Dear Fellow Traveler,
In the year 1946, I was a young child of the tender age of 10, and the second world war had ended some time ago, but even before it, I had been kept within the white walls of a hospital room.
My body had been frail since I was born, easily fainting, easily getting sick, and sometimes taking a cocktail of drugs to keep healthy enough to last the week. My parents had money, the hospital had mercy, and all I had to do was retrieve treatment and hope to live till I was at least 18, and hope better treatments would be discovered.
When living in a hospital since you were small, you see very little of the world, but at the same time you see more than a normal child would see within their youth. The constant coming and going of the sick or injured, hearing wails of the families mourning the deceased.
Strange how quickly something becomes normal before you realize it’s not normal.
The only time I spent away from my hospital bed was when the nurse would take me on a walk in the hospital's garden that overlooked the ocean, which had once been filled with navy vessels, while I sat in a wheelchair so I wouldn’t wear myself out.
One such walk, the day was sunny yet cool as the breeze picked up the salty sea air and the smell of the flowers in the garden, smells I could imagine clear enough to paint a picture. For whatever reason, that I couldn’t remember, the nurse who was with me, left me sitting by myself to watch the waves from behind the iconic white picket fence that had flowers growing along it.
It was a sight I was all too familiar with, and had grown bored of. After all, a child can only appreciate so much beauty while not being allowed to get any closer to it. Let alone even being able to take a walk without others worrying if you would collapse without them being there to help. When you are all but chained to a room, all you want is to go out and see what is beyond the picket fence. The feeling of being trapped by your own body is a kind of sorrow that breaks even a child’s spirit.
Maybe, it was those thoughts that drew her near.
She just seemed to fade into being within my line of sight. Her graceful figure, gliding across the grass like a raven gliding along the wind. Her feet didn’t even seem to touch the ground, and with her she brought fresh scents I had yet to be familiar with during my confinement. The smell of fresh flowers, morning dew, and sugar water cut through the thick smell of medicine and chemicals that stained the air around the hospital.
I don’t know why, but even as she approached me in such an unnatural way, and with an even more unnatural appearance, instead of fear or unease, as I watched her move so calmly and gracefully, I felt at ease.
“Hello child,” she chirped gently, as she knelt down to make her stance lower, her long dress ruffling and puffing up around her on the ground like black flower petals in bloom.
Despite wearing a white bird-like mask, her voice wasn’t at all muffled or hindered. In fact it was as clear as glass, but gentle and calming like windchimes, with an obvious french accent. Even if you couldn't see her face, or her eyes through the gaping black holes of her mask, which were covered with Goggle-like lenses, you could tell she was a kind and gentle person.
“Hello,” I replied, unable to take my eyes off her. “Who are you? Are you a doctor?” I asked. Even now, I have the foggiest idea as to what compelled me to ask that. Since she wasn’t dressed like any doctor from my era, and yet, somehow I felt like she was one before knowing why. The woman chuckled softly,“Of a sort,” was her reply. The woman stood tall once more, and lifted the skirt of her dress before giving a curtsy with a fluid and elegant practiced motion, bowing her head slightly, the large rim of her flower decorated hat hiding part of her mask, all but the top of the beak,“My name is Althea Blanc, it’s a pleasure, my petite patient,” I could tell she was smiling when she lifted her head again.
Feeling compelled to follow her example, I got up out of my wheelchair slowly, taking a short moment to steady myself, and tried to mimic (in a rather clumsily manner) her curtsy, giving my name in return.
After I sat back down, Ms. Blanc started asking me different things, like how I felt, where it hurt, how long I had been there, ect. Just things you would expect a doctor or nurse to ask. And then, like the child I was at the time, I complained about how the medication tasted bad, how they wouldn’t let me have sweets, while other parents brought their kids sweets, and so on. How my body was so useless, I got tired so easily, and couldn't go out to play, or being stuck with the same books to read.
Ms. Blanc listened and chuckled when I started to whine, giving me an “I see,” and “That’s quite the problem,” as her answer, as she reached into the basket she had been carrying with her, and the moment it opened a strong smell of flowers flowing out like a geyser of knew scents, but oddly weren’t overwhelming. It was like a gust of fresh air had escaped from the small space.
She pulled out a small tin with the picture of a rose painted on the lid, “Sadly, I can’t give you candies, if the doctor taking care of you doesn’t allow it,” she reasoned as her black gloved hands popped off the tin’s lid, “But I can give you something else sweet.” she chirped sweetly, the smile in her voice softer than her tone.
I could feel my eyes widen impossibly big as she showed me the contents of the tin. Inside were little round pellets that gave off the smell of roses and a bit of honey. The little orbs were a lovely hue, the color of pink and red rose petals. I wanted with baited breath as she picked up one of the orbs before holding it out to me. I happily held out my hand for the pink pellet, practically bouncing myself out of my chair. She placed it in my palm, and I took a moment to roll it between my fingers, marveling over the pretty color, before happily popping it in my mouth.
I reveled over the sweet flavor happily as I chewed softly.
“These are rose pills, they're tasty aren’t they?” she asked and I nodded enthusiastically in agreement. I was about to ask for more, but before I knew it, she vanished, as I heard my nurse's voice cut through the air.
I hadn’t realized until the nurse returned that when Ms. Blanc appeared, it was like we were the only two in the world.
I was returned to my room for the rest of the day, but for a while after that day, something seemed to change within me. I could feel it deep inside myself. I didn't know how to describe it at the time, other than, "My body feels happy." But now in my old age, I could describe it as if spring flowers had bloomed in a heart that I hadn't realized was being frozen over by my miserable situation.
My footsteps became lighter, my heart seemed to sing, revealing the beauty of the world once again. It had been a feeling my young mind had all but forgotten. The war had destroyed a lot, taken and broken apart families, freezing the hearts of those who suffered through it. Even in the aftershocks, many still suffered and lost hope, their broken hearts taking the years they still had yet to live.
When I left the hospital, I no longer saw that lovely woman, but I could never forget her even in my old age. I don’t know how many had seen her as I had. I wonder how many had been graced with her presence, or enjoyed the sweetness she offered.
As the years passed, I often wondered who she really was, where she had come from, or if she really was as I had remembered her, but I know for sure I owe her so much. My only regret in life was never being able to thank her.
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