Timmy’s Angel

She was beautiful. Long dark hair cascading down her shoulders in soft moussey waves; luscious lashes brushing her flawless porcelain cheeks; pretty pink lips that surely once turned upwards in the most rapturous smile.

Her deep brown eyes stared blankly ahead. She sat rigid, like a statue. Her hand lay lifeless in mine. Such a delicate, lovely creature, so lost in her thoughts that she was as good as dead to the world around her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

They said her name was Emily.

A hand gently touched my shoulder. Tearing my eyes away from the girl beside me to meet those of the nurse above me was the most painful task I had ever had to perform. I held the girl’s hand tighter, sensing this would be the last time I would feel her touch. The nurse looked on with tears in her eyes; she was trying hard to keep them from falling.

“It’s time to go, Timmy,” she whispered. She held out her hand.

It had only been a few minutes. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t look away. I had only just met her. I longed to see just one look, one smile, one sign of the shining soul I knew was trapped inside.

But those gorgeous eyes didn’t move. Her hand remained cold and still on my palm. The only sign of life was a slightest of deep sighs—a nearly invisible rise and fall of her chest, an almost inaudible exhale.

“Timmy, dear.”

The nurse softly placed her hand over mine and gave it the slightest of tugs. I didn’t want to refuse the nurse, but I just couldn’t leave the angel’s side. I could save her. I was sure of it.

“Timmy. It’s time to go.”

The nurse’s voice shook with emotion. It pained her as much as it pained me to take me away. With one last squeeze to Emily’s hand, I stood. But before the nurse could lead me out of the room, I reached out and grasped a lock of the frail girl’s hair…

Only to find my fingers closing around nothing.

There were no soft waves of curling brown hair. There were no luscious lashes. Or pretty pink lips. The face before me was pale, with sunken-in eyes and a nearly-bald head. The skin was so light it looked green beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. The eyes were surrounded by dark purple shadows. They were not shining and brown; they were dull, lifeless, lost.

But I did not see the dying girl. I saw the living girl. I saw the rose inside, not the ashes heaped over it. I reached out and touched the fuzzy surface of Emily’s fragile scalp and grinned, thinking of the wondrous mane that I was sure had once grown there. I brushed my hand against her pale cheek, imagining the warmth that I was positive had once colored them a rosy pink. I looked into her eyes, and I saw the Emily within, not the dying Emily that the adult world saw.

Suddenly I was being firmly ushered from the room. I looked up to see tears streaming down the nurse’s face. She quickly handed me over to a nearby doctor and rushed down the hall, bursting into heart-wrenching sobs. I hadn’t meant to make her cry.

I looked back over my shoulder as the door to Emily’s room slowly closed behind us. I had to get one last glimpse.

Emily was staring back at me, eyes alight with new life, her pretty pink lips turned upward in the most wondrous smile I would ever see. My heart sang. I smiled back, just as the door clicked shut. I never saw my little angel again. But I never forgot her either.