No Wings To Fly

Chapter Five

"Hey Jay."

"Hey Samantha."

She gave me a frown. "It's just Sam."

"Okay, just Sam." I smiled.

She gently took the medicine from my hand and swallowed it. 

"What are you doing?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you doing here, in this hospital?"

"Oh... Um." I stuttered. "Well... It's for extra credit. Volunteering, I mean." I squeaked out.

"Why do you act like that is bad?"

"It's not genuine, I guess. I'm only doing it for the grade." I shrugged.

Sam spat out a quick burst of laughter. "I can see why. Nobody would want to stick around this place without being forced to." She looked toward the window. "I sure was... Heck, I'm not even sure it's worth the grade. Have you even tried their pizza here? It's like puke on cardboard."

 "Unfortunately, yes."

That made her smile. Gosh, I would do practically anything to make this girl happy. Sam's smile was so pretty.

"What are you doing?" I asked her in turn.

When she didn't speak, I clarified. "What are you doing here?"

Still, Sam did not say a word. Instead, she walked to her bed and flopped down upon it.

I sat down in her chair, although Sam didn't invite me to. 

"Jay."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't always... I mean... It only started a little bit ago." Sam took a deep breath.

I stayed quiet and leaned back further in my chair. 

"My mom told me this poem when I found out. It's about what I have. It's by Angelika Byczkowski. Here it goes..." Sam took another shaky breath and looked down.

"Once I was whole. No, better

than whole, possibilities
strewn at my feet, choices
all mine for the making.

Then I got sick, and broken.

Now I struggle to fly with broken wings.
Old ambitions and desires
irrelevant, coming down
to earth with new humility.

Always aiming for superlatives,
now grounded with indistinction,
my new insignificance frees me
to fly from the need to be special.

Now I struggle to run with broken legs.
Can't keep up, can't catch up,
and the world passes by oblivious
to my desperate thrashing.

All that's gained is lost
eventually. I jettison years
of accumulation, learn how much
I can do without, pare life down

to bare essentials, and find
the remaining kernel sufficient,
my load much lightened and easy
to swing over obstacles ahead.

Now I struggle to live with a broken spirit.
This, I think, I cannot do. I
languish, lacking spur of vital impulse,
motivation crippled, desire withered.

Paralyzed by apathy, stubborn
hope insists, after broken wings
and broken legs, after the crash
and pain of loss comes possibility

for something new. Anchorless alone
I drift, restrain my swelling panic
at this formless space all around me,
no purchase to be gained on these

feeble clouds, nothing solid to push
either for or against – I struggle only
with myself. And in this void I must trust,
resist the urge to close, and endure

with broken open heart." 

I held a hand to my chest and tried not to meet her eyes. 

"I'm dying, pill boy."

We sat there in silence for a moment. I reached up to grab her hand. This time, Sam didn't pull away. Her eyes filled with tears. "You can go now, Jay."

I nodded and swallowed loudly. My hand fumbled with the door a moment before I left her.