The story so far:
Maya was so shaken at the day’s events she could cry and so took her liberty.
Her friends found her in the break room with her hands cradling her face. They had just returned from a mobile blood drive and having had a successful donor turnout were ready to turn in the coolers full of blood products, finish the day's paperwork and get a drink.
Shawn and Karl, two of the mobile unit phlebotomists and Maya's friends sat at the table with the hurried expectancy of two men ready for a beer. It took them a second to realize that Maya was indeed crying and not just being her playful self. They briefly forgot their desire for beer and like two men who care too much for the promise of beauty behaved like children in front of this woman whose beauty they both admired. It was as if by showing her an odd softening and concerned questioning she would remember them as sensitive and allow a date when all this girly crying was finished. When she remained sobbing into her palms they became truly and deeply concerned forgetting about beer and all thoughts of amorous nature.
"What is wrong" Shawn inquired again but with the talent of a man who truly cares to hear the answer. Something about this deep concern in Shawn's voice shook Maya from her sobbing trance.
"A man came in today and tried to pawn somebody's blood!"
"What?" was the only response by the two otherwise talkative men.
She did not have to say it again for they knew her well enough to know when she was right; all the time it seemed and one of the reasons they both secretly loved her. She had saved them trouble many times with management with her knowledge of procedures and policies. There was no reason for either to doubt what she had just said.
She sat there with a resolute despair and the men with a stoic and dumbfounded look. What time passed seemed too short for when the driver came in with the cart of chilled blood products Maya took one look at the red and blue coolers like terrifying parcels and burst into a shrill the men found they could not bear.
Later at the bar the men recounted their day over a pitcher of beer as if nothing had happened after returning to the blood bank. They were warming up for the long conversation to come. It seemed to each of them they needed a few minutes of small talk just to catch their breath.
Before they started in with the inevitable confused dialogue a man approached them reeking of booze and asked them if they worked at the blood bank up the road. Before saying yes they both took a horrified glance at the man's forearms which were scarred and in some places still bleeding through some homemade dressings of old flannel shirts.