“Morphine makes me weightless, airborne.” She whispers, closing her eyes as I turn to look out the window of the hospital room she’s been in since July.
A dark-feathered bird soars in front of cotton ball clouds, wings spread and climbing higher until he disappears somewhere beyond my field of vision.
“What do you see?” She whispers, her voice hoarse. I turn and her eyes are still closed but there is a smile playing on her lips.
“There was a bird, but it’s gone now.”
She breathes raggedly and I can see pain in her face.
“Do you want me to get the nurse?”
She shakes her head and motions me to her. I sit on the edge of the bed, taking her cold hands into mine.
“What do you need?” I ask, pleading.
“Let me fly.” She whispers. Her eyes close again and soon it is as if she is asleep.
I sit with her until the nurses are summoned by her monitors that she has gone. I move to the seat by the window again and search until I see her. She is a small robin, her wings the soft caramel of her skin and her chest the deep scarlet of her hair. I watch her and smile. I let her fly.
My piece linked up with last week’s Master Class, In Therapy, was given an A+ by Eric Storch of Sinistral Scribblings. The prize for this accomplishment is that I got to pick the first sentence for this week’s Master Class. I chose Kelle Groom’s I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl. I’m looking forward to seeing what the others do with the prompt.