsh, unforgiving space. A strange odour hung in the room, the radiographers clammy hands squelched in the poorly sized latex glove. The drag of the radiographer’s jacket against her badge made an intermittent screech sound with every movement. Abeke’s body was cold. Beads of sweat made her leotard a dank environment. Cooling down was the one thing on her mind. Not the claustrophobic neck brace or the dropping power of her phone. “Miss Abeke I need you to hold still for me or else this will take us very long.” She grunted. Her energy was dipping and it would take the entirety of her last reserve to hold her leg in place, not to mention the excruciating pain which had now wrapped around  her hip. “Please Miss Abeke, let’s not waste time.” She didn’t nod with her head firmly in place but she tried to groan. She wasn’t sure if she groaned at all. She wasn’t sure of much at all. She had been sure about declining an offer to engineering school to study ballet. And she had been sure about choosing London over Paris and Moscow. In this moment, she wasn’t sure if the heat travelling up her back was from the stuffiness of the sweat soaked leotard or just radiating from the X-ray table. 

“I have done my best. I’m sure you’d like to go home soon so I’ll give the doctor your X-Ray to review. Abeke shut her eyes. The red hot pain was becoming unbearable. “I’ll ask the nurse to give you some analgesia, alright?” She dragged in a breath to stop herself from wincing in pain. She stayed like that, in a half awake half asleep posture for a while. The conversations surrounding her swelled into one. A cacophony of sounds wasn’t enough to distract her from the pain. The automatic door was old and slow, its speed reminded her of a tendu across the floor. With each drag of the door, cool air rushed in. Even the temperature difference couldn’t help with her pain induced fever.

The breeze increased as her bed moved. Her eyes remained glued shut. She reasoned with herself that if she couldn’t see the issues they would magically disappear. She tried to focus on counting her breaths until she slid off the bed, an undignified tangle of sheets and her warm up clothes, from the ambulance. Abeke tried to look up and see what nurse let her fall. She had used almost all of her remaining energy to keep her leg in place for NIcole the radiographer. There was hardly enough for her to sit up after her unflattering fall. 

“Abeg get up.”

Abeke’s whole body stiffened. Ade’s voice was distinct. He had just moved from Nigeria for his masters so his accent was diluted enough for the Western ear; not so diluted an African could not understand him. It was a reflection of the UK shows he must have watched to prepare him for his move. 

“I said get up.”

Was he blind? Between the neck brace and elevated leg, she’d assumed any reasonable person with a set of working eyes could determine there was something wrong with her. “I’ll take you myself.” The pads of his fingers felt like daggers in her armpits, hooking onto her flesh. For a man of his average stature, Abeke had not expected him to be able to carry (or drag) her weight. “Ade. Stop.”

“Pa enu e.”

“Ade.”

“I said shut up.” 

Once her limbs were bundled into the cupboard, he dropped her. “Ow.” The red hot pain had climbed up to her ribs. The brace, the pain and the position on the floor meant she could only look at one thing. Ade stood, looking down at her. “What are you doing.”

He kicked her side and the red hot pain clung to her shoulder. “Don’t ever ignore my calls again. Look what you made me do.” He adjusted his clothes, unruffling them. The angle of her neck meant the tears that pooled in her eyes had nowhere to go. “Ade please.”

“Pa enu e.”

The beeping and scurrying of the hospital outside was too loud. Nobody would hear her screaming. Even if it wasn’t so hectic, she had no energy left to scream. She skipped breakfast and mostly lived off coffee, which she had missed due to her injury. 

“I told you all that matters is me and you. Even in the hospital it is just us that matters.”

Stepping over her body, he sat on a plastic stool. The lights were too dim for Abeke to see and without her glasses, or any energy for that matter, devising an escape was futile. Her hearing was the only thing she could rely on and even that began to falter. The sound of a zip sliced through the ‘white noise’ of the bustling hospital outside. 

“Abeke mi.” His coo felt sinister and conniving as it crawled across her. 

“Abeke mi.”

The taste of blood in her  mouth grew sour from the fear.

“Ade.”

“I said pa enu e. Shut up.” From the corner of her eye she watched his fingers on his waistband. “That’s your problem, you talk too much and never listen. I told you to pick up my call. I told you what matters is us, not where we are. You will listen today.”

The burst of light shoved the pooling tear out of her eye and it ran down her face, into her ear. 

“Oh my God. Get out!” With tears in her ears, Abeke couldn’t hear who her saviour was, whoever it was, she was going to hug and thank as soon as she could move again. “I told you all these young people have no taste or decorum. How many of them sneak away like this?” 

Ade pushed a shelf and ran. The clatter of metal tools cut through her waterlogged ears. More tears formed in her eyes. The red hot pain had made its way to her neck and she couldn’t move to see who was there.

“Hey, let’s get you back to the doctor so you can look at your X-ray.”

THE END