A Curing Friendship

• Jordan Tselepy, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2010

This place is hell, I thought angrily, as I heard the crying from the bed beside me. Imogene. Yet another had left us today, left his bed. Empty. No longer would we hear his voice or his laughs. He had always brightened this place but slowly it was getting darker. And Imogene always took it the hardest. She loved too much, I mused. What a useless thing to do. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. They brought our meals. They walked in. They walked out. No one listened. No one spoke. How I hated them with their smug faces, walking in and out with no thought. I could see in their eyes that they were oblivious to their luck. What beautiful skin. What luscious hair. What grace with which they moved. My eyes were drawn unwillingly downwards to my own hands; old, scarred, crinkled. Tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn’t fair.

My first day on the job and I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. I will be helping people, was what I kept reminding myself. I stepped through the door to my first room. Full and bright. I looked over the faces that were before me. All the same. Except one. At the back of the room lay one whose eyes were haunted by rage. As I approached her she looked up and I gasped at the animosity. Loathing. Her eyes were ringed black. Her skin hung pale and damaged on her bones. She turned her eyes away and went back to her dull contemplation of the white ceiling above her head.

They’re all the same, I though bitterly. They all come in with their pitying countenances. Although my body has failed me, my mind still holds some small solitude of tranquillity. I looked above me at the numbing whiteness and lost myself to my thoughts.

The days wore on and I tried my hardest to break through her impenetrable depression. But it was some time till she looked at me without loathing creating a film over her eyes. It wasn’t how I had wanted it to happen.

Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
- . - . ------------------------------------------------- .

Running. Shouting. The noise was unbearable. But when I saw where they were all headed I broke out into a run. Please dear God don’t let it be her. Please. I prayed. I begged. She doesn’t deserve this. It wasn’t time yet.
I rushed into the room, not aware of anything but the bed at the end of the room.
She was surrounded.
I raced to her side and grabbed her hand, tears already pouring down my face. The nurses on either side of me stared in pity and wonder. They were no doubt wondering how anyone could be compelled to touch this stranger who embodied so much hate.
The doctor at the head of the bed heaved a sigh of relief and I slowly let out the breathe that I had been holding as her eyes fluttered.

When my eyes opened he was there, just as I knew he would be. He looked so relieved to see me laying there, breath filling my lungs. It made it so much easier to come back from the haven of darkness that had encompassed me for those few moments of true peace. I hadn’t wanted to. I had willingly walked towards the brilliant light at the end of the tunnel. Its promise was too alluring to deny. But the warmth of his hand on mine had brought me back. And as the realisation that here was someone who truly cared hit me, I didn’t regret it.

I didn’t have much longer with her. She held on with what little strength she had left. But she had tasted the resplendent light and it didn’t relinquish its hold on her. Her mind wandered more these days as she told me the stories that were in her head, of her dreams to be an author. If only her hands had been stronger, if only she had more time. I listened.
Through my mind ran the events of the past few weeks.
The first time she had acknowledged me. The first time she had spoken. The first time she had allowed me to touch her frail skin without flinching away. We had talked, and read. We had walked slowly through the gardens. We had pondered the mysteries of the universe, her cynical opinions never ceasing to amaze me. How had she become so bitter?

The hate had lifted with only a tiny bit of laughter and I saw so much more clearly these days. I closed my eyes as I heard heartbreaking sobs coming from Imogene once again. I tried to clear my mind, to remember the days when it was all ok, when everything was right. The song that he had played for me just yesterday reverberated through my head, twining its way through my dark thoughts. I could feel tears at the corners of my eyes as I saw myself dancing, long hair whirling around me. Slowly, I allowed my aching body to sink back into the soft pillows surrounding me.

I watched as life slowly left her. It was hard but there was nothing to be done. I tried to act as though it was all the same, but I could see that she understood.
So wise. And then came the time when she looked at me, at the understanding that was there, and whispered softly, “Thank you”.

I sat there, my mind consciously empting itself as I strove to calm it of all thought. I closed my eyes and tried my hardest to take myself away from where I was now. Slowly the white walls faded, and that awful smell that always made my stomach wretch. I had never gotten use to it, even though they had said I would. I felt my mind clear and slowly my breathing deepen as the pain in my chest was lifted and my surroundings came into focus. My garden, my tree. I ran towards it, feeling the muscles in my legs contracting and lengthening, delighting in the wind pushing back my hair, letting it fly out behind me. Cuddled up under the strong oak, nestled among its warm roots, I felt safe, young and free. Normal. All worries were gone. The deep pain was nonexistent. My limbs felt as though they had never known suffering. My heart was complete and full, not shrivelled and dry from the constant exposure to reality. My soul was pure. I smiled dreamily and allowed my thoughts to drift aimlessly from triviality to fantasy.

My first room, I thought. This had been my first room. As I returned to the room I was surprised at how dark it had become inside. Like all the light had fled. The curtains were drawn. There were still five beds, but now all but one lay empty. I walked to the end of the room, to the last bed, on which lay a young girl, whose age said she was only 11 but whose body sorely disagreed. She lay peacefully, smiling. That smile was so serene and devoid of pain. As the tears started to roll down my cheeks I thought to myself, she is where she belongs, among her stories.