Moonbear
03-18-2012, 10:23 PM
Sail Away
By Michael Hails
The sterile white walls were not decorated so much as smothered. Cards of every shape and size covered the wall by the bed. Little construction paper masterpieces marked with even smaller hand prints left by hands dipped in paint. Each claiming that they wished he would get well soon. The opposite wall had a double paned window that showed the grounds of the hospital. Street lights were just starting to come on outside as the sun had begun to set. Taped all around the window were world maps and a large one of the United States. Every map had pins pushed through them to mark where he had travelled.
“It’s time for your meds, Mr. Henderson,” said the cheerful nurse.
Mr. Henderson attempted and failed to push himself up enough so that the nurse wouldn’t have to pour the water into his mouth for him.
The nurse pushed a large multi-tiered cart into the room that was covered in little white cups with little colorful pills in them. “More cards came for you from the elementary school today. Those kids must really love you.” She reached for the four cards on the second shelf to add to his menagerie. “Oh,” she paused as her fingers found a plain white envelope that was hidden among the children’s cards. “This one here isn’t from the school.” She walked over and handed him the envelope which bore his name written neatly in the middle. It was missing a return address.
Mr. Henderson moved his gnarled fingers to open the envelope. His fingers slipped. The envelope landed on his chest. He lay back, letting his head rest on the pillow.
“Here let me get that for you, Mr. Henderson.” The nurse walked over, lifted the envelope from his chest, and deftly opened it. “It has a sailboat in the middle of a big blue ocean on it, Mr. Henderson. It says ‘I hope you sail the seven seas on your seventieth birthday. Love, Judy.’
Mr. Henderson turned his head to see his wall of maps. “I already have,” he mumbled to himself.
“Oh,” the nurse continued, “I didn’t realize it was your birthday, Mr. Henderson. Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not my birthday,” he said loud enough for her to hear then lost the struggle to keep his eyes open.
“It’s not? That’s right your birthday was a few months ago. It is addressed to you though. Maybe it was lost in the mail and finally found its way here.” The nurse set the card on the nightstand beside him and went to get Mr. Henderson’s medication ready for him. “Do you know a ‘Judy,’ Mr. Henderson?”
If he knew a Judy, she was lost in the haze. The nurse walked over to give him his medication. The nurse delicately touched his shoulder and reached over to feel for a pulse on his neck. She rushed to the phone on the wall and called a Code Blue.
By Michael Hails
The sterile white walls were not decorated so much as smothered. Cards of every shape and size covered the wall by the bed. Little construction paper masterpieces marked with even smaller hand prints left by hands dipped in paint. Each claiming that they wished he would get well soon. The opposite wall had a double paned window that showed the grounds of the hospital. Street lights were just starting to come on outside as the sun had begun to set. Taped all around the window were world maps and a large one of the United States. Every map had pins pushed through them to mark where he had travelled.
“It’s time for your meds, Mr. Henderson,” said the cheerful nurse.
Mr. Henderson attempted and failed to push himself up enough so that the nurse wouldn’t have to pour the water into his mouth for him.
The nurse pushed a large multi-tiered cart into the room that was covered in little white cups with little colorful pills in them. “More cards came for you from the elementary school today. Those kids must really love you.” She reached for the four cards on the second shelf to add to his menagerie. “Oh,” she paused as her fingers found a plain white envelope that was hidden among the children’s cards. “This one here isn’t from the school.” She walked over and handed him the envelope which bore his name written neatly in the middle. It was missing a return address.
Mr. Henderson moved his gnarled fingers to open the envelope. His fingers slipped. The envelope landed on his chest. He lay back, letting his head rest on the pillow.
“Here let me get that for you, Mr. Henderson.” The nurse walked over, lifted the envelope from his chest, and deftly opened it. “It has a sailboat in the middle of a big blue ocean on it, Mr. Henderson. It says ‘I hope you sail the seven seas on your seventieth birthday. Love, Judy.’
Mr. Henderson turned his head to see his wall of maps. “I already have,” he mumbled to himself.
“Oh,” the nurse continued, “I didn’t realize it was your birthday, Mr. Henderson. Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not my birthday,” he said loud enough for her to hear then lost the struggle to keep his eyes open.
“It’s not? That’s right your birthday was a few months ago. It is addressed to you though. Maybe it was lost in the mail and finally found its way here.” The nurse set the card on the nightstand beside him and went to get Mr. Henderson’s medication ready for him. “Do you know a ‘Judy,’ Mr. Henderson?”
If he knew a Judy, she was lost in the haze. The nurse walked over to give him his medication. The nurse delicately touched his shoulder and reached over to feel for a pulse on his neck. She rushed to the phone on the wall and called a Code Blue.