Thicker Than Bone

22nd January 2015 They’d taken over the church for their blood drive, and Ali felt more than a little odd staring up at St. Mary’s mournful, stained-glass face as the nurse removed the needle from his arm. “There you go, dearie,” she said in true nurse fashion, despite looking about ten years younger than Ali. “You just stay there for a little bit while I sort this out, and then we’ll sit you up.” “‘Kay,” Ali mumbled. He felt a little light-headed, as usual, but not too bad. He gave blood regularly. He was used to this, even if not St. Mary and her petulant expression. “Stop staring,” he told the window. “It’s rude.” She didn’t seem to care, and he rolled his head towards the door. There was a little queue, and a very sick-looking woman protesting that she was fine and she could do this, thank you! Ali snorted. She’d faint within thirty seconds. “Alright, dearie,” the nurse trilled, reappearing with a smile fixed in place. “How are you feeling?” “Fine.” “Let’s try and get you sat up nice and slow, then.” Ali had been giving blood since he was eighteen years old. It was the year his father had been diagnosed with cancer, and Ali had immediately signed up to every donation service going. It hadn’t saved his father—nothing could have saved his father, Ali had come to accept—but it might save someone else. Ali went through the motions—the slow sitting up, the sliding of his legs off the bed, and then the final standing. The moment he was steady on his feet, he was ushered to the tables and chairs in the corner of the cavernous church, and given a steaming cup of tea and a biscuit. Only one, though. Bloody NHS cuts. Reunited with his bag and phone, he thumbed out a text—done here :)—and settled in to wait for a little bit. If half an hour produced no boyfriend, then Ali would just walk home. It was only around the corner. He sipped his tea, watched his phone, and waited. It was busy. At twenty-eight, Ali had donated blood in a mad variety of places, but never in a church before. The vaguely disapproving faces of the saints in the windows was a bit off-putting, truth be told. Like they knew why he technically shouldn’t be donating at all. Across the yawning church, the nervous girl fainted. Ali checked his phone, found no reply, and got up to walk home.