Here I am: A Short Story

Christmas is the loudest season. It announces itself with a trumpet sound from the clouds. It’s as though it walks through the door in an expensive jacket and spreads its arms wide- here I am. And I hate it with all of my heart. The nurses walk down the hall in their white shoes. It makes no sound and I wonder if their feet really do touch the floor. I watch one huge woman fix a card on one of the Christmas trees. From where I sit, I can see the fancy green lettering- Tis the Season to be jolly. I laugh at the irony of it all.My mother's right breast is being cut off in a room down the hall. I do not know how this is done but when I close my eyes each time, all I feel is my teeth biting into a stainless steel. And it tastes a lot like bad endings. I picture mother's chest- flat and uninviting- in a dress and my heart breaks a little.The world is ending for me; I know. And my God- am I thankful it’s not crashing with a loud bang like December. It’s subtle, almost as if the universe is whispering to me half-asleep “I wish I didn’t have to do this and I am so sorry.” I laugh again to myself. I am being robbed. Everything I own is being snatched out of my hands. I try to hold on but I look and there are five fingers staring back at me. Empty. I am losing gracefully in this battle and it is only three days to Christmas.There’s a wall in my throat. I try to break it down but then I will lose my voice too. So I sit and pretend mother is a garden and there are flowers springing out of her chest. The thought is peaceful. I feel God rub my back.A doctor walks toward me and I do not stand. I raise my head and my neck feels like the ruins of a broken city. His lips move but this season is louder than my heart can bear. There is a slow song in the back of my head. I see the Christmas tree light up and I wonder who set it on fire.When I look back at the doctor, I forget why I am sitting in a hospital on a cold December night. He tries to touch me and that’s when I remember. So I run. There’s a wind in my legs as I move. Now I know why you never hear the feet of the nurses. I call for my mother. I try to smell the roses, see where she could be hiding. I call her name once and tulips fall from the sky. In the splitting darkness, the radio comes alive with a song about Jesus being born. His birth is announced with a trumpet sound from the clouds. It’s as though he walks through the door in an expensive jacket and spreads His arms wide- here I am.