Unveiled

Everything is still dark. The constant drum of muffled chatter from the main hall continues on as usual. From time to time a ruffle of sheets can be heard. Machines beep. A cough. Heavy breathing. Moaning. And that smell, always that sanitized smell, like clean death. The hall grows louder. The door to the wing opens. Footsteps, heavy but calming, approach. SHING, the curtain one over to the right opens. There is a moment of silence.

“Do you have any next of kin, or anyone we can contact?” Dr. Keenan asks.

“No,” a woman replies.

“Would you like us to bring a financial advisor in?”

“There is no point,” the woman says.

“It’s a good idea to have a will written anyway,” the doctor adds.

“Who’s in that one?” the woman asks.

“I can’t tell you that. Please, think about it?” the doctor pleads.

“Who’s over there?” she asks again.

The conversation suddenly gets quiet, but my ears are tuned.

“Everleigh, I know, it’s not fair. It shouldn’t have happened to you. I’m sorry. Listen to me though, you’ve done so much with your life. You really have. I want to stress that you make a responsible choice here,” the doctor insists.

Everleigh? What a unique name… where have I heard that before?

“Give me your notebook there,” Everleigh demands.

I hear the doctor drop his head and sigh.

“Your notebook, Dr. Keenan. Please!” There’s a gentle sound of a notebook being pulled out of a pouch pocket that overpowers the other sounds of the hospital. I hear a pen writing on paper, followed by a more frantic and sudden scribble… a signature?

“There. In case a lawyer or someone needs to see this,” Everleigh says quietly.

The doctor takes his notebook back. He pauses for a moment to read to himself. “Okay. It will happen. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be back to check up on you later,” the doctor says in monotone as he leaves the wing.

My mind races to understand what the conversation I heard was all about - SHING - my curtain opens on the right.

“Oh,” says Everleigh, “what happened to you?”

“Uhm, well my eyes needed surgery.” I tentatively answer her.

“My first guess would’ve been a freak acid attack.”

“No, no. I would’ve lost my vision is all. I kinda like seeing things though.” I can almost hear her smile. At least I hope she is smiling at my feeble attempt at an ice breaker. The bandages around my eyes didn’t let in any light at all. It would be days before I could take them off.

“Tell me your life story,” she says, as I felt her sit on the end of my bed. She gets comfortable way too easily. What an outgoing person. I realize she weighs next to nothing.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Anything,” she says casually. “What do you want to do with life?” she suddenly specifies.

“I… don’t know. I turn twenty this year, but it’s been hard for me to decide.” Why am I telling her this?

“I was like that too, she chuckles. “I was working as a bartender until I was twenty-eight, can you believe that?”

I don’t know how to respond. I should respond. The clock ticks. It’s been too long now, and no matter what I say it’ll be awkward. She doesn’t seem to feel the same way: her deep breath in before she speaks is so calming it alleviates all my anxiety.

“You have your whole life ahead of you, I think you’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe a librarian,” I blurt.

That takes her by surprise. I feel the bed shift ever-so-slightly, as if she had just turned her head, but only her head, quickly at me. “It’s quiet,” I continue, “and you get to meet interesting people, and read any book you want. I dunno, it seems nice.”

“I’m Everleigh,” she says.

“Trevon.”

“I think a librarian is a great idea. Your parents would be okay with that?”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Well, you know… some parents have expectations I guess.”

“I lucked out with mine. Probably a little different when you’re adopted though.”

Everleigh goes quiet. I get different kinds of reactions from people, but I try to tell them I’m adopted early on because, well, it’s unique, and I’m proud that they chose me. A lot of people don’t know how to respond to that, so I’ve learned to just wait for them to think. She seems to be thinking for quite a while. “They’re not well-off or anything - my parents. I think they’re just happy if I’m happy. Maybe I should try for a better career though,” I add.

“Are you from here?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’ve been here my whole life.”

Again, she waits. I can tell she’s thinking hard on what to say.

“Push yourself but do what you want to do in this life, or you’ll regret everything. And do yourself a favor, get out of this town. I’m really glad I got to meet you.”

With that Everleigh - SHING – is up and closes my curtain before I can reply. I linger on our conversation. Something about her voice seemed so… natural? I replay the moment in my head over and over, and before I know it, I wake up the next morning. Everything is silent. Without vision I can’t tell if everyone in the wing is suddenly cured or gone forever. Soon enough Dr. Keenan comes to my bedside.

“Time for you to get these off, eh?” he says.

I just nod and let him start unwrapping my headdress. My curtain was open already, I thought. The pressure around my head gets lighter as the bandages come loose. To my right, I hear a cough. A man’s cough. When did he get here? Where’s Everleigh? The last of the wrappings are gone. The pads on my eyes are removed. The world is brighter than I can ever remember.

“Welcome back,” Dr. Keenan jokes, “now let’s see.” He takes a small flashlight and shines it in my eyes. The brightness is excruciating. I turn away and blink. The first thing I see is a small black notebook resting on the table beside my hospital bed.

“Seems as though you’ll be fine. You might still be a bit blurry for a few days, so try not to look at any screens while you’re at it,” he prescribes. “As for that,” he points at the little black notebook, “it’s for you.”

I take the notebook, and open it, and read, “I hereby declare my life’s savings, twenty-thousand dollars, to be given to the patient who was beside me on the day I received news of my terminal cancer. Dr. Keenan can confirm said person, as I will never get to know him. My son.”

Everleigh Grace Waterson.

I read it in her voice.