Hundred Words

Fifteen

Fifteen

My family gave me balloons today. One is that foil kind that shine in the sun, and the four others are the original, the kind that deflate within a few days and leave little kids crying because they loved that balloon. My family gave me balloons today. One is that foil kind that shine in the sun, and the four others are the original, the kind that deflate within a few days and leave little kids crying because they loved that balloon. I have to say, they are more interesting than the endless pool of sun outside my window. That, and the endless seas of cars that drift in and out of the parking lot, that from the high story of my placement they look like scattered coins, bright and shiny, small and glinting with different colors.
Eli asked if he could have one after I came home, and I said yes. I better not get emotionally attached to one of those balloons. The one that he probably wants is covered in a metallic sheen of a cartoon dog. In a bubble above his head, it says "Sorry you're having a Ruff day!" I bet that Eli picked out that balloon in the hopes of him acquiring it after my ruff days were over. I don't blame him.
I also got my phone back, after convincing my mother that the texting and foreseeable hours of Angry Birds and Minecraft would only benefit my ailing arm.
It turns out that my arm is seized up, from the shoulder down. Only time would heal it, so I have plenty of time to fine-tune my left hand skills. Fun.
My arm feels like a twisted knot of rubber bands, taught and stinging if a band ricochets forward. The only way for my arm to heal is to take a thousand stinging hits from my wound up arm. It is sore at times, but the nurses tell me that it's good, that it's better than feeling nothing. I'm not so sure I agree.
Marcy has taken to drawing designs everyday I am here on my hospital white board. Originally created for writing down my medical status, lots of check marks and x's strewn across the expanse of white is stuck looking back at me daily. But, as I have learned, Marcy loves to draw. Even with a failing black expo marker, she decorates the edges with exceeding complex flowers and animals. I envy her, her Hawaiian lilies and colorful butterflies that seem to pop off the board in a polite yet taunting way. Sometimes, I'm tempted to smudge one, just to make sure it is in fact drawn, not some kind of dreamy vision the doctors neglected to tell me.
I rub my eyes, just to make sure. It pains me to think of ruining someone's artwork, no matter the talent. It could be Macy's, or Eli's or Mia's, or even my own, but I couldn't destroy it. Art is special, and coming from someone who couldn't draw a person to save the human race, that's saying something.
I wonder if I could ask Marcy for a drawing before I go. Hopefully when I ask her, it won't come out sounding creepy or anything.
I am interrupted from my thoughts by a little girl running through the hallways. African American, maybe Eli's age, and incredibly cute. I think I hear Marcy's voice,a hushed, slightly annoyed whisper. Then, a whiny voice returns, bouncing along the hall so that when it reaches my ears, it is unintelligible. I hear footsteps again, and a face pops into the door. It is Marcy.
"Hey, honey. My daughter Angel, she's waiting for her daddy to come pick her up. She wants to say hi. Do you mind?" She asks tentatively, as if I might have something against children.
I shake my head with an inward sigh. "Oh, I don't mind." I shift my covers. "I've been needing a change of pace. She's welcome."
Marcy goes back to the hall, and I start busying myself, feeling as if I should do something to pass the time and make myself more... Presentable. But in the end, I realized that little kids didn't really care hire you looked as much add were you funny, or were you nice. I mean, I was nice, wasn't I? And it wasn't like I could do much for my appearance anyway. Makeup doesn't seem to come in handy in a hospital, and at this girl's age, she might not even know what makeup was.
Her face peeks in for a moment, holding that innocent glimmer that is ever-present on children's faces, but also shadowed with a slight prick of hesitance. She walked in slowly to start, but the shuffle was soon replaced with a quick walk, a hop present in her step.
"Hi!" I waved weakly with my right hand, but then switched to my left, worried that my jerky movements would make Angel think I was some robot-y person. I guess it worked, because she replied quickly. "Hi. What's your name?"
"Alex."
"Isn't that a boy name?"
I laughed. Not this question again. I had learned from experience not to go into depth about this. I tried to once, when I was little. In the end, I had left teary and frustrated after a younger girl told me I was lying about my name, and that I was some ugly boy. As you can understand, I was pretty pissed. And stumped. How would I make this girl believe me?
In the end, I didn't. She kept pushing and pushing, even though she didn't even know who I was, and gave me a horrible day.
"It's a name for both. Boys and girls." I replied simply, my fingers crossed under the sheets that she would understand.
"Oh, okay." Angel tapped her feet on the tiled floor. "Mommy says you're nice. And funny, too." Her chocolate eyes strayed to a misshapen pile of cards on my desk. Eli's sat on top, boasting a marker drawn outline of Soccer and Max. "Do you have those?" She asked.
"Do I have what?" I asked, perplexed.
"Those. The cat and the puppy."
"Oh. Yeah. This," I pointed my free hand to the dog, " is Max. And the cat is Soccer."
Angel jumped up and down. "I'm going to soccer soon! Look!" She pointed down to what I'm pretty sure were soccer cleats.
"Cool!" I say, packing as much enthusiasm as I can pack into the statement. Before I can say more, Angel continues.
"You're lucky. You get to have pets. I can't. All I have is a goldfish, and she's tiny. I can't play with her. You can play with your puppy and the kitty."
I nodded, as a man's head appeared through the doorway. "Angel, we gotta go. You don't want to be late for soccer again." He beckoned.
Angel jumped up, as if the floor was made of tiny trampoline tiles. She waved back at me before leaving, and I felt happy to have gave Angel a good time. Even though everyone thought I needed taking care of, it was almost invigorating to give someone else a smile. I was getting tired of all the pity, even though the people dishing out remorse were doing it (hopefully) out of the goddess of their hearts.
"I hope you get better! And tell Soccer and Max hi!" She bounced away down the hall, her cleats echoing faintly as she went.
I smiled.
Just like Eli, Angel seemed to bring happiness wherever she went.
I hope you get better.