Always Dancing

Always Dancing

A Short Story by Rebekah Sechler

Dedicated to Micah:

I’ll see you in the morning

I walked into the room and there she was. Free from all her worries and woes. Arms in the air, wind in her hair. Angela. Always dancing.

I wanted to join her, but what would I say? Angela, I think you’re beautiful, would you mind, if I a near perfect stranger, cut in? Yeah, that would be ridiculous. So instead I stood in the door frame and watched her twirl around to non-existent music.

She opened her eyes and saw me. Her head cocked to the side and her eyebrows wrinkled. Then she twirled to me and pulled me forward to dance with her. So there I was. Dancing in Ward 3 to silence with Angela, the girl who was always dancing.

In my ward of the hospital, Angela was talked about as if she was a legend. Everyone knew she existed ― we had seen each other in passing. She was the most talked about person here in Verona Children’s Hospital. Everyone had seen her dancing at least once, but no one had ever approached her. She was like a fairy; if you got to close she would disappear.

She really was magic too. As soon as she saw me, I was drawn to her. My feet moved of their own accord and she pulled me in with her bewitching glance and I was enraptured. I couldn’t leave if I wanted to. I didn’t want to leave, though. Her dancing was like an ancient ritual that could cleanse your spirit.

When I joined, suddenly I understood. I understood her. She wasn’t just Angela: the girl who danced, she was Angela: the girl who lived. In the place where death was imminent, she lived.

And at that moment, I lived too. I breathed the sterile, cold, stale air into my living lungs. I twirled around on my thin, frail, living legs. I spun, and spun, and spun until I felt like I was going to collapse. How long had it been since I felt this way? Since I felt alive?

All of the spinning left me dizzy and my knees wobbled. The happy feeling left and I realized then why I was in a hospital. I fell to my knees and sat. I’m not alive. I’m barely surviving.

I came to the hospital fourteen months ago; diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. I was told I had around a year to live. I was taken out of the orphanage and placed in Ward 3 ― the hospice ward ―  of the Verona Children’s Hospital. The small, bald reflection in my mirror is an unjust reminder of my situation.

I looked up at Angela. She’s not much older than me, but she seems to have so much more experience in life. She probably has a family who visits her. She probably has people she knows to come to her room and bring her gifts, unlike me, who only gets visits from the nuns.

Angela sat down next to me, “I’m Angela,” she said simply, breaking the silence between us.

“I’m Emmett,” I replied and she stuck out her hand. I took it and she shook firmly. Her hand was startlingly warm, contrasting greatly from my freezing hand.

“So Emmett,” she said, “Why are you in the depressing part of the children’s hospital?” She leaned back on her hands and looked up at the ceiling. I followed her gaze and above us was a mural of the night sky.

“Bone cancer,” I let out. “You?”

“Lupus,” she said hollowly. “Doc Hutchins says I’ve three months left.”

I looked over at her. She doesn’t seem like she’s only got three months left. How could it be that Angela: the girl who lived, only has three months left to live?

“Don’t feel sorry for me, I already beat the predictions. They say I’m getting worse, though. I’m always tired and my joints ache and everything hurts.”

Tears started falling down her cheeks. “I beat the doctor’s predictions too,” I said “But I’m bound to die any day now. That’s what the doctors say.”

She grabbed my hand and whispered, “I’ll visit you every day. And when you do die, I’ll sit front row at your funeral. And I’ll cry harder than everyone else.” She smiled up at me through tears and stood up, pulling me with her, “We should probably get back.”

We walked back to our rooms together. When we reached mine she let go of my arm and kissed my cheek. “Goodnight Emmett. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She walked back to her room and I went to bed. When I woke up Angela was sitting in the chair next to my bed. She was reading something, which turned out to be a Bible. When she saw I was awake she smiled.

“Hey, Emmett. How are you?” she asked.

“As good as someone with days left to live can be feeling,” I said sarcastically. “Whatcha reading?”

She lifts up the book to show the spine. “I just finished my daily reading, but I wanna read you something. Do you mind?”

I shake my head and she begins, “Psalm 23, a psalm of David. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his namesake. I will fear no evil for you are with me. Your rod and your staff they comfort me. You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies, you anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all of my days, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Her voice was crisp and clear. It didn’t shake and she didn’t stumble over any words. She didn’t sound like the nuns when she read it either. She sounded calm and happy. When the nuns read, it sounded like a judges verdict, but when Angela read, she sounded like a poet; reciting her verses for all to hear.

She looked up from the Bible and said, “How was I?”

“That was beautiful,” I respond.

“Have you heard it before?” she asked.

“Yeah, the nuns from the orphanage used to come in here all the time and read all sorts of things from the Bible to me.”

Her face contorted in pity, “Oh, I didn’t realize you were an orphan.”

I sat up, “No one ever does. It’s fine, I didn’t even know my parents. You can’t miss something you never had.”

She looked so sad I had to change the subject, “I really liked the way you read those verses. It was different than the nuns ever read it.”

“Do you wanna hear more?” she asked, brightening immediately.

“I’d like that.”

We spent the rest of the morning reading passages from the Bible. She read the tales of David and Saul from First Kings and the stories of Abraham and Isaac from Genesis and finally she told me the story of Jesus.

I had heard all of it before, but when Angela read it, it was so much more. It wasn’t just the scriptures to be lived by. No, it was so much more. More than what the nuns made it out to be.

It was a tale of a brave king who trusted everything in this all-powerful, merciful, faithful God. It was a story of how a no one was able to trust a God so powerful that he became the father of a great nation. It was the miracle of birth in a stable, a boy growing up and talking with the leaders of the church, it was a father willing to sacrifice his own son for a sinful, fallen, broken people.

Eventually, Angela had to leave to get treatment, so I was left alone. She left her Bible though, so I opened it and read it. The nuns stopped in and when they saw me with a Bible they were so happy. They said I had finally come to my senses. I thought I had come to my conclusion.

I went on a walk that afternoon and saw Angela in the open room in the back. She was dancing again. I pushed open the doors and sat down and watched her. When she saw me she smiled and sat down next to me. I was exhausted and my bones were in so much pain. So I did something I had never done before.

“Angela,” I said, “Will you pray with me?”

She nodded and held my hand, “Do you wanna start, or should I?”

“Will you?”

She nodded again and then started, “Lord we come to you because we don’t have much time left. We ask for forgiveness and for your mercy. Lord we know we are nothing without you, so I pray you will come here and be with us.”

She turned to me and I quietly begin, “God, I know I’ve never really done this before, but, I want to follow you and become a servant of you. So I ask that you’ll come here and welcome me into your family. I’ve never had a family before, so I hope I do good for you and show your love well. Um, well, that’s all.”

Tears started to roll off my cheeks. Angela squeezed my hand and pulled me up. She wrapped her arms around my waist and slowly we turn in circles. My legs ached, but my spirit soared far above the both of us. For the first time in my life, I had a father and a sister and so much more. I had a family.

Angela came to my room every day for the next week. My body was shutting down so I couldn’t get up, but she was there every morning when I woke up. She gave me a Bible of my own, so when she wasn’t there I could do something. I read it every day. I took everything in me to sit up and read the Bible, and when that got to be too much I just sat back and prayed.

The days always ended the same. Angela would come to my room and say, “Good night Emmett, see you in the morning,” and I would echo it back.

I woke up and slowly twisted around to look at Angela, but when I finally made it all the way Angela wasn’t there. I called the nurse into my room. She looked too cheery for the hospice ward of a children’s hospital.

“How can I help you?” she asked chipperly.

“Do you know where Angela Prince is?” I ask brusquely.

She looked down at her clipboard and her face dropped, “Oh, I’m sorry. She passed away last night. Was she a friend of yours?”

It felt like all of the air was knocked out of my lungs. She was supposed to live another three months. She was supposed to come to my funeral. She wasn’t supposed to die. How did it happen? Why did it happen?

   I wept for hours and then when the tears stopped coming I sat in silence. The nuns came in and sat at my bedside. They told me that Angela was most definitely in a better place and that I should be happy for her. How, though, am I supposed to be happy? My best and only friend is dead.

After the nuns left I used all my strength to sit up and I opened my Bible to a random passage. My eyes fall on Lamentations 3:32, “Though he brings grief he will also show compassion, so great is his unfailing love.” The tears started again and I fell back on my bed.

My doctor came in and behind him were two people I’d never seen before.

“Emmett,” Dr. Steven said, “This is Mr. and Mrs. Prince.”

Angela’s parents. Mrs. Prince looks a lot like Angela, but her eyes are so sad. Angela’s eyes were always happy, even when she cried. The Prince’s sit down next to my bed and talk to me. I ask them if they could read to me and they agreed. They read in the spot where my Bible was open. I close my eyes, exhausted from the day I’ve had.

Before I drift to sleep I whisper, “Goodnight Angela, see you in the morning.”

When I open my eyes I’m not in the hospital. I’m in a beautiful, bright, indescribable place. I’m not tired and my bones don’t hurt. A warm, gentle feeling settles over me, and somehow I’m home.

I look up and see her first. Free from all her worries and woes. Arms in the air, wind in her hair. Angela. Always dancing.