Voices

Cigarettes?
Written by Sister Mary Monica Stefanides (May 2008)

Forty-fifth Street was like a wind-tunnel. The wind zipped along between the hospital buildings, making the cold, dreary day feel even colder than it was. As I left the hospital convent, I could smell the faint aroma of wood burning stoves coming from some of the houses.

But thoughts of my Mother's homemade chicken soup with fluffy egg haluski made me anxious to get home for my visit with her and even made me feel a little warmer despite the weather.

Memories of the warm welcoming awaiting me faded from my mind as I noticed the man in front of me. He was wearing a nondescript brown overcoat, a worn brown felt hat, old shoes but no socks. And the day was not a day for bare ankles.

However, what really attracted my attention was a corner of blue and white striped Seersucker hanging beneath his coat. It shouted "PATIENT" to me, and no patient would be allowed out on such a bitter day, and especially not alone.

I hurried to catch up with him. "Hi," I said, "it's a bit chilly this morning." "Yeah," he grunted. Had I not had my veil on, I think he would have just ignored me. He didn't seem too happy to have me there.

"It's rather cold to be out walking this morning," I said. "Yeah... well, I need some cigarettes," he replied. You know they sell cigarettes at the gift shop," I reminded him. "Yeah... ah... well, ah, they don't carry my brand," he said. "Oh, then, where are you going?" I asked him. "Just up the street here a ways," he said as he turned right on to Penn Avenue.

"I didn't think there was any use of my mentioning that Wilson's Drug was much closer and that they also sold cigarettes. Trying to be companionable and not wanting to lose him or let him get too far away from the hospital, I announced, "Okay, I'll just walk along with you ... if you don't mind." "Suit yourself," he muttered.

We walked along Penn Avenue, past St. Mary's Cemetery, past Allegheny Cemetery, across Black Street, and then continued on into the next block. Finally, we came to Dulumba's bar. He stopped. "I'm going in here," he said. "Okay," I answered, "I'll wait for you." Shivering, I stood outside the bar. My feet were frozen. I felt certain he was getting something to warm himself up with and it wasn't cigarettes.

After about five or ten minutes, he came out. "Well," I said, "let's go back." He didn't reply, but we headed back together, down the block, across Black Street, past the cemeteries, and eventually toward St. Francis Medical Center. I glanced around wondering if perchance a street car might be coming. But instead I noticed a police patrol car slowly heading toward us. I flagged it down and it stopped.

A tall, no-nonsense policeman got out of the passenger side. "Can I help you, sister?" Knowing the gentleman would now be in good hands, I asked, "Officer, would you please take this gentleman back to St. Francis?" "Sure, sister," he replied. Then, noticing my companion for the first time, the officer suddenly broke into a wide grin. "Hey, Charlie, are you out again?" Charlie left in the patrol car with his "friends," and I headed home to mother and homemade chicken soup, the universal cure for all ills.