First Spring
Ray of Hope
One Spring Day
People used to tell me that pain was only temporary. You know, like how it would never last. They likened it to the passing of the seasons, the falling of sand in an hourglass. Everything would wear off, given time. You just need to wait. I used to believe them. I did. But years flew by and now, I’m tired of waiting.
I sat huddled up by the window in my room with my knees drawn up to my chest. My back was pressed against the wall and the cool glass against my arm and I gazed out of the window into the horizon. I traced the raindrops with a finger, following their path downwards. Raindrops fall because they were the tears of the skies. Each droplet was one of suffering, and funny how they go in only one direction – down.
“Jina! Jina, it’s time for your medication.” The door to my room swung open, revealing my mum. She held several syringes in one hand and a small tub of bottled medicines in another. I gave no indication that I heard her. My gaze was still turned towards the outside, observing how the garden was all slush and mush, all the greenery reduced to brown by the relentless pouring over the past few days. Spring my , I thought. Winter still reigned and it wasn’t going to give way anytime soon.
“Ignoring me won’t do you any good, you know,” my mum said. She had made her way to me and she sat on a chair she pulled in from the hallway. She knew how I hated chairs. After all, I spent half my life in one after I lost the use of both my legs to the disease I had. Not illness. Illness was temporary. Disease meant finality. It was what set me apart from normal people. That and my appearance.
“Medicating me isn’t any good either,” I retorted. But I let her pull back my sleeves, exposing the soft underside of my arm. The green of the veins stood out in stark contrast against the white of my skin and it was pockmarked with various spots caused by needles. It was a constant reminder of the pain I had underwent over the past 10 years, a reminder that pain was anything but temporary. It ate at you, every single minute, every single hour, every single day. I barely noticed the sliding in of the needle; I was immune to it already.
“Your new neighbors are coming over later. I expect you to come out and greet them,” my mum said as she swiped at my arm with an alcohol swab, applying pressure to it.
“No.”
My reply was swift and immediate. I didn’t even need to ponder. Meeting people was a big no-no, something I refused to do. It was fine in the past when I couldn’t care less about the way people looked at me but the stares and murmurs got to me after a while. That was the end of my socializing background. I hardly even step (or roll) out of my room now.
“They might be of interest to you, you know. They have a son.”
“Oh, so you want me to bang him up and get into a relationship, not necessarily in that order?”
The sigh that escaped my mum’s lips made me guilty immediately. I opened my mouth to apologise but she had already turned away. It suddenly occurred to me how much all of this was taking a toll on her as well. Her back was no longer as straight as before and her shoulders dropped. When she looked back at me, I could see lines beside , lines that were never there before. I bit my lip.
“Tell me when they arrive.
My mum left with a quiet nod at me before she left. I returned my gaze to the lawn. The rain was slowing and I wondered if it was finally time for spring. Not that I cared, of course. It merely signaled that another season had passed and my pain still persisted.
There wasn’t an actual need for my mum to tell me when they arrived. I could hear the crunch of gravel loud and clear and with it came a sound I was very accustomed with. My ears perked and I sat up, suddenly alert. Hope sprang in my heart but at the same time scorn came to life. Was my mum still trying to find someone for me to relate with?
However, hope won the fight and I bellowed for my mum. She came running in. I heard the front door creak open and I pointed a finger at my wheelchair sitting a few metres away. There was a hint of a smile on my mum’s lips, the kind of smile that one had whenever they knew a secret others didn’t. I had half a mind to stay in my room just to spite her but the scars time had etched upon her face stared back at me accusingly.
My heart was thumping in my chest when my mum rolled me out of my room. I resisted the urge to press down my hair. I shouldn’t appear too eager although the wringing of my hands told me otherwise. I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously.
“Is this what you mean?” I whispered to my mum, gaze fixed straight ahead. “When you said they might be of interest to me, when you said they have a-“
I lost the ability to speak then. The living room came into view after a turn around the corner and it was just… My eyes zeroed in onto the boy that my mum spoke about. But it wasn’t his brown hair that caught the light so beautifully that I was concentrated on, nor was it the way his smile could light up the room. No, it was the wheelchair that he was sitting on.
“The doctor said it was better for us to come to the countryside,” a woman whom I assumed was his mum was saying. “He said the fresh air might help.”
Funny, that was what my doctor said too. When four pairs of eyes turned to me, I realized that I had spoken the words out loud and I flushed with embarrassment. The boy’s mum stood up with a broad smile when she saw me and she walked to me with an outstretched hand.
“You must be Jina,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
I accepted her hand hesitantly. It was warmer than I expected and the grip was firm. I offered her a small smile but my gaze went past her to the boy on the wheelchair. My distraction did not slip past her notice and she grinned. Gesturing a hand to the boy, she said, “Meet Sehun, our son. I think the two of you would get along well and I’m not just talking about the wheelchair.”
“Mum,” the boy chided but the mischievous glint shone in his eyes. He rolled himself over and offered a hand for me to shake as well. “I’m Sehun.”
“Jina,” I murmured softly. I was very aware of the racing of my heart and I released his hand quickly.
“I think the two of you should spend a little time in the garden,” my mum suggested. “The rain just stopped and it’s about time you saw some light, Jina.”
I shot her a glare but I couldn’t say no for Sehun was already halfway out of the door. I was a little unused to maneuvering the wheelchair by myself hence I took a little longer.
The first few minutes together with him was awkward and I was at a loss for words. It didn’t help that he was so good-looking and just plain happy, as though there was nowhere he would rather be. Our garden wasn’t very big so it didn’t take us very long to reach the back of the house. We stopped there, each not saying a word, just admiring the landscape. The smell of rain hung heavy in the air and the air was damp but it was relatively cooling.
I was the one who broke the silence first, unexpectedly. I breached the ice with a question that had nagged at me since the moment I met him.
“How do you do it?” I asked finally.
He turned to me, surprise written all over his features. “Do what?”
I motioned vaguely with my hand. “You know, stay so happy all the time. How do you do that, knowing that there was nothing but death ahead of you?”
“Death lies in wait at the end of every path that we take,” Sehun replied quietly. “Why worry over the inevitable when we could make every day be the best day we ever lived?”
“Because it hurts to live when you know that the end is near.”
“Does anyone know that for sure? I believe in life and destiny. Everything happens for a reason and pain is not everlasting. Joy drives pain away and it is up to you to make it worthwhile..”
There was conviction behind his words and as I looked at Sehun with his face tilted up to the sky and his eyes closed, I wanted to believe in him desperately. I wanted a straw of hope to cling to but death was always at the edge of my thoughts, watching, preying. I couldn’t shake Death off.
“Death will never go away, just like how spring will never come,” I muttered softly.
“Don’t be so sure.”
I glanced at Sehun in surprise. He had a finger pointed towards something by the fence and as I moved forward for a closer look, I saw the drooping head of a snowdrop. His eyes were bright as he said, “Spring is coming.”
The corners of my lips curved upwards. His joy was contagious and soon enough a full-blown smile graced my features. I tilted my head backwards, letting the first rays of the sun caress my features. This time, I made sure what I uttered would not reach his ears.
“Perhaps there is hope afterall.”
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