gurl (jewel)

I've always been fond of hospitals.

I like to visit the children.

Creeping in old sneakers so my footfalls don't betray me, I slip into their rooms to tell them bedtime stories.

I love the little ones.

And stories.

Here is the story of a little girl whose room I slipped into one night. She was nearly bald. Her face was swollen and puffy. An IV dripped steadily into her hand.

I paused with my stack of golden books in her doorway.

She smiled.

I smiled back.

Drip, drip, went her IV.

"Would you like to hear a story?" I asked.

"Yes, please," she answered.

So I curled up beside her on the bed, carefully putting one arm around her tiny shoulders. I propped a small book in front of us both.

"Two Kittens," I began, putting on my storyteller voice, "by Marjory Schwalje."

Drip, drip, went her IV.

I have two kittens
named Jill and Marie.
They're just as nice
as kittens can be.

"Kitty!" she exclaimed.

"Kitty," I agreed.

I keep them warm.
I feed them well.
If they spill some milk,
I never tell.

"Never tell," she said solemnly.

I rested my lips against her downy scalp.

"Never tell," I whispered, smiling.

They can go to the beach
and sleep all day,
or meet a friend at the park
and play--and play--and play.

"I like to play," she said.

Drip, drip, went her IV.

They can do the dishes,
if they want to cook,
I let them cook.
If they want to write,
They can write a book.

"Good book," she said.

"Yes," I agreed, lips still on her head.

I turned another page.

They can wash the clothes
and scrub them hard.
They can hang the clothes
on a line in the yard.

She giggled and patted the picture of the kitten hanging clothes.

I chuckled and put my hand over hers, fingers brushing the page.

Drip, drip, went her IV.

They can press a dress
so it looks just fine.
Don't you wish you had
Some kittens like mine?

"Yes," she said.

"The End," I said.

Drip, drip, went her IV.

"You will bring them next time. Jill and Marie," she announced.

I paused.

"Bring them!" she insisted, turning to look up at me with dark eyes.

I put my lips to the IV in her hand and murmured against it:

I have two kittens
named Jill and Marie
I'll bring them to you,
my little chickadee.

She smiled.

I packed up my books and left.

It took me a few days, but I managed to find a stray cat. A scraggly brown tabby. She didn't look anything like Jill or Marie, but she would have to do.

Creeping in old sneakers so my footfalls didn't betray me, I slipped into her room to tell her another bedtime story.

She was gone.

I soothed the cat. I cradled the books.

I didn't stop to think or wonder, but turned on my heel and left.

I nodded automatically to the night nurse I passed on my way out.

Underneath my coat, I clutched at the cat with a death-grip.

Outside the hospital, in front of the emergency room, I sat on a stone bench. The cat moved uneasily on my lap. I selected a book.

"The Poky Little Puppy," I began, putting on my storyteller voice, "by Janette Sebring Lowery."

The cat tried to leave. I held her tighter. She clawed my arm viciously and bit my hand.

I let her go.

She raced off into the night, a brown blur.

An ambulance pulled up to the level one trauma center, sirens winding down.

Drip, drip, went my hand.

Blood seeped into the pages of my little golden book.

Five little puppies dug a hole under the fence and went for
a walk in the wide, wide world...

Drip, drip, went my blood.

Shriek, shriek, went the sirens.

Now where in the world is that poky little puppy?

What a pity you're so poky...

center

copyright 1995 by Julieann M. Brown-Micko. Two Kittens by Marjory Schwalje. Lines from The Poky Little Puppy by Janette Sebring Lowery.

crown o' gems | introduction | center | master index

jewel@gleeful.com+dragon@gleeful.com
a seraph+dragon production