WALKING TO THE STARS
“Smith, breakfast,” the nurse wheeled a cart into the room. Lucy opened her eyes slightly and reluctantly turned her head toward the door.
“No, thank you,” she replied.
“Oh, come on, miss, you need to gather your strength,” said the doctor as he followed the nurse into the room. Lucy remained silent. The nurse quickly placed a plate of porridge and a cup of tea on the bedside table and whispered, “Eat up. Dr. Stephen is right,” and then left the room hastily.
“How are you feeling? Spring-like?” Dr. Stephen smiled.
“Not quite,” Lucy replied gloomily, turning to the window.
“Good to hear,” the doctor continued, ignoring her tone, “The operation is scheduled for tomorrow,” he said more seriously.
“Will it increase my chances?” Lucy turned to him.
“Definitely, although we can’t talk about full recovery just yet,” Dr. Stephen admitted.
“Will I be able to walk?” Lucy tensed.
“I don’t want to raise false hopes…” After a pause, Dr. Stephen answered, “But we must take every chance.”
“Got it,” Lucy turned back to the window. She didn’t hear Dr. Stephen leave the room, nor did she hear the springtime birds chirping outside the window.
The accident had been terrible. Lucy’s friend, Sarah, was driving. In an attempt to avoid an oncoming car, Sarah swerved the steering wheel sharply, causing the car to spin on the slick road. A collision was inevitable. The main impact was on the passenger side. Lucy regained consciousness only in the hospital. She later learned that Sarah was less injured, with a broken arm and a concussion. Lucy, however, had several broken ribs, an open leg fracture, and most importantly, a damaged spine. The prognosis wasn’t encouraging, and the chances of her walking again were slim. Another person might have been glad just to be alive, but for Lucy, the world ceased to exist. Dancing was her life: her passion, livelihood, and inspiration. Movement was as vital to her as air is to others. Now what?
Another blow came from Tom’s reaction. They had been together for two years, and Tom had recently proposed. Two weeks ago, when Tom sat by Lucy’s bedside, she realized without words that the wedding wouldn’t happen. When she told him about the doctors’ prognosis, Tom sat silently, staring at the floor, then said uncertainly, “You have to think positively. Things will get better.”
He didn’t visit for the next three days. Then came a short message: “Sorry. I can’t do this.” The last thread of hope inside Lucy snapped. She no longer cried; with vacant, glassy eyes, she stared at the white ceiling, imagining it collapsing onto her, bringing an end to everything.
Her mother tried to comfort her, stroking Lucy’s hand, insisting not everything was lost, that they would fight together. But Lucy saw her mother’s eyes red from crying once she left the room. Dr. Stephen, her attending physician, also kept insisting she needed to fight.
“Why?” Lucy asked one day.
“To be happy,” Dr. Stephen replied simply.
“I’ll never be happy again,” Lucy answered. Dr. Stephen looked at her carefully: “You’ll be happy. But it depends on you more than anyone else. I haven’t got much experience, but I’ve met people who overcame seemingly impossible odds, leaving even incurable illnesses behind because they wanted to live, wanted to enjoy life, wanted happiness.”
Lucy didn’t reply. She didn’t want to live. Not like this. And what happiness could there be? she would have asked the doctor, but decided not to pursue the conversation. Doctors probably have a duty to encourage patients.
“Can’t sleep?” Dr. Stephen gently opened the door, letting a sliver of light into the dark room.
“No,” Lucy replied, not even noticing he used the informal “you.”
“Nervous?” he asked, sitting by the window.
“No.” Lucy shrugged.
“Can you imagine the accident never happened? And ten years have passed. What would your life be like?” Dr. Stephen asked, not looking at Lucy but out the window.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’d still be performing. Or maybe I’d no longer be on stage, but taking my daughter to dance classes,” Lucy smiled faintly but then remembered the wedding didn’t happen. “You know, he left me. As soon as he found out, he left.”
“Who?” Dr. Stephen already guessed the answer. “Do you think he loved you?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy shrugged again. “Maybe it’s only in romantic films they love you so much they’d follow you through fire and water, while in real life, they just promise to bring you the stars from the sky, but in practice…” Lucy paused. She realized Dr. Stephen was a man, young and handsome at that. He probably had a wife or girlfriend and treated her differently. Surely, he wouldn’t have been scared off in such a situation. After all, here he was, supporting someone he barely knew.
“Alright, Smith, sleep. Stars will come your way too,” Dr. Stephen left. Lucy looked out the window. A piece of the sky, dotted with stars, was indeed visible. “If only a star would fall now,” Lucy thought, but none did, at least not before she fell asleep.
“So, how are you?” Dr. Stephen stood beside Lucy’s bed. “Dr. Thompson said the operation went well.”
“I guess so. I still can’t feel my legs,” Lucy sighed.
“Look what I’ve brought you,” Dr. Stephen handed her a small box. Lucy opened it and smiled. The box was full of shiny, tiny star-shaped confetti. “Keep working hard, and you’ll reach the real stars on foot,” promised the doctor.
Rehabilitation was long, exhausting, and seemed fruitless to Lucy at times. Dr. Stephen, whom Lucy now also called simply by his first name, frequently visited her. They chatted like old friends, covering a variety of topics. Stephen had a way of distracting Lucy from her sorrowful thoughts, making her begin to believe his words that their efforts wouldn’t be in vain.
“How was today?” Stephen asked, entering the room after Lucy’s daily exercises, during which the nurse tried to revive her unresponsive legs.
“Not much,” Lucy shrugged.
“The lilacs are blooming,” Stephen handed Lucy a fluffy sprig he’d hidden behind his back. Lucy inhaled the fresh, tickling scent with delight and started searching with childish excitement for a five-petaled flower.
“Found nothing here,” Lucy pouted and looked up.
“What about here?” Stephen offered her another small box. She smiled, anticipating another batch of stars. But when she opened it, she froze. A small ring sparkled with a different kind of star—a tiny gemstone—in the sunlight.
“Will you marry me?” Stephen asked when Lucy looked from the ring to him. Lucy was silent. Stephen exhaled anxiously and sat on the bed.
“You’re sitting on my leg…” Lucy said quietly. “You’re sitting on my leg!” she shouted, laughing. “You’re on my leg! I can feel it! I can feel my leg!”
Stephen jumped up and laughed, too. Lucy started crying then. She smiled, but tears streamed down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Stephen worried. Lucy shook her head: “Remember I said I’d never be happy again? I really believed that. But today is full of happiness. If you’re not afraid to marry a cripple, I hope a few tears won’t scare you?”
“Nothing can scare me,” Stephen replied, looking at her with tenderness.
***
“Mum, did you see? I did it!” Sophie ran to the bench where Lucy sat.
“Of course I saw. I filmed it all for dad. You’re brilliant,” Lucy hugged her daughter.
“Miss Turner said I’ll be dancing in the center,” Sophie boasted, “Does that mean I’m the best dancer?”
“Yes,” Lucy whispered, sharing a secret in hushed tones, “But shhh, you’ll get too proud, and it won’t work out.” Sophie nodded in understanding. “Now pack up; we’re going to pick up dad from work.”
Ten years passed. Lucy never performed on a big stage again, but she danced well enough at her wedding. As Stephen noted, certainly better than him. The path to the stars had been long for Lucy, but with Stephen, they achieved it. To always remember and believe in the best, to dream no matter what happened, Lucy suggested painting the bedroom ceiling like a starry sky. Stephen agreed. Each morning, as Lucy opened her eyes, she knew she could touch the stars if she wanted—any and all of them, any time.
