So that you're no alone

My wrist curved as I tried to angle myself, making bold lines with my pencil. Glancing up now and then, I could just about see his knuckles from the way he held his book up to his face. Now that I had a better look at him, he appeared to be 15, maybe 16.  

The boy’s glasses sat comfortably at the bridge of his nose; his gaze soft as his eyes scanned each line upon the page. What colour were they? Blue? Hazel? It was hard to distinguish from my seat. 

He was alone, sitting on the opposite side of the waiting area from where I was. The sleeves of his pale blue sweater were rolled up to his forearms, and his chest rose and fell in slow, steady beats. With his legs crossed such straight posture, He’d captured my attention as soon as he’d arrived. 

As if it were a being of its own, my hand dragged my pencil across the page of my sketchbook. When I’d finished a basic outline of him, I hunched over to start on the smaller details, like how his tranquil expression could be comparable to that of a sleeping faun.  

When my muscles cramped, I loosened my grip, creating an unnecessary line through his arm. I hissed, scrambling for an eraser. I practically scrubbed the area clean, dusting the residual of the page with more force than was admittedly needed. The action must have been louder than I'd hoped, because the boy’s attention suddenly shifted from his book to me.  

I quickly peeked at him, our eyes meeting, before jumping and looking down. My heart knocked a little faster against my ribs, my throat starting to close. Shoot... did he notice me? Was it obvious? I decided I'd risk completing the drawing from memory later and hastily packed away my things, shoving them into my tote bag. Hugging my knees, I squeezed my eyes shut, now able to hear my heartbeat in my head.  

Footsteps could be heard drawing nearer and panic started to wash over me. They clicked and clacked against the hospital floor, not unlike the ticking of the clock in mum’s room. “Are you alright?” a sugary voice asked, placing a cool hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see mum’s nurse, her dark hair pulled back in a bun as usual.  

“Mmm,” I nodded. “Your mum should wake up soon, would you like to wait in her room?” she smiled, rubbing what she must have thought were soothing circles over my back. The contact made my stomach twist and I cringed away, shaking my head. The nurse, Mira, regarded me with pity before sighing and continuing her rounds.  

It was late; the sun had just set. Many of the staff members on duty had asked if I’d be more comfortable waiting in mum’s room, asked if they could get me a blanket or a snack to make me more comfortable. I’d declined every offer, content with keeping myself behind a thick wall of ice if it meant they’d stop interacting with me.  

I had nothing against nurses or doctors, but they didn’t know how to help. They could only do their job. Poking people with needles, stitching up gashes and fixing broken bones. They couldn’t do anything for me, a perfectly healthy and capable child.  

Now that I had been pulled back to reality, I realised the waiting area was much quieter than before. A woman lay in her husband’s lap a couple of seats away from me, her stomach bulging through the thin blanket he’d draped over her, sweat beading her brow and hair clinging to her damp cheeks.  

If she was in pain, she did little more than groan and press her lips in a thin line. I wondered why she hadn’t been shown to a private room yet, but then decided it was none of my business and looked away. From the side, I could hear her husband whisper words of encouragement, stroking and kissing her forehead.  

Mum would kiss me like that... I thought as I picked at a scab on my knee. It was a deep maroon now, browning at the edges. It reminded me of a rose petal that had started to shrivel up. I haven’t drawn flowers in a while. 

Curling over, I reached down for my bag again, pulling my book out. There wasn’t much else for me to do, and I knew staying still for too long would make my mind wander to places I’d rather pretend didn’t exist. The pages of my book swished and swooshed as I flipped through them to a clean canvas.  

Just as an image took form in my mind and I readied my pencil, I noticed a shadow loom over me. I looked up and gasped, nearly dropping my things. The boy stood a few inches from me, smiling down. He'd taken his glasses off and was holding them behind his back along with his half-read book.  

“Sorry, did I scare you?” he kept his voice quiet, sounding apologetic. I clutched my book to my chest, trying to calm my breathing and eyeing wearily him as he took a seat right next to me. For a long moment, we didn’t speak, though his gaze remained on my book and my whitening knuckles. If he saw me trembling, he didn’t comment on it.  

“Are you scared of me?” he whispered, raising his eyebrows. Not confident with how to respond, I kept my mouth shut and leaned away from him, trying to focus on an illuminated pharmacy sign just outside the hospital entrance. When my discomfort became increasingly obvious, the boy must have given up as he got up and moved away without a sound.  

I cautiously turned to see if I could catch a glimpse of him, but it seemed like he had vanished. My body relaxed and I slumped back in my seat, but as soon as I decided to get back to my drawings, a hand grabbed my book from above and pulled it up. A surprised noise left me, and when I turned around, I saw the boy giving me sheepish grin, holding the book out of reach. “Gotcha,” 

Anger, frustration and panic flashed across my face, and though my limbs were frozen stiff, I was debating pouncing on him to snatch the book back. The boy watched the emotions play out over my features before his smile softened and he pulled out an energy bar from the back pocket of his jeans.  

“Hey, now, don’t cry. Here, take this.” he held it out for me. I backed away, shaking. My eyes burned and I could feel tears pricking at the sides. My throat felt dry now too. I’m getting a headache. “Please? It’ll make you feel better.” the boy said. Why would he care about how I feel? 

I eyed the bar and he inched closer, holding it out as if he were coaxing a stray kitten from its hiding place. When I made no inclination towards it, he tried negotiating with me, “I’ll give this back to you if you eat it.”  

“Give it back now!” I scowled, speaking up louder than I had intended to. A couple of staff members diverted their attention to me, but when I shrunk back to my seat, they returned to their own tasks.  

My chest caved in, and I could feel a whimper at the back of my throat. The boy sighed, making his way back to sitting beside me. “Alright, here,” he placed my sketchbook and the energy bar in my lap, “I don’t want to bully a little child.”  

My breathing started to ease, but a tear had already rolled down my cheek. I rubbed it with the rough sleeve of my top, sniffing. “I’m really sorry.” he said, attempting a friendlier smile. I could tell he was genuine. Something small and warm bloomed in me, calming me down. Maybe it was his caring tone or maybe it was his cheerful smile, but I found the boy’s presence comforting.  

“I’m not a little kid.” I croaked. “Oh? What's your name?” his smile brightened. Is it alright to tell him? Mum told me to be careful around strangers, but he was only five or six years older than me. “My name’s Kip.” he offered his hand. I hesitated, but slowly reached out and shook it. “Milo.”  

“Milo, are you here because of your mother?” Kip asked in a hushed tone. I nodded, picking at the wrapper of the energy bar. “Do you have anybody to keep you company while you wait? Your dad? Brother? Sister?”  

I shook my head. “Grandparents?” he tried. I shrugged, knowing well my grandparents wouldn’t take care of me even if mum was bleeding out on the streets. They'd abandoned her a long time ago. “Hmm...” Kip crossed his arms, looking to the ceiling lights. They were far too bright in my opinion, like the headlights of a car seconds before it crashed.  

“Shall I wait with you?” Kip whipped his head back to me, grinning. For a teenager, this person is odd... I shrugged again, a small blush warming my cheeks. “So that you won’t be alone.” Kip said, gentler this time.  

Hours passed while Kip told me story after story of how he had started skateboarding recently and had a scrape similar to mine on his elbow which his mother had scolded him for, how he almost missed his bus for school last week because he had to repair his mother’s flower vase after accidently knocking it over on his way out of his house.  

He told me about a stray dog he wanted to adopt but his mother had refused, saying that trying to take care of him was too much of a chore and that she wouldn’t be able to handle a dog as well. She was one very small woman as it was and felt it a daunting task just to care for Kip himself. 

All the while, I practiced sketching flowers of varying types—mostly roses. Midway through a new story, Kip interrupted himself, “why are you drawing so many roses?”  

“They’re my mum’s favourites.” I replied, not shifting my eyes from my work. “Hmm... for a child, you’re quite talented. Do you draw anything else?” he asked.  

“People.”  

“What kind of people?” his question seemed pointed. “I don’t know.”  

“Were you drawing me earlier?”  

I paused, now scared to meet his gaze. Is he angry? I squirmed a little. “Mmm,” I nodded, slowly. “Can I see?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not finished yet.” I said, gripping my book tighter in case he pulled another stunt to steal it. Kip must have noticed, because he chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Relax, relax. I won’t take it from you.” he said. I eyed him suspiciously which made him laugh. 

The click-clacking of shoes soon caught my attention, and not long after, Nurse Mira stood before me. “Your mum is awake now. Shall I take you to her? She's asking for you.” she smiled. I looked over at Kip who beamed. Getting up and packing away my things, I slung my back over my shoulder and followed the nurse. She then looked up at Kip, “thank you for looking after him.”  

Just before turning the corner, I looked back and waved at Kip. He grinned and waved back, “Can I call you a friend?” he asked. I dropped my hand, staring at him. Under the obscenely bright lights, it almost looked like he was glowing. I nodded, managing an awkward smile back before jogging to catch up with Nurse Mira. She had stopped, waiting for me and then continued when I kept pace beside her.  

When we reached mum’s room, the nurse slid the door open for me where I saw mum lying in bed with a cream-coloured blanket covering most of her bandaged body. She had a couple of machines beeping beside her and some tube contraption on her left arm that was linked to a packet with clear fluids inside it that hung from a metal stand.  

Before I stepped in, I heard a woman’s low voice in the next room. The blinds had been drawn, so I was unable to see inside. I assumed somebody had died. 

“Milo, come here.” mum called for me tiredly when she noticed me at the door. I scurried in and jumped up on the chair beside her bed, relief bringing a smile to my face upon seeing her awake. Nurse Mira regarded us fondly, making her way to the machines. She discussed a few thigs with mum while I lay my head against mum’s chest. Mum stroked my hair with her cold fingers, kissing my forehead. “My beautiful boy.” 

I closed my eyes, breathing in her scent. Distantly, I could still hear the woman next door. She sounded like she was mourning. Mum’s ginger touch lulled me. I was soon drifting off to sleep. The next morning, I helped mum into a wheel chair so she could be discharged. Nurse Mira wheeled her to the registration table so she could pay.  

She asked me to wait in the waiting area again, and so I did, pulling out my sketchbook again. I flipped to the page of my unfinished drawing of Kip, wondering if I should complete it. My eyes wandered up for a moment to see if my mum would take long. She appeared to be busy while consulting a doctor now. It should be enough time. I fished out my pencil and continued with the details.  

“Hello, again,” a familiar voice chirped behind me. I turned to see Kip resting his chin atop his arms on the back of the seat beside mine. I nodded and returned to my drawing, shielding it slightly from him. “Come on, let me see it! Just once before you go?” he pleaded, clasping his hands together. I hesitated, then nodded. “Just once.”  

Kip beamed and hopped off. I glanced behind me to see him greeting a couple of doctors wheeling an elderly woman towards the exit. They exchanged a couple of friendly words before waving goodbye as the woman was escorted outside. From his interaction with Nurse Mira last night, I wondered if he was well known at the hospital.  

“Milo,” I heard mum call me, “all done, let’s go.” That was fast... I thought while hurrying to gather my things. “Ah! Wait! You haven’t finished my drawing.” Kip ran up to me just as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “My mum’s calling.” I pointed to her. Kip looked up to see mum beckoning for me, his eyes lingered on her bandages.  

He smiled a kind yet somewhat melancholic smile. “Well then, you can’t keep her waiting.” As I made my way to her, he waved goodbye. “Did you make a new friend?” mum asked reaching out an arm to hug me. “Mmm,” I nodded, “he kept me company last night.”  

“What a nice friend.” she said, brushing the hair off my face. “Yes, Kippei spends a lot of time in the hospital. His mother is in a coma and he’s the only one who comes to visit her.” Nurse Mira explained, noting something down for mum and handing it to her,  

“Poor child, what about his father?” mum touched her lips. “He’s working overtime to pay for her hospital bills.” Nurse Mira sighed. She and mum talked about how tragic it was while she got wheeled out. We said our farewells and made our way to the taxi stand. The sun shone off the car’s black roof, nearly blinding me. I squinted. Days passed after we reached home. Mum needed aid moving around the house and reaching high places.  

I went back to school, though I found myself occasionally thinking about Kip. Is he still at the hospital? I wondered how long he’d be waiting there. Waiting for mum to wake up after her surgeries took hours, but what about Kip? How long would he have to wait? When I got home from school that day, I asked mum if we could visit the hospital. “Are you feeling ill?” I shook my head, “Kip’s still there.” I answered. Mum cupped my cheek, rubbing her thumb over my cheek. “Let’s go see him then.” she smiled.  

By the time we made it to the hospital, the sky was painted in hues of orange and red. Mum asked one of the nurses where Kip was and he pointed towards a room at the far end of the corridor.  

I wheeled mum down the length of the hallway, passing different rooms. Some were brightly lit with families smiling and hugging one another. I could just about see a woman holding a baby in her arms, sweat-soaked but beaming. Another room had a girl around my age playing with a stuffed pink elephant while two older children braided her hair. Another had the blinds drawn, the voices were sorrowful and hushed on the other side.  

When we made it to Kip’s mother’s room, mum and I paused. Kip sat by his mother’s bed, palms over his eyes, breathing unevenly. A large machine behind her bed had a pumping mechanism that connected to a tube fed into her mouth. Mum nudged me forward, nodding towards Kip.  

I tiptoed my way in—unnoticed by him—and stood just before him so my shadow was cast over his head. Kip cocked his head up, his eyes red and swollen. “Oh, hey,” he blinked, rubbing his nose and sniffing. Without a word, I handed a folded piece of parchment. He took it, numbly, and opened it to reveal my completed drawing of him. He smiled warmly.  

“Thanks for showing me. Did you come here just to give this?” he chuckled. I shook my head, “I’ll wait with you too, so that you’re not alone.”