Light Beams
Sebnem E. Sanders
As the first light of dawn creeps into the room, Emma opens her eyes. Sunbeams filter through the grids of the sash window. Flickering on the white walls, they create geometric shapes and rainbows
She watches them change and disappear as the sun rises over the roofs of the buildings in her view. A flower arrangement in a large vase stands on a dresser across from her bed. From time to time, the florist replaces it with a fresh bouquet. Emma loves spring blooms and wonders if the water needs changing.
The door opens and a nurse steps in, “Good morning, Emma, how are you today?” Emma greets her but makes no sound. No mouth movement, no voice, though she can hear the words in her head. She blinks a couple of times. That’s all she can do.
The nurse opens the window. Fresh air carrying the aroma of blossoms and herbs fills Emma’s nostrils and provokes evocative thoughts. Her house in the country, their home, the garden, and the woods beyond. She doesn’t know how long she’s been in this strange place, away from familiar surroundings.
Once the nurse has washed her, she replaces the bottle on the contraption beside the bed and leaves. Loneliness is not a problem. She has memories to cherish to pass the time.
The door opens again and the doctor, followed by a group of young men and women in white coats enters the room. They greet her, she blinks back. Her vision of their presence resembles a blurred Monet painting in the morning light, and at times, a Picasso picture, depicting people with distorted features.
The doctor examines the clipboard attached to her bed and asks the interns questions which they answer. “Increase” this. “Decrease” that. Emma doesn’t understand the technical language. The doctor nods and turns to Emma. “Good prognosis, Emma. Everything is fine. I’ll be back on Monday, but I’m only a phone call away, should the need arise. Doctors on duty will contact me.”
Emma wants to ask what day it is, but does it matter? All days are the same except the length of daylight. Maybe it’s Friday, maybe not. She has lost track of time.
A young woman accompanied by a girl and a smaller boy steps into the room.
“Granny, Granny, I had super grades this week,” the blonde girl says and kisses her on the cheek. The red-headed boy crawls onto the side of the hospital bed and shows her a book. “I can read now, Granny. Would you like to hear me?”
Emma blinks a few times as her daughter’s face comes to focus. A beautiful visage with Modigliani features and striking blue eyes. “Mum, you look wonderful today. Pretty hair, healthy complexion, and sparkling eyes. Would you like me to show you?”
She takes a hand mirror from the drawer and holds it to Emma. The face of a white-haired woman, chiselled with deep age lines stares at her from the looking glass. Not like she remembers herself. Her gaze drifts to the window and out of it. What’s her name? A flower… Violet because Emma loves flowers. She remembers a baby, her baby, and how likely it would be that the child would have blue eyes, taking after her mother and her father. “Lovely Violet,” says her inner voice. “You look like me and your daughter looks like you.”
“Tim wants to read to you, Mum. He brought The Little Prince because you bought it for him.”
Emma blinks and listens. ‘It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.’
Their presence is brighter than the sunlight that floods the room. Her grandchildren’s laughter fills her heart with a warmth stronger than the sun’s. She wishes to hug them, stroke their hair, and hold Violet’s hand. She can only blink.
They kiss her and leave. Emma closes her eyes and re-lives the moments. She knows soon she’ll ride that sunbeam and find her beloved Daniel somewhere in the heavens.
*
Sebnem E. Sanders is a native of Istanbul, Turkey. Currently, she lives on the eastern shores of the Southern Aegean where she dreams and writes Flash Fiction and Flash Poesy, as well as longer works of fiction. Her flash stories have appeared in the Harper Collins Authonomy Blog, The Drabble, Sick Lit Magazine, Twisted Sister Lit Mag, Spelk Fiction, The Bosphorus Review of Books, Three Drops from the Cauldron, The Rye Whiskey Review, CarpeArte Journal, Yellow Mama Webzine, Punk Noir Magazine, Flash Fiction Offensive, and The Cabinet of Heed, as well as two anthologies: Paws and Claws and One Million Project, Thriller Anthology. She has a completed manuscript, The Child of Heaven, and two works in progress, The Child of Passion and The Lost Child. Her collection of short and flash fiction stories, Ripples on the Pond, was published in December 2017. More information can be found at her website where she publishes some of her work: