The nurse left work at five o’clock. Everyday at five o’clock she would leave the room where she practiced and put on her coat as she walked through a series of corridors. At the end of the corridor was a door with a little window in it. She would walk through the door with the little window in it and step onto a sidewalk. The heels of her shoes would click on the concrete as she walked to a little bench. And everyday at five o’clock, she would look back at the hospital. And on the roof of the hospital there would be a young woman. In a white dress. Her dress would be torn and wrinkled, her feet would be bare. Her legs would be caked with charcoal and her face the color of ash. But her eyes were blue. And she was lost and scared. And she could see the nurse. And the nurse could see her. And they would look at each other and for a moment, and then the trees would shake, and the leaves would dance, and the woman would fall. And she would turn and her dress would swirl, but the nurse could not watch. So she would turn away. And in five, or ten, or fifteen minutes, her bus would come and the nurse would go home. She would make dinner and read the newspaper and go to bed. And in her bed she would cry a little. And she would try to believe that the woman in the white dress had not fallen. And some nights she almost could. But she would still cry for the woman in the white dress.


One day at five o’clock the nurse left work. She left the room where she practiced and put on her coat. She buttoned her coat as she walked through a series of corridors. And when she arrived at the door with the little window in it she stopped. Her shoes stopped clacking and her dress stopped swishing, and maybe, just for a moment, the world stopped. Because the nurse did not want to cry again for the woman in the white dress.



So the woman traced her way back through the maze of corridors. She unbuttoned her coat and put it in her locker. She passed through the room where she practiced and walked through the hospital until she found a door. Through this door she found a set of stairs. And she began to climb. And has she climbed her white nurse’s uniform became damp with sweat. Her shoes stuck on the slats of metal and tumbled down the well. Dirt snaked up her limbs and her dress tore into strips. Her bare feet burned as she stepped onto the hot, shingled roof. Perspiration stung her eyes. She could see the tops of trees and hear leaves rustle. The wind was singing. It was laughing at her.

She could not see the woman in the white dress. Was she too late? Had the woman fallen already? Her eyes searched frantically for any glimpse of white or blue. All she saw was the tattered dirty strips of her once ivory nurse’s uniform. She was gone. The nurse watched the movements of her blackened feet as she walked to the edge of the roof. Wind bit at her face, numbing her cheeks, but after a while she let the tears come. The streams of salt water washed the grime from her face and revealed her ashen face. She stared into the sky and let the blue of the sky reflect and refract and multiply in her eyes until they burned. So the nurse shut her eyes. And when she opened them she saw a woman far, far, below with a crisp white dress peaking out from below her coat. And the woman in the white dress smiled up at her. And she smiled back. And just for a moment, the world stopped. And then the trees shook and the leaves danced, and the woman in the white dress fell.