I have just returned from a completely enchanting but unbearably sad evening at Children’s Hospital where I sat in Mikaela’s bed reading her pop up stories of the Nutcracker and Stella and the Sea. I peel off layer after layer, like a little onion. My mother overdresses me she grins. She loves you. I know. Bike shorts, ballet tights and socks that look like the ones the geishas wear in Japan.
Then she is Stella in the Tub (albeit with an myriad of tubes and other paraphernalia I was terrified would pop out at any moment). We washed her hair with raspberry shampoo and used a tiny sand bucket to send rivulets of water over her head which has been through entirely too much for a five year old. Soft cotton pyjamas, robin egg blue and ask the nurse to remove the hospital anklet that has cut into her leg. Massage her feet.
Stick on earrings, a different shape for every day I grin. She smiles at last and chooses the diamond heart shape. Perhaps we should stick one on your nose, I smirk and when your father comes tomorrow he will think you have had your nose pierced. She says ew. She doesn’t seem tired. Maybe getting your newly growing brain radiated makes one more alert. More stories.
Medicine time. As I help her rinse out her mouth, she shows me the wiggling front tooth. I tell her that the tooth fairy brings Toys r Us gift certificates in large denominations so you can shop like crazy, knowing that this will make her mother crazy. She laughs and wiggles her eyebrows up and down. What would you buy? A make-up kit she says and we plan our spa day for Sunday. Suddenly, her brow furrows and tears fill her eyes and she yells at me. You think everything is funny, that everything is happy and it is not.
I know, dolly.
The signal of exhaustion. Can I kiss you, Mikaela. You may. On the hand.
I cover her up and whisper ‘two more sleeps’. A tiny smile .She is surrounded by stuffed animals. I crawl out of the bed, turn out her light and say the schma.
In the next room, Katherine, nurse extraordinaire, is tending to a small native boy who has eyes like pools and is hooked up to everything, even the television. I wave goodnight to Katherine and the little boy looks at me and asks if I could stay. I say, sure, and pull up the visitor’s chair. I thought at first I may have looked somewhat like a convict, orange pants, black sweater, leather biker jacket and a black wool hat. Braids. I flash him a huge smile to let him know I am not really a gang member. He doesn’t care anyway. Who are you. I’m Colette. Who are you? I am Quin. Can you stay here tonight? Hmmm, I’m afraid I can’t, Quin, my own little girl is waiting for me at home and I
haven’t. seen. her. all. day.
His breathing is laboured and croupy, and his teeth are swathed in silver caps. His face is perfection; dark and deep with a dimpled smile that hasn’t arrived yet. He is looking right into my eyes. The tears pool and run down his cheeks. One after the other after the other. He says nothing.
My eyes blur as I try to keep my composure and then give up. Hey Quin. Tell me the best thing that ever happened to you. He throws his head back and launches into a story about his father taking him to the fire station, and as he chatters and takes these deep wet breaths, his eyes shine and I keep wiping the water that runs from them.
It’s scary being here all by yourself, huh? He nods and bows his head. He keeps asking my name. I keep telling him.
I’m Colette, and you, are Quin the fire fighter.
