old stuff no. 4

I had a friend who was nice.

She wasn’t some 80 year old sweet lady that everyone loved. She was a twenty-something, and like the rest of us, had issues with daily life. But, she was kind. Sweet to everyone she met. And not that fake nice, mind you. More like a tangible, flowing, goodness that you felt when she talked to you.

Before Christmas one year, she was in a car wreck. The fault did not lay on some punk drunk driver, or some kid who ran a red light. My friend ran a stop sign, not on purpose. And she almost died. I think she did, technically, but she was revived. At the work christmas party we all cheered her, and the card she sent me for a party she was supposed to throw stayed on my mantle; maybe when she got home, we could throw it. We all visited her in the hospital, most of us automatically crying when we say her tiny face in the i.c.u. with too many machines and tubes connected so you couldn’t touch her. She would raise her finger, and you could sit there and hold it, and tell her that work wasn’t the same, and what funny thing happened, and how your weekend was. Or, just sit there and cry with her, saying that you love her.
I did all of those things, but the first time I visited her, she was in the intensive care room, with only 5 minutes of visiting time per person. Things were still “iffy” then, we still didn’t know the extent of the injuries. I held back the tears and went to sit by her. She would mumble things, but incoherently.

What would you say?

Sweet orange juice. You see, my kind friend had gone through some bad times before the crash. Something to do with a boyfriend who loved her so much he had to be forceful in his affection. We were at work one day, and I went out back to take a break. She was sitting outside, crying. I had never seen her cry, didn’t know what to do. I sat by her and asked her if everything was all right, etc etc. Well, nothing was all right, but she was making it through it. There was absolutely nothing I could do.

Through her tears, she said that she was so thirsty.

I could do something, I could fix that. I went and bought her a little bottle of orange juice, and we sat out there drinking our calcium, and she stopped crying. And she laughed. And we both groaned as we had to go back to work.

From then on, orange juice was our out. Didn’t even need vodka in it. If I was having a bad day, she would say “do I need to go get you some juice?”

We weren’t best friends. But I appreciate her more than she knows, and I do still love the orange juice.

So, amongst the beeping machines and the rushing nurses, I told her how I tried to smuggle some o.j. in the room, but the doctors wouldn’t let me. I saw a faint crack of a smile.
She said “That’s all I want right now”

I sat there for another 5 minutes or so, while she went in and out of consciousness.

An ultra dramatic ending would be that she died, but I made a dying person smile, so the world is a better place, and I have a skip in my step because of it.

Fortunately, she recovered. She walked again, sooner than the doctors ever thought. And then she moved out of town. Out of my 6 degrees. Selfishly, I wonder if she remembers the time I spent with her in the hospital. Being there for someone in need is a remarkable experience.