by David Kersey
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - Surprise
He awoke just after seven am. He turned his head side to side. No one but himself in the room. It was starting to look like a flower shop in there, with varying sizes of greenery lining every inch of the walls. He turned on the television, but a nurse arrived shortly and turned it off.
“Who are all these flowers from? I don’t know a whole lot of people.”
“Oh, but they know you.” The nurse replied. “There’s flowers here from all over the country, and it’s probably true…..you don’t know them, but they do you. Now you hold still. I’m going to get you all cleaned up from head to toe. I’m going to shave you first, so don’t move.”
“When will the therapy start?”
“Ten am. There are news people waiting for that to happen. They will be filming you when we roll you down into therapy. So you’ve got to look your best.”
The nurse groomed on Joshua for the better part of an hour, washing and trimming his hair and combing it back, bathing him with a hand towel, cutting his nails, brushing his teeth. “There, you are beautiful. You know, you don’t look like Jesus anymore. You look more like Pierce Brosnan, only you have way better eyes.” She made a chomping gesture with her mouth, like she were going to eat him alive. She checked her watch, then examined the room from corner to corner. Then she left.
He heard a commotion outside his room. People, lots of them. Then he heard music. A violin, coming from somewhere down the hall. It was playing ‘My Old Kentucky Home’. After the violin had played, wonderfully, through a segment of the song, dozens of voices began singing: ‘Oh the sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home……’. Then she appeared, outside the doorway, in full view. She was absolutely the most beautiful creature in the world. She wore a brightly colored sari, yellow, orange, red mixes that dazzled the eyes. She kept playing, the voices kept singing. She wore flowers in her hair, and a golden maang tikka, lavished with rubies, hung down from her hair and rested on her forehead. She was crying. Namanda stepped inside the room, still playing the song, and stepped to the side.
A man appeared at the doorway, singing. It was Jamison Vance, who came to the bedside and shook Joshua’s hand, then stepped aside. Amit and Shreya were the next to appear, shook his hand, stepped aside. Next came Adele and Jack, stepped aside. Autry and Annemarie were next. The room was filling up. Sheryl Smalley came in next, Jermaine at her side. Patricia Reid appeared, then shook Joshua’s hand, bent down and kissed him, stepped aside.
“Joshua,” Adele said after the song had finished, “you have a special, surprise visitor.”
In the doorway, a very old man, wearing the red, white, and blue feathered headdress of the Apache tribe. Joshua covered his eyes to hide the tears, but his heaving chest betrayed him. Hachika, his mentor, friend, father-figure, stepped slowly to the bedside. The ancient, weather worn hand grasped Joshua on the shoulder. “Yaa’ ta’ sai’, the old man said. “Hello, to you, my father.” Joshua replied through his tears.
“OK, everyone out.” The nurse barked with authority. The room full of people filtered out, one by one, until there was only Namanda left. She bent down, and kissed him, on the lips, gently. “I love you,” she whispered, her lips just above his. Then she left.
The nurse rolled in a wheelchair, accompanied by a young lad in a white coat. “Come on, you are coming with us.” They lifted Joshua out of the bed and plopped him down into the chair, then rolled him out. Into the elevator, down they went. The lobby was packed with people, doctors and nurses among them, who cheered and clapped wildly as they rolled Joshua down a corridor. Double doors swung open. The cafeteria. His friends were there, and so were television news crews. It was a party. Namanda never left his side.