Cross Roads

by Wm. Paul Young

  For a moment it appeared the shrunken Tony might argue, but instead he shrugged in acquiescence.

  “Good!” declared Tony. “I want you to leave and take all your lying followers with you.” The dozen odd-looking creatures who had gathered during the confrontation along with the few he had met glanced nervously in his direction. Most stared their hatred and contempt for their despised leader, now reduced to a sniveling excuse. As their chief had lost his power and authority, so, too, had each of them. Even Bluster and Swagger were flimsy representations of their former selves, and none too happy about it.

  The motley crew wound down the path toward the nearest breach in the stone facade, a collection of muttering and grumbling malcontents who abhorred one another’s company. As he and Grandmother walked behind, Tony could now see at their backs a filament of dark light that bound each to the other. During the short march one occasionally would yank his arm, causing another to stumble, much to the glee of the group.

  Tony noticed the winding trail continued through a maze of fallen boulders and into the dark forest beyond the standing walls. “Where are they going?” Tony whispered to Grandmother.

  “No concern of yours, Tony. They are being escorted.”

  “Escorted?” Tony was surprised. “But I don’t see anyone.”

  “Just because you are not able to see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Grandmother chuckled.

  “Touché,” returned Tony with his own grin.

  The two of them stopped and stood together at the perimeter of the looming walls, watching the now subdued company disappear down the footpath and into the first row of evergreens.

  Grandmother reached up and put her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You fought well today, son. But even though these in particular have been defeated, you must be on guard for the echoes of their voices that still remain within the walls of your mind and heart. They will come to haunt you if you allow them.”

  Her touch felt empowering, and he understood her warning. “So, why are the walls still here? If the wall-keepers are gone, shouldn’t the walls be gone, too? Why don’t you just knock them down?”

  They turned and walked back toward the careless bundle of vacated buildings.

  “Because you built these facades,” Grandmother began, “we will not tear them down without your participation. In one’s hurry to knock walls down, one can cause them to fall on those they love. Freedom can become a new justification for disregard and a lack of compassion for the bondages of others. Roses have thorns.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do roses have thorns?”

  “So that you handle them carefully and gently.”

  He understood. “But they will come down then, someday? The walls?”

  “Of course, someday. But creation wasn’t spoken in a day, Anthony. Such walls aren’t erected overnight either. They were built over time, and it takes time and process for them to come down. The good news is that without the help of all those ‘friends’ you just kicked off your property, it will be harder for you to keep the facades standing.”

  “Me?” Tony was surprised. “Why would I want to keep them standing?”

  “You built these walls to keep you safe, or at least for the imagination of safe. They substitute for trust. You are beginning to understand that trusting is an arduous journey.”

  “So, I needed these walls?”

  “When you believe that you alone are the only one who can be trusted, then yes, you need these walls. Self-protective measures, intended to keep evil out, often wall it in. What initially kept you safe can eventually destroy you.”

  “But don’t I need walls? Aren’t they good things?”

  He felt the hug from behind. “You need boundaries,” said the voice of Jesus, “but not walls. Walls divide while boundaries honor.” Tony let himself relax into this tender embrace, his tears unexpectedly appearing and spilling softly onto the ground.

  “Even in our material creation,” continued Jesus, “boundaries mark the most beautiful of places, between the ocean and the shore, between the mountains and the plains, where the canyon meets the river. We will teach you how to thrill with us in the boundaries while you learn to trust us with your security and safety. One day you will no longer need walls.”

  Even as he spoke, Tony could sense more internal walls crumbling. Not disappearing, but tangibly impacted by an inner knowledge that he was utterly accepted, with all his flaws and losses, all his conditioning and pride. Was this love? Was this what it was like to be loved?

  Grandmother spoke. “Okay, One-Who-Cries-a-Lot, you have more work to do, and the moment for you to leave is again approaching.”

  Jesus produced a bloodred handkerchief for Tony’s nose and tears and then began brushing him off.

  They arrived back at the loose aggregation of structures, so recently the habitation of deceivers. Curious about its construction, Tony reached up and touched the nearest building. It appeared solid and sturdy, but with barely a nudge, the edifice toppled into a pile of rubble and dust.

  “Just facades,” he stated out loud to himself. “Lies with so little substance.”

  Grandmother stood back, beaming. “It’s good to hear the changes in your voice,” she stated.

  “What does that mean?” asked Tony.

  “As healing happens in a person’s soul, their voice changes, noticeable to anyone with ears to hear.”

  “Hmph,” Tony grunted. It wasn’t anything that he’d ever thought about, but it made sense.

  “I have something for you, Tony,” Jesus said, interrupting his thoughts. “You will want this soon.”

  He extended a large ring of keys, dozens of differing shapes, sizes, and textures.

  “What are these?” Tony queried.

  “They are keys,” grunted Grandmother.

  Tony grinned. “Yes, I know they are keys, but what are they for?”

  “To open locks,” she muttered.

  He knew she was enjoying this. “What locks?”

  “Doors.”

  “Which doors?”

  “All kinds. Lotsa keys, lotsa doors.”

  “I give up.” Tony laughed, turning back to Jesus. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Simply choose one key. The one you choose will become important at some point.”

  Tony hesitated. “You want me to choose just one key? What if I choose the wrong one?”

  “The one you choose will be the right one, Tony,” encouraged Jesus.

  “But…” Tony stalled. “Why don’t you choose for me? You are divine and all, so you would know better than I do.”

  Jesus smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes only adding to their brilliance. “This is about participation, Tony, not about puppeteering.”

  “So, you… trust me with this choice?”

  “Absolutely!” Both nodded.

  Tony took the time to sort through the ring, carefully considering one and then another until finally he settled on a particular skeleton key. It looked older, as if from a bygone era, as if it belonged with an old oak door in some medieval castle in Europe.

  “Good choice,” agreed Grandmother. “Well done.” From a pocket she pulled a string of blue light and slipped the key onto it. Then, reaching up, she put it around Tony’s neck, tucked it into his shirt, looked deep into his eyes, and simply said, “Go!”

  14

  FACE-TO-FACE

  What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

  —Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Maggie?”

  “Oh, nice of you to join me. Where have you been, anyway? Never mind, I still don’t want to know.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I tried to explain it. Nothing about my life at the moment makes a whole lot of sense, and yet, mysteriously, it does.” Tony paused to look through her eyes. “I see we’re heading up to the hospital.” They were on Terwilliger, passing viewpoints that overlooked the Willamette River. Taking a r
ight on Southwest Canyon, they climbed toward what Tony had always thought looked like Legoland for smart people, a massive array of buildings housing some of the brightest minds in medicine and student wannabes.

  As they approached the Canyon Garage, Maggie finally asked, “Tony, why are we doing this? Why are you coming up here to look at yourself in a coma?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” hedged Tony. “Just one of those things I have to do.”

  “Hmmm,” grunted Maggie. “I don’t have to read body language to know when someone isn’t telling me the truth, at least not the whole truth, so-help-you-God kinda truth. Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s worth it.”

  Tony didn’t respond and Maggie let it go. Finally, he broke the silence. “Maggie, can I ask you a medical-type question?”

  “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

  “Do dead people bleed?”

  “Well, that’s an easy one. Dead people do not bleed. You have to have a beating heart to bleed. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” Tony replied. “Something someone said to me a while back. Seems obvious now that you answered it.”

  “Nothin’ is obvious if you don’t know it,” responded Maggie, pulling into a parking spot. She pulled a badge from her glove box and dropped it into her purse.

  “What, don’t rate your own parking pass?” teased Tony.

  “Nope, there’s a waiting list. Sometimes it takes years, so I don’t expect a reserved parking spot anytime soon.”

  “And here I thought nurses existed to protect us from the doctors,” he said and chuckled.

  Maggie exited the car and headed for the nearest building, a huge white block-looking structure that sprawled across a skyway and connected to the tan-colored main hospital.

  As they passed by the Eternal Flame monument and signage for Doernbecher OHSU, Tony asked, “Why are we going this way?”

  “I’m stopping to visit Lindsay, that’s why,” Maggie muttered under her breath.

  He knew better than to argue. She was his warden.

  Two statues guarded the front entrance to Doernbecher Children’s Hospital, one of a dog balancing stones and another that looked like a cat and monkey perched on the head of a goat, a touch of humor at the introduction of what easily could be a grim place.

  “Believe it or not, Tony,” Maggie whispered, “as hard as moments can be here, this is one of the most uplifting and wonderful places I have ever worked. Best job I ever had.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he commented. He was surprised to see how open and airy the hospital lobby was, well lit and clean, children’s playhouses on the left and even a Starbucks with its requisite line of thirsty addicts. Entering a full elevator, Maggie pressed the button for the tenth floor.

  “Ten South, Pediatric Oncology,” she announced to Tony, before realizing how it would look. A few glances and smiles in her direction and an uneasy quiet dominated the rest of the upward trip, the occupants seeming to exit as quickly as possible.

  They emerged at Seahorse, each floor and area named for various animals and creatures. Passing by Intermediate Care, non-Oncology, they entered Sand Dollar, the clinic area, and then on to Hematology/Oncology, Starfish. Just before entering, Maggie whispered, “These are my friends. Play nice.”

  “Aye, aye,” responded Tony. “Maggie,” he said, his tone changed, “thank you!”

  “Welcome,” Maggie grunted and pushed open the door.

  “Maggie!”

  “Hey, Misty!”

  Maggie made her way to the corner of the reception counter to be met and hugged by a taller brunette. She was careful not to kiss as was her custom. Things were complicated enough.

  “Are you on today?”

  “Nope, just stopping by to check in on Lindsay.”

  Various others in conversation, on telephones or otherwise preoccupied, still waved, smiled, or nodded their greetings.

  “You might check with Heidi; she was just with her a few minutes ago. I’ve been busy directing traffic, same ol’, same ol’. Oh, here she comes anyway.”

  Maggie turned again to be quickly embraced by a pert blonde with an easy smile. “Hey, Maggs, you here to see Lindsay?”

  Maggie nodded and Heidi continued, “She played for a couple of hours today and wore herself out pretty good. Don’t be surprised if she’s sleeping by the time you get back to her room. Fighter, that one, and so adorable. I’d take her home if they’d let me.”

  “I’d love to take her home,” agreed Maggie. Tony could feel the tug in her heart. “I’ll just pop in and sit with her a couple minutes. I’m actually on my way over to Neuro.”

  “Anything I should be concerned about?” asked Heidi, raising her eyebrows.

  “You sick?” Misty asked from around the corner.

  “Oh, nah, just got another… friend over there. Makin’ the rounds today.”

  “Gotcha,” responded Heidi. “I’ve got to get back to rounds, too.” Another hug. “Maggie, lots of us praying for Lindsay, just so you know.”

  “Thanks, darlin’,” responded Maggie. “That is the best gift you can give us right now.”

  Tony hadn’t spoken, absorbed in the emotions and tender flow of conversation. Maggie knew her way around here, and they soon headed down the hall toward room 9.

  “Your friends are sweet,” offered Tony, “and cute!”

  “Ha!” Maggie chuckled under her breath. “The folks here are the best, but don’t let those two fool you. The Pineapple Princess, that would be Misty, is this floor’s guard dog, and if you try and sneak a sniffle past her HEPA filtering, she will take your head off and make you leave it at the reception desk so you don’t contaminate anyone else. And don’t trifle with the Chambermaid either; when they say blonde bombshell around here, the emphasis is on ‘bomb.’ ” She laughed quietly again before adding, “And when you get well, don’t you go hittin’ on my friends. I googled you. Your rep with the women, not so complimentary.”

  They arrived and Maggie quietly opened the door, slipping inside. A fragile little girl lay fast asleep on the Sketcher bed, partially propped up for comfort, her bald head only adding to an aura of childlike beauty and innocence. One arm was wrapped around a stuffed dinosaur, a stegosaurus, judging by the dominant spiny protrusions from its back. She lay only half under her blanket, an adolescent gangly leg dangling over the near edge. Soft and gentle but labored breathing provided a rhythm to the room.

  It was almost too much for Tony. He hadn’t allowed himself this near a children’s hospital room, since… It had been many years. He could feel himself withdrawing and fought it. Along with his own emotions came a mix of Maggie’s deep and ferocious affection for this teenager, and it joined the battle within him. Slowly, she won. As if her compassion had grabbed his arm as he was going out the door and wouldn’t let go, he looked again. He listened. He breathed in. All so terribly familiar.

  “Not fair,” he whispered, even though only she could hear him.

  “True that,” she whispered so as not to stir the sleeping child.

  He hesitated to ask, knowing that the more information, the more personal the connection, and that could create a conflict of interest. He asked anyway.

  “You said she was diagnosed with…?”

  “AML, acute myelogenous leukemia.”

  “That’s treatable, right?” he asked hopefully.

  “Almost everything is treatable; problem is she is positive for Philadelphia chromosome, and that makes it all much more dicey.”

  “Philadelphia chromosome? What’s that?”

  “It’s where one part of one chromosome becomes part of another. Let me try and explain it this way; Lindsay is sleeping here in room 9 and Philadelphia chromosome involves chromosome 9. It’s like a bunch of furniture was taken out of room 22, crammed into room 9 and only some of the stuff from chromosome 9 gets put into room 22 and none of it belongs where it ends up. And here’s an irony. If Lindsay had Down syndrome like Cabby, her chances would be bet
ter. Some things in this life just don’t make any sense. The more you stare at them, the less sense they make.”

  “Prognosis?” he finally asked, not sure he actually wanted to know. Knowledge has its own burden, but perhaps sharing the burden might make it lighter for everyone.

  “With bone marrow transplant, chemo, and such, about 50 percent, but the Philadelphia issue reduces the probability of recovery by quite a bit. On top of that, Lindsay’s father was mixed race, which makes a match more difficult, and now he’s nowhere to be found. They’re talking about looking at a cord blood transplant, but that has its own set of challenges. Bottom line, we need a miracle.”

  They sat in silence, Maggie watching this child as though she were her own, silently praying, while Tony struggled with the dilemma that faced him. This hospital had many Lindsays, and each one of them was the center of someone’s life. How could he heal just one of them? Wouldn’t it be better if he healed himself? He had connections and access to wealth that could really make a difference, in many lives, not just one. Look at everything that had changed for him, in him. Would Grandmother be angry if he made the choice for himself? She would understand.

  It was a tug-of-war. He would almost succeed in stanching his ebbing resolve but then would watch this little human person, a lifetime of potential experiences in front of her cut short by a feud within her own body. There was no question what he would have done for his own son, but… this was not his child.

  “Can we go?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Maggie sounded tired and resigned. She stood and walked over to the girl, laying her hands gently on her head. “Dear Jesus, I have no power to fix my love, so I am asking you again for a miracle. Please heal her! But even if you choose to heal her by letting her go home to you, I trust you, I do.” She leaned forward to kiss her.

  “Don’t!” Tony warned, and Maggie stopped, then turned and touched her cheek as light as a feather to Lindsay’s bald and beautiful head.

  They exited Hematology/Oncology and headed toward the elevators that would take them down a floor to the ninth, which connected the different complexes housing OHSU, Doernbecher, and the Portland VA Medical Center. From the sky-bridge walkway they could see the spiderweb structure of the tram that routinely delivered staff, patients, and visitors to and from down below off Macadam Avenue by the river.