"You hit your head pretty badly." The nurse in blue scrubs said as he smiled at me.

  I returned his smile and nodded, "He wasn't looking where he was driving." He was around 5'9; he had a crew cut dark hair and hazel brown eyes. He was very handsome. His had Atlas shoulders and a dashing smile.

  He removed the pressure machine from my hands, "He said the same thing about you."

 I rolled my eyes. Of course, he would.

 "You're going to need a lot of rest since you injured your hip bone, it's going to take a few weeks to heal."

  I smiled up at the nurse, "You're a good nurse." He was kind to me; he made sure he offered a smile now and again.

  He laughed, "I'm not a nurse. I'm a trainee doctor."

  Oh, "Sorry," I flushed.

  "It's okay Ms. Miller."

  I laughed at being called my last name, "Please call me Tatiana."

 "Okay, Tatiana." He smiled. He put down the machine and took up a clipboard.

 "So, what's your name?" I asked because it seemed like the right thing to do; after all, he knew mine.

  "I'm Kyle Jones."

  I smiled, "Thank you, Dr. Jones."

  He lifted his head and smile. "You're welcome, Tatiana." I look down at the clipboard and back me, "Your parents just arrived, I gave them the form to fill out, so that's good. I have a list of medications that I'm going to prescribe but first, are you allergic to any medications?"

  I nodded my head, "Yes, I'm allergic to Ibuprofen the last time I took it cause me crazy pains."

  "Yea, it's a strong drug. You have to eat like a pig before you take it." He lifted his pen to his clipboard and wrote something on it.

 "When was your last period?"

 I blushed at the question. Who wouldn't when the man asking was a sexy doctor.

 "Last week Friday, I think." I sounded weird as I told him my private information, but he was probably used to asking these questions and blushing girls like me.

  "So, it's your ovulation period then." He stated and continued writing on the board. He lifted his head and smiled at me. "Would you like to see your parents? I can send them in."

I nodded, "Yea, that would be good."

  He held the clipboard to his chest as he turned to leave. He opened the hospital door, leaving.

  My mother rushed in the room, "Likkle gurl, mi tell yuh seh fi tap ride di damn bicycle and yuh no listen to meh." (Little girl, I told you to stop riding the damn bicycle, and you didn't listen) I looked up at my mom's worried face and smiled. 

  "Mummy, di man neva did a luk weh him ago." (Mummy, the man wasn't looking)

  She rolled her eyes, "Mi tell yuh bout dem white man yah enuh" (These white men)

  As I laughed, my father strolled in the room. He looked at me and shook his head. "Is fimmi fault yuh inna di Hahspital, a mi did buy yuh di bicycle." (It's my fault you're in the hospital, I bought you the bicycle)

  "Daddy, a nuh your fault. Is the white man fault." I tried my best to console him. I didn't want him blaming himself for my careless actions.

   Dr. Jones knocked on the door then entered, "Mr. and Mrs. Miller, here is the prescription for Titiana."

  "Thank you, Dr. Jones. We really appreciate your help." I smiled at how quickly my parents can change from Patios to English, even though it took me years to master it. I had to go through a lot of ESL classes to get my English perfect.

  Dr. Jones hand over the prescription to my parents then left me with them again. "Mi like him and him cute."

  My father turned to look at my mother when she said the words. "Rick, him cute." She said to my dad, then turn to me, "I want a man like him for you, Tatty."

  I shook my head at my mother, one minute she complains about white persons then next she is telling me she wants me to be with one of them. My parents weren't racist, but they can get very stereotypical when it came to certain races. 

  On the other hand, I had gone to a school with persons from all different races, religious beliefs and sexuality. In Jamaica, the major religion was Christianity, so I had to get used to others. In Jamaica we only have males and females no I've learnt that first world countries have so many other genders. I had to learn how just to accept or tolerate the difference between my motherland and my homeland.

  One day, I wouldn't have to think about all the beautiful things I left in Jamaica to come and live in this first-world country called America.

  "Di doctor say you can leave." I looked across from my father and nod.

  "Yea, I need to go home to my own bed." The bed I was on wasn't the most comfortable. I could imagine how many other sick people been on it before me and how much will come after me.

  "You mean my bed." My dad stated, "It becomes your bed when you start playing some bills around the house."

  "Rick don't bother with it." My mother warned.

  "Daddy, as soon as I get better I will get a job."

  "You said that already and all now yuh nah work." My father lifted his head and looked in my eyes, "All you do is spend your time with that good for nothing bwoy."

  "I broke up with him, for good." I looked at both of my parents as a smile slowly crept on their faces. I knew they didn't like him, but I didn't know they hated him, after all, they made me stay with him for five years. "The relationship wasn't going anywhere."

  "Yuh did jus notice that?" my father said rudely.

  I rolled my eyes. "Can you call the nurse and let her help me with these clothes?"

My father nodded his head and walked out the door.

  "Don't pay him no mind; he is just worried about you." My mother held my hand in hers. "Soon come." She turned to leave the room.

  I looked up at the cream walls thinking about my life when the female nurse walked in the room. She offered me a smile then begin helping me out of the hospital gown and into my clothes.

  When she was finished, she opened a wheelchair and helped me in. She wheeled me out to where my parents where.

  "I'll take that," my father said, referring to the wheelchair. The nurse gave the wheelchair to my father. With my mother beside him, he is starting walking down the hall.

  "Daddy, how much was the hospital bill?" I asked curiously. I didn't want my parents paying too much money to take care of me.

  "I don't know. The bill was paid when we came." My eyes widen.

  Whyatt Wayland paid for my medical bill!

  Maybe he did it because I said I would sue.

  Or maybe he did it because he had money to lose.

  Or he did it out of the good of his heart.

  I didn't know why he did it, but for whatever reason it was.

I am thankful.

  My main goal to work on now was to get better then find a law firm to hire me. I graduated from University in May, and It was October, and it still hadn't gotten a job. Now I understand my aunt when she said going to college didn't mean getting a job. My transcript was amazing, my GPA was 4.0, and I came top of my class, but I still couldn't get anything. I am now starting to think that it was because of my skin-colour and my kinky hair that made it hard for me. Not many companies trust black people.

  Come to America they said

  Get a better life, they said.

  Yet, I'm here in America, and because of my skin colour, it was hard to get a job, the one thing I needed for my greater future.

Then it hit me!

  Whyatt Wayland, a billionaire lawyer whose family owned a law firm, just hit me off my bicycle. His hit caused me a concussion and a bruised hips. 

  Girl, there is no more need to complain.

  There must be a way to persuade him to give me a job at his firm. Even if I took begging on my knees, I would just get a job at Wayland's Law.

  I looked down at my body, still in pain. Before I could demand him giving me a job, I had to get better first.

Strong enough to walk

And strong enough to fight.