Week 1 entry...
Elle was in the faded recliner, her wrinkled hands clinking the knitting needles together with the practiced ease of many years, when the phone rang.
There had been an accident, a man's voice said. Joseph, out for his morning walk to the cafe for coffee and lively discussion, had been struck by a car as he crossed Jefferson Avenue. He had been rushed to Regions Hospital in the city, the police officer explained. Elle closed her eyes; if the injuries were minor, they would have taken Joseph to the local clinic. The officer asked if she knew where Regions was and if she had a way to get there, offering to pick her up and transfer her there if she needed it, but she declined. Joseph had given up his driver's license three years ago after backing into her begonias one too many times, but Elle was still blessed with good eyesight and mobility, and had been puttering them around in their faded Chevy ever since. She thanked the officer and hung up the phone.
She quickly changed her clothes and began to pack a small overnight bag. A change of clothes, a few toiletries, a book or two. Passing by the dresser, she picked up a few framed photos, knowing how Joseph loved having family close by, even if only in pictures. The family was spread far and wide across the country and even the world, but Joseph insisted he be kept in full supply of pictures, and everyone was always happy to oblige.
~ When you pray, move your feet. ~
The small woodblock carving rested as it had for years at the back edge of the dresser top. Joseph had traveled the world for most of his life in one capacity or another -- translator, teacher, contractor, volunteer. It was one of the things she had found so fascinating about him when they'd met; there was seemingly nowhere he had not been, and he had a thousand stories to tell about all of them. He and Elle were married in 1966, and he'd swept her right along with him ever since.
The carving had been a gift from some children many years ago, a thank you for Elle and Joesph's help in re-building their school after it had been wiped out by the river flood. She'd asked Kawe, one of the older boys, what he thought the old proverb meant.
"It means, you must always keep walking, keep moving... to make room," he replied.
"Room for what?" she asked.
"For the miracle to come," he said, smiling as he took her hand.
Elle brushed the carving free of its light covering of dust, her fingers tracing the delicate edges before she placed it into her bag. Taking the bag downstairs, she refilled Jingles' food and water dish, telling the fluffy old cat lying in the window to expect her back tomorrow. She could almost hear him reply "Sounds good, you know I'll be be right here." Jingles had hardly left the sunny windowsill since they installed three bird feeders in the front yard that season.
The drive to the hospital took both an eternity and no time at all. Odd how that happens, she thought as she parked and made her way to the main admittance desk. Her fears were confirmed as she was directed to the critical care ward on the fourth floor. When she arrived, a nurse called for the doctor, a tall man with cropped hair and a soft voice. He explained the extent of Joseph's injuries and patiently answered all her questions. He was careful to explain the situation was quite serious, yes, but not hopeless; he felt the fact Joseph had come through the initial trauma and surgery as strongly as he had was a good sign. He was careful to make no promises, though, and could see that she understood.
The nurse showed Elle to Joseph's room, gently taking the overnight bag from Elle's hands as they entered to set it on a small table. The nurse murmured she'd be back shortly with a throw blanket and a cup of coffee, quietly closing the door behind her as she left.
"Oh, Joseph," Elle whispered. His head was bandaged, his right arm and leg were in casts, and she knew from the doctor there were extensive internal injuries as well. She bent to give his forehead a soft kiss, her eyes closed as her lips lingered on his warm skin. Straightening, she found the bag and immediately brought out the pictures, arranging them right at his side; she wanted the first thing he saw when he awoke to be the smiling, laughing faces of his grandchildren.
~ When you pray, move your feet. ~
Elle took the small carving out and placed it at the center of the half circle of pictures. The familiar things comforted her, here in the sanitary room with its beeping machines and glass walls. She pulled a chair to his bedside, taking a moment to tuck the blanket around Joseph a bit more snugly before sitting down.
Don't worry, Joseph, Elle thought as she reached out to take his hand in both of hers.
I'll walk far enough for both of us, my love.
This is my entry for the first week of Season 8 of therealljidol. The prompt this week was 'when you pray, move your feet'. As always, thanks for reading.