Water into wine

Wandering through the hospital halls running my fingers along the walls, the silence was calming, familiar. It was late and I was waiting for my mother to finish her rounds. It was boring, so I roamed, as I often did. I could hear the rhythmic beeping of machines and the shuffles of patients followed by the scurry of doctors and nurses. Every evening the same, a slight heaviness in the air and murmurs from loved ones. My mum worked on the ICU ward so the atmosphere was either chaotic and loud or layered with a strange and ominous serenity.

I tried to imagine what it would look like, the stories from my mother on replay in my head. The bright lights and boring colours that lined the walls and floors, rooms with wires and leads that were literally a lifeline to those suffering here. But it’s hard to imagine seeing when you’ve never in fact been able to do so. I was very acclimated by now as I’d hit my teens but I often day- dreamed in my own special way and created my own images of sorts. I don’t know what you would call them or how I would even describe them to seeing people, but that made it even more distinct to me. I was in my own world and if I didn’t like things I’d hear, I change what I see in my mind’s eye.

In the distance, I could hear rushed footsteps that I knew to be my mothers, a little huff and puff of annoyance in her breath. I rolled my eyes. “Lucy! What did I tell you about going off on your own. And without your stick.” She sighed, exasperated and grabbed my hand to whisk me around. “There are very sick people here Luce, they don’t need to be bothered.”

“What else am I supposed to do? You drag me here every day while you work.” I groaned. She replied with silence. I never wanted to make her feel guilty, I understood she was a single mum providing for me and doing an admirable job, but I also felt like I was missing out on a childhood, which already came with its challenges.

As she dragged me along, the silence grew louder and crushed its way inward in my head and I jolted awake, my head rested on my forearms. I dreamt of my childhood often. Now, I was thirty- three and working in the same hospital my mum did, though she opted for an early retirement when the sudden death of a relative provided her with the means to do so. I quite liked working here, although thanks to my disability I’m limited on the jobs they’ll let me do. I’m the kind of employee that did a little bit here and a little bit there. I would probably only be allowed as a volunteer if it wasn’t for my mum pulling some strings, which did wonders for my self-esteem. I spent a lot of time in the chapel here in the evenings after my administrative duties. I found comfort in comforting people. 

As I lifted my head off the desk where I had apparently decided to snooze, I peeled pieces of paper off my face, the little indentations that allowed me to read now indented on my face. It was quiet and I could tell that I was alone. Being blind you develop a sixth sense of just knowing if there were people around you or not, no matter how stealthy they try to be. I learnt this the hard way in school. In the background, the water cooler gurgled and the coffee machine hummed.

The peace and quiet was suddenly disturbed by the staff room door crashing open and banging into the wall behind it.

“Still here?” Angela said, her voice always a few octaves too high for my liking.

“yes yes, still here.” I yawned.

“Well go home, your shift ended an hour ago.” She was always very bossy and frequently had to be reminded that she wasn’t my boss, but she was a close colleague and friend so I gave her her moment from time to time. She knew almost everything about me and my life. Often, she tried to get me on the dating scene, but an ex-boyfriend who did more than betray me in every sense of the word, ruined any hopes of a new love interest any time soon.

My flat was a short ten minute walk that I knew well. I refused to have the stick and hadn’t used it since I was young. Dangerous maybe, stupid, definitely. I strolled passed the street light that flickered first, then held on to the railing that ran adjacent to the road, praying they’d be no gum or excessive germs today. When it came to an end I turned, listened for any oncoming traffic and crossed. Sharp left, walk ten steps, sharp right and voila, I’m home. The trick is to walk like a seeing person to avoid any unwanted attention from potential muggers. I had to be vigilant being a female in my state.

When I got inside, I palmed my way to the kitchen, pausing to wash my hands in the sink then opened the fridge and grabbed a ready meal which I banged in the microwave next to it. It was always a nice surprise to find out which one I grabbed today. My best friend and roommate  Katie said I was too lazy to be a blind person. Apparently I make my life more difficult than it needs to be and I should have bumpy labels all over everything. Not to mention a healthier lifestyle. I personally liked the element of surprise and occasional danger. She worked nights so the flat was silent and nag- free.

Ding. There was the usual fight of the wrapper and trying not to burn myself as I scoffed it straight from the packet at the kitchen counter. Mac and cheese today.

After, I went to my bedroom and found my easel. Believe it or not, and as ironic as it is, drawing and painting was my outlet and hobby. It was incredibly challenging at first and lets be honest, fuck knows what they turned out like but who could argue? At the very least I’d get the pity vote. Although, there were a few I showed Katie recently, and she said that there was something wrong with me and that I was some kind of prodigy for artists. She was convinced I had bought them or got someone else to do it for me until one day I did one in front of her. But I still liked the idea that it could be total shit and I’d never know.

The weird thing is, the things I drew were images in my head that aren’t like the shapes and colours I’ve made up. To me they seemed like the real thing, but I had nothing to compare it too. It was normally images of people, sick people, so 3D I could touch it. Every scar, wrinkle and feature enhanced. I would always draw them healthy and happy. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a hospital surrounded by these kind of people that I can piece the visual puzzle together more easily and emotively based on things I’d heard and felt.

Today, it was an image of a child, sadness filled her eyes that were swimming in tears. She was smaller than she should be, light eyes, no hair. My heart lurched at her pain. I felt for my pencils, feeling the tips for the right size and density and started to draw. Hours passed and I drew until she was smiling and full of life. The pink back in her cheeks, her sunken eyes now bright. Shortly after, I climbed into bed and thought about her as I drifted off.

When I got to the hospital for my shift, there was commotion in the reception area.

“It’s a miracle.” Angela said, snapping her gum loudly. I shivered, not a sound in the world I hated more.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached.

“Little Sally on 3^rd floor, terminal cancer. Woke up today, no cancer.” I could hear the disbelief and excitement in her voice in between chomps. “It’s a miracle.”

“You sure she wasn’t misdiagnosed?”

“Nah, she had it most of her little life, several rounds of chemo. Parents are over the moon. I don’t think they’re atheists now.” She laughed, a bit exaggerated.

“That’s great.” I said and left to go to the staff room for some coffee. Something about this story was niggling at me though and not just because it sounded too good to be true. But I couldn’t pin point why. I didn’t recognise the name, but the image of my drawing kept popping up in my mind. Theres no way, I told myself, fighting the inner irrational child that was screaming at me that I healed her. I laughed the thought away and got back to my shift.

Later, Angela invited herself over to mine for some wine. We chatted for a while and laughed hard at Angelas twenty- something drunken tales until late. She helped me to my bedroom to help me find the clean washing I had dumped somewhere the night before, looking for pyjamas.

“Luce, these drawings are stunning, where did you get them?”

“I drew them.” I said, waiting for the usual doubt.

“Babe you’re in the wrong job. Stupid question really, there’s a fucking easel next to them!” She cackled. I could hear her sifting through them.

“No fucking way.” She whispered, which was odd. “What is it?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know little Sally? Even though realistically if you did you wouldn’t know what she looked like anyway.” She muttered, pacing.

“I don’t know who she is.”

“You’ve drawn her!” She shrieked, now sifting through more aggressively. “Oh my god.” I heard her slump on my bed.

“This one, this was a woman who got discharged a couple weeks ago. Coma due to post partem difficulties during surgery… And this one…” She trailed off.

“Luce, you painted these people healthy and now they are. You’re blind! This can’t be a coincidence.” I honestly didn’t know what to say, I’d been having the thoughts myself but we’re talking about something that isn’t possible.

“Draw another one. Right now.” She demanded. “Ange, they take hours.”

“I don’t care, we have to see if this is real.” She walked me over to my easel. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths until an imaged popped up. It was an older gentleman this time. Wheelchair bound. I drew him standing and smiling.

“Now we wait.” Angela said, opening up another bottle.

She ended up crashing on the couch and we both walked to work with sore heads the following morning. When we arrived, there was commotion at reception again.

“He just walked right outta here.” An unknown voice beamed. Sounded young, pretty. Angela pushed passed me, I headed to the staff room. After a few moments of peace, the door slammed. “Ange, can you please be more careful with that door.” My head pounded, a fuzziness behind my eyes, wine regret hitting hard.

“Luce, you did it! This is incredible, what a gift.” She physically picked me up and span me round. “Its not possible, there must be some reasonable explanation.” I stuttered, my ears hot and adrenalin tickling my body. “Huh! Yeh there is, you’re like the new upgraded Jesus!” She laughed. I chuckled at the thought and the delivery. We sat talking about it for a while but I left early, my head spinning. Maybe from the wine, maybe from the miracle.

I went straight to my room, picked up my pencils and started drawing with desperate determination. This was difficult, the image I had of myself were descriptions from my family and relatives. But I had to try. If I really did heal these people, did I have the ability to make myself see?