I felt her presence before she would push open my hospital room’s door. It wasn’t the sound of her small stride, her perfume, a woodsy scent, that roused my consciousness. She was a being of light. Her light penetrated walls, concrete and doubt. We all have this beam. It does not reside in your heart, your mind or in your wallet. We call it The Governing at home.
When they wheeled me into the crowded emergency room, Astral was by my side. She had stopped repeating,”I’m sorry”, after they x-rayed my broken body. The orderly announced,” Man, you’re lucky.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, the pain killers assaulting my system diffused the ache and the meaning.
I replied: “ Mar du- fo…”
In Urasian this meant: good fortune to your ancestors. The orderly laughed and pushed me through the waiting room doors .Astral was there unbuttoning her fur coat then she latched onto my gurney as we traveled down a narrow hall.
She said: “You’ve been admitted. And we got you the last private room.”
I replied: “ Mar du -fo.”
I have never broken a bone before. My childhood friends had and wore their casts like badges of honour. We had a free childhood. We were explorers, beasts, spies, and honorable rascals. Can you name a child who didn’t wish to be at least one of these? Astral was one. She was a giving light. Her manner was full of anticipatory caring. Before I was thirsty there was a full glass of imported water with a glass straw at my bedside. She would order warm blankets when I drew a shuddering breath. She ordered special pillows to balance my arm with its separated shoulder. She adjusted, corrupted, introduced and solicited the hospital staff on my behalf. I was helpless in her eyes. But, I knew she was suffering a deeper sorrow.
Her driver came in my room once and asked:” The press has surrounded the nurses station. Should I call your husbands’ security? “
She replied, “ I’ve made arrangements to take Ed home.”
Copyright 2015 Digestible Ink
without the authors permission.