The Girl In Room 417

Untitled Part 2

It is a full three days until I have the time to visit my sister again and I silently wonder if her condition has worsened.

I fiddle with the cell phone in my hands. They would call if she had gotten worse.

I wait in her room for her to return from chemotherapy. They have group sessions, she had told me. So they don't have to do it alone.

I can hear her voice echoing through the hall and I stand, poking my head out of the doorway. Emily is being wheeled by the girl in 417. I watch her as she walks slowly, pushing my sister in gentle, fluid movements. She looks as though she is in the middle of a thrilling tale and I watch as Emily's face lights up with laughter.

Strange. I'm glad Emily is making friends here. I sit back down, awaiting their arrival but when Emily does arrive, she is pushed by a nurse in scrubs instead.

"What is that on your head?" I ask, gesturing to the lump on her head.

"It's an ice pack underneath a swimming cap."

"Why?" I ask.

"417 said that it might help me keep my hair. It's worth a shot, right?"

"417?"

"Yeah, the girl who lives in room 417. She's just down the hall. She pushed me back from Chemo." She says cheerfully.

Scrub nurse is not so enthusiastic.

"She knows better than to do that, I don't want to see it again." She has a heavy accent and a scary expression but Emily pokes her tongue out nevertheless.

The nurse leaves after poking her tongue back at my sister. Good, someone has so sass my sister back.

"So, you've made friends?" I ask, my curiosity still not sated.

"Well, only a couple so far. This hospital has nicer kids. I'm glad I came here. 417 said that this is the nicest hospital in the area, I'm lucky to be here." She rattles and I nod.

"Why do you call her 417?"

"That's what everyone calls her, I don't know her actual name yet, but she seems to like it." She shrugs and adjusts her cap. Her hair is pushing the cap off slowly and I'm waiting for it to ping right off her head.

"But why?"

"Apparently, she's been in that room for years, every time she's here she has that room. It's like her thing. She's really nice, you should say hi."

"What's wrong with her?"

Her hand collides with the back of my head and I wince.

"You don't ask someone that, Ben!"

"Just wondering, doesn't look like there's anything wrong with her." I mutter. I rub the back of my head gingerly.

"She wouldn't be here if there wasn't." Her voice is very wise and at that moment, her cap pings off and gets caught in the blinds across the room.

I can't contain my laughter and I consequently leave with a sore head.

-

Two days later and I return to the hospital bearing chocolates and grapes. I think sick people like grapes? They bring grapes in the movies so I picked some up for good measure.

Emily is asleep when I walk in and I settle in the chair, setting her gifts on the side. I wait for 20 minutes before deciding to take a quick walk. I have long, restless legs at the best of times and today they seem to be getting the better of me.

The place is pretty deserted, and I'm thankful because the only thing worse than a hospital is a busy hospital. The rooms are eerily quiet.

In the common room there is a buzz of laughter and someone shushes them. I walk closer, intrigued. In a circle, sits almost every child who is staying in the paediatric wing, and who is in the centre? I'll give you one guess.

The girl from 417.

I idly wonder if she's running a cult.

She has a book in hand and is holding it out. It's a picture book, not one I recognise. She has every kid's avid attention and they appear to be enthralled at the tale she is telling. Her eyes are wide and bright, telling the story from memory. She adds dramatic pauses, different voices, even little re-enactments and it's more like a stage production than story time.

The kids laugh and chime in when the book necessitates for their input. She looks like Mary Fucking Poppins. I roll my eyes and walk back to Em's room.

She's vaguely awake, peering around with one eye- which is only half open may I add- and I smile at her.

"Hey, about time you woke up. You're missing story time out there with Mary '417' Poppins." I mutter, throwing a thumb in their general direction.

"No! She always does the best stories! I told her to come wake me!" Emily cries, attempting to get out of bed.

I shoo her back in.

"You're not well Emily, stay in bed, you look exhausted." I say firmly but gently and she sighs.

"I had another round of chemo today, it hurts worse than last time."

I frown. Emily was in remission for 2 years before it came back. Leukaemia almost always comes back. I had been hoping that maybe Emily was an exception.

"You're a tough nut, Em. We'll beat it again." I grab her hand in mine. It's very cold and her fingers are thinner than before.

"You really think that?"

"Course. You're my sister, I expect nothing less."

She laughs and closes her eyes, but her grip on my hand is still firm. It loosens after a while and I text our dad that I'll be home after my shift.

Dad and I are working overtime to pay for Emily's treatment. Not that I'm complaining. I'd do it all again, gladly, and I am.

A glance at my trusty watch tells me if I don't leave now, I'll be late.

I leave a soft kiss on my sister's forehead before heading out.

417 has a toddler on her hip and two kids at her feet. She watches me leave.

It hadn't occurred to me that, as a frequent visitor on her 'turf', I am now on her radar. The thought is strangely pleasing. I want her to notice me. I want her to know that I'm here to stay.