“Karen?”
There it is.
“Karen?”
You should answer but you’re cranky.
“Karen?”
Others in the room glance around and your face burns.
“Kar-”
“Yes, thanks.” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound that harsh. Even so, you want to set her straight. “The proper spelling of my name’s on the chart in your hand.” These days, with the name Karen being used as a derogatory term for a white woman perceived as bitchy, entitled or demanding, you resent it even more. “There’s nothing Karen about me,” you say.
She apologizes, leads you down the hall to the treatment room, and says, “There’s a free seat over there.”
That chair doesn’t appeal to you, in a corner surrounded by people snoring, connected to their intravenous chemo bags. The man closest to the free seat slumps with his chin on his shoulder while drool dribbles onto his faded green flannel shirt.
You wrinkle your nose. Then you glance across the room and see him, a small child smiling up at the nurse hooking him to his IV. “There you go, Pedro,” she says and caresses his bald head, then helps him pull his red wool hat on. He thanks her.
For a moment, you’re ashamed.
“Ma’am?”
You snap out of it. Although you don’t know which is worse, Ma’am or Karen, you try to be polite. “Yes?”
“It’s the only chair available.”
“Of course.” You sit and straighten your back, the tender area in your side sending spikes of agony through your entire body. Without wincing you force yourself to thank the nurse.
As you relax, she inserts the IV tube. By the time you reconcile yourself to your neighbor’s drool, you doze…
…Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
The voice comes from above – high, pure and clear, magical and soothing.
You try to slow down, just to listen. But you have to keep running. They’re closing in on you, shape-shifting dark things, demon-things, coming for you.
Then you hear the voice again: All is calm.
“Where are you?” you cry, and glance over your shoulder, frantic.
The voice stops singing and speaks: It’s your choice.
“What?”
The Universe embraces you. God loves you. Despite what you believe, despite what you’ve done.
“But they’re here!” Snarling demons surround you. Their hot rancid breath makes you sick and dizzy. They gnaw at your heels. You give in and let them begin to devour you.
Then the voice reaches you again – All is calm, all is bright. Choose.
You break free from the demons and swim through the dark mire, higher and higher, towards the murky twilight. Although it’s not unpleasant, you’re alone. After what seems like centuries of wandering, you think of the words. All is calm, all is bright. You chant it over and over, as a mantra. All is calm, all is bright. You shut your eyes and float. All is calm, all is bright.
KOR-ren.
“Who is it?” you say.
All is calm, all is bright. Come with me.
“Where are you?”
Laughter like tiny tinkling faery bells courses through your soul, and you follow the sound.
Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
Finally, you sigh, expelling your breath slowly, gradually.
Take my hand.
Pedro’s small hand grasps yours. You allow him to pull you heavenward, out of the dimness, away from the dark, and you smile into the burgeoning light. Pedro’s warmth gives you strength. You laugh at the cheery bright red of his woolen cap.
Then the two of you hover above the treatment room, aglow with your presence. Nurses and orderlies tend to other patients, and they glance up. The wellspring of peace radiating from Pedro, and now you, makes their hearts soar.
