Short-Fiction – Aural Awakenings
by DS Coremans
#FoDiByLi
Thursday 18 July 2024
The atrium was a façade of colour. A copious smothering of make-up scraped over an ageing face, attempting to hide blemishes and contours accrued by age. Sky blue paint slathered onto the walls in a hurry, long since dried and already flaking away from the thicker rivulets which had trickled until frozen in time. This faux sky was no more appropriate than a meadow of green hued linoleum blackened by a wearisome army of shuffling feet cutting trails throughout this unwelcoming reception.
A poor imitation of nature. A building so unnatural where death was either diverted or delayed, never defeated. The tired faces I passed in the corridor reminded me of a lion I had once seen at a safari park. A once noble and proud creature brought from the wild to captivity which had wilted over time sapped of life and vigour. I shuddered, suddenly feeling nauseated; the air seemed thick and viscous, each quickening breath drawing panic from the world around me into my very core. I had to remind myself, this was not just a place where people came to die, but also a place where people could get better.
The hand which had been on my shoulder since walking through the revolving doors squeezed gently, reassuring, strong. It reminded me I was not alone.
Bright colours and cartoon characters emblazoned on the walls pervaded my periphery. Each one seeming more garish than the last, yet each one held my attention just long enough to give me time to breathe.
My eyes came to rest on a fragile looking woman who was speaking ever so softly into a bundle of wool in her arms. Whatever resided within so small that I feared her gentle crooning and stroking would break whatever lay between the folds of the candy pink shroud. Next to her sat an older woman whose straight back and sad eyes made the stern expression on her face seem even more severe. Her tight lips seemed to dare the universe to challenge her. Fighting a sudden wave of nausea, I looked away from them, leaving them to their own lives, their own pain.
The sight of the woman as she cradled her precious burden, reminded me of the first time I saw… Her. My mother’s shoulders hung with the same fragility as the woman, yet her demeanour was that of a maternal wolf. My mother’s slight arms wound so tightly around her woollen bundle they seemed impenetrable. I remembered holding my breath as I peered at the face, almost consumed by the swaddling around it. I remembered reaching out to touch her beautiful translucent skin. My mother reflexively pulling her away, clutching her closer to her bosom. Her narrowed, reproachfully eyes burning me with their glare. I had waited three long months since being told she would be joining our family. I didn’t understand why her early arrival was not something to celebrate.
A sharp pulse in my temple throbbed as I reminisced over memories of her as she had been then. As I had been. Oblivious to the life we would all be forced to live. I reigned in the emotions, which threatened to overwhelm me, shrugging the hand from my shoulder. I turned to my father, whose eyes, were red rimmed and unusually stoic. Now was not the time to dwell on any of this. This was her time. She had asked that I be here. My father had tried to contest it, but he knew he would not win. I started walking again, knowing without looking that my father followed behind.
The double doors which led to the wards opened onto a formal looking corridor. Gone were the vivid colours which had adorned every surface, and in their place blocks of pastel tones broke the sparsely decorated, white-washed walls. Even the posters on the walls seemed more purposeful, informative and functional, their mission to provide fact not fun. I felt calmer here. The rising tension which had been growing within me since we had entered the building settled below a writhing surface.
This corridor felt as though it stretched into eternity the first time we came here. Yet now, we navigated the halls with a well-rehearsed ease. All too soon we arrived in front of the elevators, already groaning as they descended from above and opened, beckoning us to enter them, before we had even called them. We stepped in, waiting for the doors to close before pressing the button for the fifth floor, as if these small delays could put off what we were here to do.
The heavy wooden fire doors were sealed with an electronic lock. This entryway, usually open to all who came to visit, would stay closed until the first visitors were welcomed at 09:00. It unsettled me knowing that I could not just push open the door and run to her.
My father pressed the intercom, which crackled, until a harried voice dared us to ask for early entry. The exasperation left her voice instantly on hearing our names. I could not listen to what that voice was saying, knowing that we were now so close to her. The same nurse who had spoken over the intercom opened the door beckoning us in, her eyes betrayed her well-trained voice. My father stayed to ask where she had been moved to, but I could not wait to hear.
I walked purposefully to the end of the corridor stopping before the last door. The curtains were drawn on the inside; the door was closed over. I didn’t hesitate before pushing down on the handle, opening the door to the private room.
My heart fluttered in my chest. Plastic lines carried unknown fluids to and from her body. Below her left breast a dark wound lay open to the world, the wires looked more like the desperate tendrils of a plant creeping out of the shadows into the light. All her body functions were now regulated by machines exaggerating the disrepair her body seemed inflicted with. Yet the broken flesh, and shallow breathing did not concern me. Her body was draped in linen sheets and nothing more.
Even as a child she had exuded energy. A soul too powerful for her body to contain. She had always been enveloped by her powerful aura, wearing it like an elegant cloak. I had never questioned that I could see this, it seemed just as much a part of her as the smile which seemed to permanently reside upon her face. Her aura seemed so tangible, that I often thought I could have reached out a hand to caress the light her skin exuded. When her heart began to fail, her aura would shine all the brighter making her stronger and carrying her body when it didn’t seem to be able to carry itself.
Stepping over the threshold of the room seemed to break the spell of stagnant stillness which had been holding the only other occupant within the confines of this darkened room. My mother staggered from the chair she had been uncomfortably perched upon the edge of. Her face seeming thinner than it had been when I had last seen her only days before. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunken. She looked through me until she could focus. I held my breath until she smiled at me, her arms unwrapped from the tight embrace she held herself within bringing me to her chest without a word as she enveloped me in her arms.
My father, who had finally caught up with me entered the room. He tried to speak but faltered, instead he fell into the chair vacated by my mother his eyes brimming with tears which seemed unwilling to fall. I disengaged myself from my mother and crept closer to the bedside. My sister’s face was filled with a serenity I had not seen for months.
Gone now was the golden cloak of light I had come to expect to see. Her body seemed much smaller and more vulnerable without it. The air around us seemed to vibrate for a moment, before her eyes slowly opened. That energy, which I had become so used to seeing when I was with her, was still in her eyes. Still deep within that last smile which she had been saving only for me in this moment. I could see it, I could feel it, but it no longer clung to her.
Her eyes met mine. For a perfect moment the universe paused for us. Even as I thought this, the gentle, upwards curve at the corner of her lips faltered and she sunk back into her white linen sanctuary as unconsciousness took her once more. In that moment we had shared, I watched as the light upon her eyelids faded to an incomprehensible glow. Her body continued to breathe, an after effect of life perhaps, but where machines can force a heart to beat, nothing could ever contain her soul. She left her body, but never left us. Waiting beside us until that final breath.
Note from the author:
I used to work in a small office with a team of 10 individuals (most of the time) we varied in ages and came from a number of professional backgrounds with prior vocations and lived experiences. One of the greatest things about that office, was the range of backgrounds, the unique stories, and paths which brought us together into that little room we shared. While we were all different, one thing we all had in common were our strong personalities, and a willingness to share the experiences that had brought us together. A discussion that has stuck with me for many years since was one of a theological nature, ‘whether or not we have a soul?’ We never really got the hang of small talk in that office.
The conversation started after a colleague brought up a show she had watched on television the night before, in the show, they had been discussing God, and one of the commonly asked questions in opposition of such a being,
“If God created everything, and loves us, why does he allow such physical suffering on earth?”
The answer which one of our oldest administrative volunteers still fascinates me to this day: ‘because God is responsible for your soul, not your body.’
This led to a great discussion, about just exactly what a soul might be. My colleague didn’t prescribe to any preconceived religious explanation as to what a soul might be, but she did feel that the soul was a quantifiable and innate part of each person. Personally, I completely agreed with her, I feel that the soul, is a further extension of a person’s consciousness. A life-force which is emitted by the physical being, some people refer to this as an aura, some even believe they can see these life forces emanating from particularly strong spirited people.
The story, ‘Aural Awakening’ was written in 2017 as part of a portfolio of writing for a Higher learning certificate in English which I undertook as an adult. It was my third time attempting this qualification and led me to studying English at university. The story was based upon an experience I had when I was much younger. It is of course a work of fiction, but there are certain elements which reflect a period of my early teenage years when I spent a great deal of time in and around a children’s hospital. I was there because my twin brother was incredibly ill for a very long time, but it was a place where I was able to witness miraculous recoveries, and terrible losses. While the loss that inspired this piece was not mine, I spent a great deal of time with a young boy while both of our brother’s were cared for, and subsequently got to know his brother, who unfortunately passed away.
‘Aural Awakenings’ was my way of honouring that loss, and the way in which his loss taught me how to see beauty, even in darkest of times.
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16/07/2024
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