16 November 1998
Written for an English Composition class while I was at Fordham, this fiction piece is one of my favorites. The teacher provided the titles. This one was, "If These Walls Could Talk." I changed it to, "The Mile," to avoid cliche. The assignment was to write a paper that expressed what walls would say if they could speak. I always like to stretch the rules, so, instead of doing just one room's walls, I decided to do three rooms' walls. I wrote this as I envisioned it in my head. Really, it's a screenplay. The three rooms are in a hospital: the ER, the maternity ward, and the waiting room. They introduce themselves so as to avoid confusion. Enjoy.
The Mile
". . . Then the monitor beeped and the doctors knew that the man was dead. That was only one of the many deaths within my walls. Ambulances constantly come to the door with bodies whose lives pass as mere glints engulfed in the flattening fluorescent lights of the hospital. From broken backs to gunshot wounds, people come to me with their emergencies to find either death or life. Those who find death, grieve. Those who find life, never notice those who have found death.
Today, someone died and was taken away under a white sheet and pushed by red gloves into a private room. A man with a black and white collar and the relatives followed the red gloves. The man placed his hands on the dead and said words I've heard many times before, 'May the love of God through Jesus Christ, His Son, bless you and welcome your innocence into heaven.' The door of the next room slammed. The cold, small stretcher that the body was on shuddered. 'And may eternal light shine upon you . . .' The man and the relatives of the dead touched their foreheads, chest, left shoulder, then right. 'In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit . . .' The people wiped the tears from their eyes and sobbed for the dead. One of the grieving men was holding a baby. The baby cried. 'Amen.' I've seen the most grievous of people's emotions as the emergency room: doctors and nurses, running through the halls, trying to find blood or a bed or a body; mothers and fathers, crying through their eyes trying to find a reason or a right; patients, dying through their lives, trying to find a breath."
"I acknowledge what you see, being the room where tragedies occur everyday. Nevertheless, the feelings of joy greatly outweigh the feelings of sadness. Nothing comes from death. Everything comes from life. Thousands of babies are born each year within my walls. Women are made mothers and men are made fathers. Existence and overwhelming love come from the delivery room."
"Today, a woman had twins. Many relatives and friends came to the hospital baring gifts and good wishes. The doctor who delivered the baby walked through the door and announced the delivery of the couple's son and daughter. The room erupted in cheer and thanksgiving. People laughed and joked. The parents of the mother and father of the babies wept for joy, for they became grandparents. The coming of life creates far greater happiness than the coming of death creates sadness."
"Though both of you see people in transitions, I see people as they are. Within my walls, people truly live. Though they do nothing but wait, the goings-on in my walls illustrate the purest form of life, no big events, no celebrations, just life. There can be no milestone without the mile as there can be no life without a period of waiting."
"Today, a man was waiting. He was on the phone and he was speaking of his wife. She had been rushed to the emergency room because she'd fallen down the stairs. She was pregnant. The couple was worried that the twin babies that the woman was carrying might have been hurt. About four hours after he'd arrived, he received news of his babies. The fall had triggered the woman into labor. She'd given birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The man left. He came back in good spirits with many other people. They were overjoyed. The blessing of the birth of two children had granted them happiness."
"Then a nurse came in and frantically searched among the crowd of people for the man. When she found him, she explained that his son's brain began hemorrhaging seven minutes after birth. The baby had been sent to the chief doctor who had just finished operating in the emergency room. The man and everyone with him were silent. Family and friends awaited news of the baby's health for a mere twenty minutes. Within those twenty minutes, the man was consoled by his family and friends. The amount of support was immeasurable. Each person had shown sympathy and encouraged strength."
"At the end of the twenty minutes, the chief doctor of the maternity ward entered the room. Everyone stood up and the man's mother held his hand. He approached the man and told him, 'I'm sorry. . .' The man stared blankly at the doctor. 'Hemorrhaging is undetectable so soon after birth. . .' His mother's hand fell to her lap and his father's eyes rose to meet the doctor's. 'The chaplain will be here soon, I'm sorry.' The man wept in his parent's arms. The parents of the wife began to cry. Again, the family and friends consoled the man. Within ten minutes, the chaplain came in and everyone followed him out."
"There's a reality in between great events that shape life into what it is. That reality cannot be filled by any event, great or small, but only by no event. People are so busy planning and worrying and searching that they don't see that life is passing them by. Life is what happens when they're too busy making other plans. The past must rest and the future must be awaited but the now is a present. When people realize that sometimes waiting is a good thing, maybe they will realize that life is more than big events. Life is everything. All they have to do is look around and feel the earth and smile and cry and touch and see and know that this is all that life will ever be.
This was one of the first fiction pieces that I wrote that I actually liked. I hope to turn it into an independent film before 2001, but Hollywood is fickle, as is my pocketbook. If you have any comments, please e-mail me - there's a link on my Home page.
(C) RIGHTINGS 2K