November Creative Piece: Waiting for Spring

Written by: Ikran Abdi

June 3rd, otherwise known as the peak of summer. I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve spent in this lonely asylum, wasting my days away looking out the window with nobody to talk to but the shifting clouds, but even they seem to leave me in the end. The nurse comes in with a tray of food.

 “Lasagna for lunch, Marissa!” Her optimistic voice is deafening to my depressing ears. 

I give her a glum nod as she sets it down on my table before walking away. About a month ago was when she stopped asking me why I was sad, about three months ago was when my family last visited. 

Outside in the hallway, I catch a glimpse of a little boy skating around on his IV pole, laughing with a cheerful smile. He notices me. I wave slowly, and so does he. He pokes his head inside my room.

 “Why are you sad?” he asks me.

I shrug. “Why are you happy?” 

Now he shrugs. “I’m always happy,” he responds with a smile, as if it has been glued onto his thin pale face. 

I admire the kid’s optimism. Unlike the nurses, his smile is genuine. As if he actually wanted to talk to me. 

“That's good, stay like that,” my thin lips curve up, gifting the boy a weak smile.

His smile breaks into a soft giggle, his eyes lightening up with joy.He grabs his IV pole, quickly waving to me before he jumps on and skates away, his laughter carrying throughout the long, depressing hallway.

My eyes stay glued to where he had just been standing, my gaze not wanting to stray away as it tries to soak up every last bit of joy that was radiating off the kid's smile. Eventually, my eyes fall back upon the familiar window next to my bed. My face wrinkles as I squint my eyes to protect my hard gaze from the bright, brilliant sun. It seems to be shining differently today. The feeling is more warm and pleasant than usual, my skin welcoming the lustrous beam with open arms. 

“Summer feels nice,” I say with a smile plastered on my face. 

Everyday since, the little boy, whose name is Henry, would stop by my room with the same gleaming smile, the same cheerful voice, and with the same optimistic attitude. Whenever he stopped by, he had a new thing to say, to ask, and to wonder about.

 “How do airplanes fly?”, “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”, “My favorite TV show is Spongebob! What’s yours?”, “Do you like staring out the window?” And with every response I’d give him, I found myself getting closer and closer to the young boy. After all, his curiosity isn’t something most youth have these days. It was nice and refreshing to talk to someone again. 

As the leaves changed, the once lively green, heart-shaped petals evolved, decaying into a rusty, brassy color. Thin enough to stomp on, crushing them beneath your feet. This change marked the start of autumn. Just as the leaves began to fall, losing their connection to the tree, so did my long, luscious locks of brown growing from my scalp. My hair was now starting to disappear from my head, and instead appear in the palm of my hand. 

It will grow back, I tell myself. Leaves always flourish again once spring rolls around, and so will my hair.

It’s been three days since the beginning of the new season and I haven’t seen Henry at all yet. He hasn’t stopped by my room like he usually does, and I find myself waiting for his arrival, just wanting to catch another glimpse of his gleaming smile and cheerful attitude, hoping he’ll come with another odd, but delightful question as usual. 

The day goes on and the sun starts to set for a rest as the moon comes up with its own unique, luminous glow. I sigh as I stare out the window. 

“He's not coming today either?” My voice is sad as I accept the truth. 

Just then, the door creaks open slowly, the screech not pleasing to the ear as I wince from the sound. I turn to see a short thin pale figure standing in the doorway. It is Henry. My eyes widen slightly as I take in his fragile state, his hand weakly holding onto the IV pole. His smile is nowhere to be seen, just like the sun that’s gone down for rest. 

“Henry?” I say, as if confirming it is him.

“Hi Melissa…” he responds, his voice drifting once he says my name.

The cheerfulness that once thrived in his voice is long gone, he might as well be a different person.

 “How are you feeling?” I ask worriedly about his health. 

He sits down slowly, the sound of his heavy breath weighing on my heart. He stares at the ground, his lids heavy over his tired eyes, his lips thin and pale just like his skin. His expression tells me everything I need to know. After a long pause, he finally speaks, his voice sad and quiet. 

“Melissa… Why do people get sick?” he asks me.

My breath halts in my throat as the gravity of his question soaks into my heart. 

“I…” I try to think up an answer, but this is a question that I don’t have an answer to. “I don’t know Henry,” I admit.

He nods, accepting my answer, which is unusual for him.  The silence in the room is loud.. I can’t think of what to say, I don’t know how to cheer him up. It is as if my voice has left me. He is a different person. Just like when the sun goes down, all you’re left with is the darkness of the moon. After a while of sitting in silence, Henry slowly pushes himself up off the chair, his breath ragged as he struggles for a moment. He grips onto the IV pole as he turns to the door. Just before he’s about to leave he turns around and gives me a weak wave. 

“Bye, Melissa…”

That was the last time I saw Henry.

It’s been about two months since the beginning of autumn. The trees are completely naked, the thin branches rattle through the strong , cool winds. My window is now kept shut to keep my naked head warm. The soft fabric wrapped around my head starts to itch my scalp, but I was told to keep it on because winter is close, and the nurses don’t want me to catch a cold. My sun is gone, and so is the one up above the clouds. These are some miserable days. I hate winter. 

The nurse walks in, her colorful attire contrasts against the shades of gray inside my room. 

“Melissa! Soup for dinner today!” she says enthusiastically, the joyful strain in her voice rattles my frozen heart. 

My gaze doesn’t stray from the window as I catch sight of the frostbite beginning to form at the edges of the glass. She sets the tray down on my table before leaving to finish the rest of the handouts to the other patients. I don’t feel like eating, I have lost my appetite. All I feel like doing is watching the chilled ice spread from the corner of the glass window like an unstoppable disease. 

The days go on and the coldness seems to seep deeper and deeper into my bones. Henry’s last question rings through my mind. “Why do people get sick?” I never answered him that day. How would you even begin to think up an answer? Although I wish I did. 

As the snow begins to fall, resting down a shimmering blanket over the Earth's skin, I start to hope spring can come faster. Once the warmth comes back, so will everything else I’ve lost. My hair will be full and healthy, my family will return with a big hug, and my happiness will thaw out my heart and I can escape this asylum with a great big smile. Then, and only then, will I finally feel freedom again. 

My thoughts begin to run wild as I yearn for the flowers to bloom and the sun to shine once again. Memories of my life before disaster struck plays like a movie in my head, distracting me from my slipping breath, my shuddering body, and my eyelids pulling down, shutting my eyes tight. My body sinks into the bed, the weight of it pulling me down, but my mind still clings to the thought of spring. The monitor beside me begins to beep urgently, but the sounds fade as if it is miles away, too far to reach. I let go, slipping quietly into the silence, waiting for a sunrise I’ll never see. Waiting for spring.