thinking about him. Because I know that when people care and think about you, it makes such a difference to your life. It makes you feel less alone, and I bet the boy was feeling about as alone as I was right now. The night before Christmas.
And that’s when I got the idea to make him a card. I had a million pens and colored pencils and paper. My mom had bought me lots so I could draw and color in. I climbed onto my bed and pulled the table across it and started drawing. I drew things that I thought were nice. Things that didn’t remind you of a hospital. Like butterflies and sunshine and colored fishes that you find in coral reefs and all the things that I wanted to see when I left the hospital and maybe that the boy would want to see too. But because he was a boy, and I didn’t really know that much about boys, other than I was guessing they weren’t really into butterflies, I drew a lion on the card too. Because I think boys must like lions. I opened the card and stared at it for so long because I didn’t know what to write in it. I must have stared for a really long time, because I hadn’t noticed that it had started storming outside my window. The rain was hitting the glass and making such a loud sound that I could no longer hear the beeping machines, which I was happy about. I finally knew what I was going to say to him. The thing that I wished I felt more often. The thing that sometimes I didn’t feel, even though I wanted to feel it more than anything else in the world. The thing I wanted to believe more than anything else in the world. Maybe if I said it to him, and really meant it, then maybe it would come true for me too. Maybe if I wrote it down on a piece of paper, the words would be real and then it would all become real.
You are strong, stronger than you know, and one day everything is going to be okay.
When I was finished writing, I looked at the words on the card. I’d written in a beautiful, scribbled font. I was really impressed that I’d done this, actually. I’d always loved creating letters and drawing and, for the first time ever, I was putting them all together. I wondered if I should sign my name at the bottom. After all, all great artists signed their names, didn’t they? Only, I had no idea what my signature would look like. I didn’t have one. I’d seen Mom and Dad sign a lot of papers over the last few years. Every time I was in and out of hospital, they signed a lot. Their signatures looked like scribbles, though. I suppose that’s so no one can copy them, but I didn’t want something that just looked like a scribble, I wanted something that looked like something. Something strong and bold and . . .
“Aah!” I jumped as lightning cut through the sky for a moment, illuminating everything outside as if it was no longer night time. It made all the darkness bright for just as second, and that’s when I knew what my signature should be like. I brought my pen back down to my paper and in the corner at the bottom left, I drew a lightning bolt in the shape of a “Z.” “Z” for Zen.
I held onto the card and crept back towards the door. I pushed it open just a bit. If Sister Esther caught me again I was probably going to be in a lot of trouble. Like, a lot. But there was no way I was going to be able to get the card to him, because his dad was still pacing up and down. So I sat there and waited by the door, peeping through and waiting for the perfect time. I waited for so long that my bum was getting cold on the floor. Hospitals always have such cold floors. You would think they would warm them up. So, I grabbed a pillow from my bed and sat on it to keep my bum warm. And then, after waiting for ages, I got my chance. The doctor came around the corner. He looked tired, like he’d been in surgery for a long time. I think he had.