Short Story - My Friend Fran

Im non getting any junior and I dont accept foul wording on my work shift, barked Fran.\nMy root impression of Frances McNichols wasnt impressive as the number 1 words let on of her m egressh. The moment I first laid eyes on her, I thought she was firing to be dead by the end of our shift. As she walked into the building, she shuffled on slowly with her right outgrowth dragging behind her. By the time she got to the time clock, she was out of breath, and her face was flushed. I couldnt believe that she was my charge nurse. Upon nigher inspection, I noniced that her give were mangled from arthritis and how agonizing it must(prenominal) agree felt to take down constrain a pencil. The disquiet that it must cause her to grow an IV and if the patient was in excruciating pain as well. Her hair was perfect though, not a single hair out of place, and her make-up was flawless. My first thought was that she must have permanent makeup and psyche that fixes her hair before s he comes into carry because there was no demeanor that she would have been able to hold a brush for that persistent without being in pain.\nI worked with Fran that night and listened to her speak nearly her life. She was such a matter to person and had such evoke stories. I would laugh at the way she would talk to the storage area officers that shared the same shift and would grace us with their presence. To my rage she lived alone. She was in her 70s and was still married to her maintain and had twins. Her husband lived in uppercase because he hated the heat, and she lived in Arizona because she hated the rain. She lived foreign while her husband worked as an engineer.\nOne night at work, I was in the impress office doing some register that day shift left over(p) for night shift to finish, and I spotted a gentlemans gentleman of topic with my name on it.\nFran, look that has my name on it, I called to her.\nWhat?! That isnt genuinely smart is it, Fran answered, tea ring the paper off the corkboard.