Samuel Scott, a man who despises Christmas, after a terrible fall is paired in a hospital room with Amy Bell, a woman longing for carols and festive decorations.
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The Christmas Waltz by Mother's Daughter, Beck Pete
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas by Birdy
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Roaming during the graveyard shift was strictly forbidden. There were only a handful of nurses on each wing, all doctors absent. Miles and I walking the corridors in that stillness rose questions that didn't remain silent as they did before. We reached the cancer ward, from there, a straight walk to the ICU. The receding distance slowed and raced my heart instantaneously.
He left me at the doors of her room. He had lingered, blinking at me twice. It was easier to focus on him than on the space ahead of me.
I stayed put for some seconds, the beeping of her heart monitor reaching me, and I finally snapped my eyes forward, a hand gripping the wheel. I took it slow, not that my hurt shoulder could push the cart faster. The same position she was in was unnatural, thinking she always seemed to sit differently whenever I looked at her. Her back to the window, her feet dangling off, her head at the end of the bed.
The bruises were worse. The purple color pallete had expanded an inch, a second tape on the needle, and I had some hope she may have moved.
I pondered on where to begin, struggling. The ambiance choked me. How had she done this her entire life? This silence that wasn't silence at all. The machines beeped continuously, their nonstopping rhythm stringing the ends of my nerves. My breathing picked up, my hands sweating, and if it weren't for the chair, I would have sprinted out and escaped the hospital altogether.
I inhaled shakily, removing my sight from the bruise, narrowly missing her face, and exhaled to my left, changing my view to that of her nightstand filled with miniature ornaments, a notepad a... Instantly I reached for the middle of the small table. A heaven-sent retro radio. Carefully, I flipped the button from off to on, a soft Christmas melody filling the room.
My anxiety eased, lungs slowing their work, and I belatedly understood Amy's need to fill any quiet. Sticking conversation, humming, putting on music... it was her way to drown out her sad reality, the endless sound of monitors.
I stared down at my lap, Helen's drawing resting on my thighs, a rubber holding it steady.
That's why I came... It's a good place to start.
I brushed away some eraser shavings.
"I'm here to deliver something." I began as a new song commenced, the melody slower. "It's from that girl you struck a deal with." Unconsciously I paused, naturally expecting a response, a comeback. "Her name was Helen, in case you forgot... though I don't suppose you did." I imagined her rolling her eyes that would have lit up at the mention of the child.
