i came on shift and saw something beautiful today
by Emyr Payne
Terry Hovis was shadow boxing in the kitchen.
He was quite short, and his blue scrubs dragged over the heels of his shoes.
His shoes were brown and black / half trainers half boots.
His big, gold earring sparkled every time he turned around, and the 18 carats hit the sunrise outside.
He threw a left jab and turned his head, so his right cheek was facing mine.
I saw that scar again. The one that ran all the way down from his right eye to his bottom lip.
He did this half-twist / half kick and bent his knees, then started speed bagging the air directly in front of my gut.
It hurt.
Fucking Terry.
Always boxing.
Then he ran out of breath and went to the counter. Pushed the plunger down on his cafetière and poured that strength eight into the plastic cup.
The plastic cup was coloured in washed out green. Like an old toilet that’s been flushed too many times.
He didn’t take milk.
Ex-Marine.
I sometimes imagined him on a boat in a swamp somewhere in the dark with his big gold earring, giving the game away.
And I also wondered why an ex-Marine would want to re-train to be a nurse.
It just didn’t make sense.
Like snow landing in the sea.
It always melts.
Anyway, he was all out of breath. Wheezing like my dad around cats. But he kept that grin on his face. The one that pushed out all the red through the pores in his cheeks.
One Day Terry Hovis will burst like a blood vessel that’s been left on charge too long.
But not today.
No, officer.
Today we win the match.
Today we box the air like a true champ.
I took another washed out green cup and poured myself some strength eight.
“Sure, you can handle that?” he said.
“Sure,” I said.
It was easier said. But I did it. I drank it down with a straight face and no milk.
Because Terry Hovis was ex-Marine.
Champion boxer.
And born-again nurse.
*****
We were both in the nurses’ station, reading the BNF.
The BNF is a book that lists every single medication / side effect / and contra-indicator.
The room was small and narrow. Every time I moved I headbutted the BP machine with my arse.
The list was endless. One after the other. Arranged by alphabet.
But Terry Hovis was in his element. He was like a diabetic child, grabbing onto a water donut underneath a waterfall of chocolate.
“What does this do?” he said.
“Um.”
“You’re not leaving this room until you know.”
I made something up about a hundred times until I got it right. Then he moved onto the next one.
“What colour is this pill?”
Fuck if I know.
“Blue?”
They were all blue. Except for the yellow ones. I looked down at the book. It was like the Bible all over again.
“That’s enough for now.”
“What time is it?”
He looked at his watch. 20:30.
“Did you do the meds round?”
He looked at me like my head was on fire.
“Shit. Who’s got the keys?”
“You,” I said, pointing at the keys on his belt.
“Oh. Yeah.”
I watched him dish them out. Then he quizzed me on each one. I stared down at all the pills in the pot, layer upon layer so you couldn’t see them all without taking each one out individually.
“We’re not giving them until you tell me what each one is and what they do.”
We were there until the night shift.
But that was the game.
Terry the champion boxer.
Ex-Marine.
And born-again nurse.
*****
Handover was at 7am.
It was dark outside, but the sun was beginning to turn the sky blue.
We were all in the de-escalation area, congregated haphazardly like a football changing room.
I was on the floor.
Karate Ken was on a table.
Psycho Jen was pacing in the corner.
And in the other corner, furthest away from me, was Terry.
He was crouching down so his knees were almost touching the floor.
And his back was leaning against the glass wall, primed for being burned alive in the sunrise.
He kept rubbing his face with his hands.
I noticed his bald head was full of cuts.
Small, red incisions dotted around his scalp.
His head looked like a cheeseless pizza with chopped up sun-dried tomatoes sprinkled on top.
We were all arguing about something.
A new patient had tried to stab one of the cleaners.
“Who was the nurse in charge?” said psycho Jen.
“It was me,” said Terry.
He lifted his head and looked at the room. His eyes were glassy and his face was all puffed and red, like a bruised apple.
“You can have the keys again then,”said psycho Jen.
She threw them across the room, and they landed on the floor next to his feet. He picked them up and stood up. His body was swaying under the weight of everything. I went to him.
“I can take them,” I said.
“No, I’m the nurse in charge.”
I watched him struggling to clip the keys onto his belt loop. I pictured myself blowing hot air from my mouth into his and watching him fall.
“He’s drinking again,” said psycho Jen.
I don’t know if he heard her.
We all left the de-escalation area.
The patient in question was at the back door, waiting to be let out.
“Smoke break’s not until 8,” I said.
“Just let him out,” said Terry.
So, I did.
I got the lighter and unlocked the door.
Because Terry told me to.
The champion boxer.
Ex-Marine.
And born-again nurse.
Photo of Emyr Payne
BIO: Emyr Payne is a nurse by day, writer by night. His work has appeared in The Journal, Underbelly Press, Apoetical, The Scumrag and is forthcoming in Bull, Bel Esprit and Crying Heart Press. His debut novel, 50 Reasons to Live is due to be published in September 2026 with Barnard Publishing. He is also a street documentary, portraiture and landscape photographer. You can learn more about his practice on his website: www.emyr-payne.com and instagram: @emyr_payne_writer_photographer.