I saw The Bodies exhibit today, visiting New York City. It was inspirational in a lot of ways.

– – – – –

I could only stare at her as she lay somewhere between life and death. The green light conducted a series of continuous, monotonous pings which told that technically she was with the living. Seeing the pallid, paper skin, my eyes told me otherwise. A poor, trapped soul in a lifeless husk. I imagined for a second what it would be like to be trapped in that cold prison. I shivered involuntarily, empathic pity welling through me. My god, how could they let her stay like that…

* * *

“Are you saying that you support pulling the plug on patients?” inquired Phil, one of the med students from the neighboring university, both mortified and intrigued. I sighed. I wasn’t what I meant, but I guess it was true. Typical. How could I expect to get through to a third year med student about empathy?

“Just forget I ever said anything,” I said with a tinge of annoyance, but mostly disappointment.

“Hey, whatever Silvie, just trying to start up a conversation,” replied Phil defensively. I knew he didn’t understand what he’d said wrong, but I let it go. I really didn’t expect him understand feeling the emotions of people, or lack there of in the case of the girl. The sweet, cherry blossom teenage girl with the slight frame and speckled pallid skin, with the dark hair that reminded me of innocence gone with adolescent promiscuity. Angelic little demon of living death, whatever could possess your soul to stay nestled in your inactive frame?

“What is the case with that girl,” I ventured curiously, “Why doesn’t her family pull the plug? What happened to her?”

“Hm,” Phil smiled slightly, “Well, that’s the funny thing. There is no plug to pull. She just stays like that. Even when we found her she should have been dead from dehydration, but she wasn’t. She still clung on somehow. Of course, they do have her on an IV, but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure she needs it. And as for her family,” Phil swallowed and grinned, “there’s only an older brother, and he’s either just not stepping forward, or he’s long dead.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what gave people like that the thrill in telling people’s tragic tales like fairy tale fiction. Emotions, Phil wouldn’t understand, but a girl who could live without food or water, that was certainly the type of thing Phil would believe. But, I didn’t say anything. Again, I knew that it would be useless arguing the point with Phil, so I told him goodbye and headed down the steps outside the hospital I regularly volunteered at.

And with the steps away from the distance fading hospital I found that my thoughts of the girl did not fade.

* * *

So, this is the new store Karen was telling about, I thought. It looked quaint enough, not the occultish looking place I was expecting- probably becuase it was in the mall. Somehow the lack of scary mysticism made me happy. The place was simply called “Andorra’s”. I opened the ringing door and stepped right in. The inside was almost as simple as the out. That actually almost made it more eerie than the scary occult shoppes of back-water Lassington and industrious, smog-ridden Worner.

Natural wood walls with stained shelves, neatly arraged with bottles and books, a display of handipped candles, tools tucked away on either side of the room on the floor, and a cushioned, round seat at the back wall under a blank wall surrounded by neat piles of books lay half cluttered about the store. A white-haired woman sat crossleged. She put down the book she was reading and smiled. You could tell her personality was a smiling one. She glowed with a white, gold, and silver laced aura. There was a quiet confidence about her with wisdom in those faint blue eyes.

I felt like I had just gone home.

* * *

“Why don’t you go home, Silvie. You seem like you could use some rest,” said Bonnie, one of the nurses. She didn’t reprimand, but seemed genuinely concerned. Her round face smiled in a serene way that often soothed patients. She had caught me staring off again while I was supposed to be busily handing out fruit cups and fruit-flavored gelatin.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just a bit distracted,” I said moving off down to the next patient.

“Uh, huh,” she stood in front of me blocking me with her wide frame and crossed arms, attitude demanding an explanation. I slid the metal tray down onto the foot of an unoccupied bed and sat next to it. I knew Bonnie thought it was her job to cure the ills of all the world, patients and people alike.

“Do you know the girl in room 358? The one they found in a coma?”

“Why, yes,” Bonnie jiggled in recollection, bringing her hand to her face, “You were with her last week. Phil mentioned that I shouldn’t put you with her again.”

“Oh, did he?” I asked suddenly angry.

“He was just concerned about you, is all. He said seeing her made you really upset.”

That was defiantly Phil’s prescription for emotions. If something made you feel something other than happy, it was best to cut it off.

“It looks like he was right,” Bonnie continued, “I can understand that. I read to her on my breaks. It’s tragic. They just don’t know what happened to her and there’s no one to come forward and shed light on the situation. I know there are lonely people in this world, but still, not even a friend or coworker has come to see her.”

“Do they know who she is?”

Bonnie sat next to me, shifting the tray of gelatin and making it wobble, “No. No, they don’t. There’s no clue on her body either. She wasn’t beaten or anything.”

“Then why would she go into a coma?”

“Emotional trauma is the doctor’s best guess,” Bonnie shook her head, “It’s amazing what the mind can do to the body.”

We sat there on the bed together a moment thinking. Bonnie’s pager beeped. She went to dash off but gave me one last smile,

“Why don’t you go on over and see her, Silvie? Read to her or something.”

– – – – –

Reading is good for you I hear. Goodnight, people.