The operating theatre was a blursharp crack, darkness, then more darkness. At last the gloom began to lift and a voice called out:
Evelyn Whitmore, the paramedics here, somethings gone off over there.
I felt a hand grip my throat through the pain, struggled to pry my eyelids open. A rectangular pendant, its surface etched with zodiac signs, hovered before my eyes, and a woman in a white coat stared at me.
To the theatre! shouted a voice right beside me.
My parents came home from work that evening. Mother rushed into the kitchen, glanced into the living room where my son was doing his homework, and my husband, David, entered the room and instantly sensed that Toms mood was low.
Whats wrong, son? David patted Tom on the head.
Nothing, the fourthgrader muttered.
Come on, speak up!
Its almost International Womens Day. Our teacher kept us after school and said we must make gifts for the girls.
David smiled. And whats the problem?
The class is split evenly between boys and girls, and the teacher paired us up. Ive been paired with Evelyn Whitmore, the classclown.
All the girls want presents, even the ones we think of as less pretty, David said, trying to sound as if he were talking to an adult. How did she pick the pairings? Alphabetically?
No, by zodiac.
What do you mean? David chuckled.
Its about compatibility. Evelyn is a Virgo, and the best match for a Virgo is a Taurus. Im a Taurus.
Lucky then! Maybe youll fall for her.
Me? With Evelyn Whitmore?
David burst out laughing. Just then, Mother stormed in.
Whats happening in here?
Lucy, go to the kitchen, David said, his tone suddenly stern. Tom and I need to have a serious talk.
When Mother left, Tom asked in a dejected voice, Dad, what am I supposed to do now?
Make a gift.
What kind?
Ill sort out a present for your chosen girl at work tomorrow.
Dad, how can you make a present? You work at the factory.
Yes, Im in the electroplating department. We coat all kinds of metal.
Dad, I dont get it.
Youll see tomorrow.
The next day David brought a goldlooking rectangular pendant on a chain. One side bore the twin symbols of Taurus and Virgo; the other side was inscribed in neat script:
To my classmate Evelyn, on International Womens Day. From Anthony.
It gleamed beautifully, especially when Mother slipped it into a clear plastic bag.
On March8 the teacher skipped the lesson. First the pupils handed her their gifts, and she thanked them at length. Then she announced that the boys should present their gifts to the girls.
All the boys lunged at their chosen ones. Tom approached Evelyn and, echoing his fathers advice, said, Evelyn, happy International Womens Day! Perhaps one day the stars will align for a Taurus and a Virgo.
Having spoken the rehearsed line, Tom returned to his seat, completely unaware that his heart had already begun to race for the girl hed deemed unattractive.
A few weeks later Evelyns family moved to another district, and she transferred to a different school.
Later I woke in a hospital ward, the white ceiling glaring above me. My left arm twitched uselessly while my right hand and both legs were intact.
Where am I? I croaked.
A nurse on a wheeled cart crouched beside the bed. Youre in the emergency surgery unit.
Are my limbs all okay? I asked hoarsely.
Yes, everythings where it should be, just wrapped up from head to toe.
A doctor entered, checking my vitals. How do you feel?
Whats happened to me? I replied.
The worst is over. Your hands and feet will work again. Youve just got a few small stitches. Your mother wanted me to call you as soon as you woke.
Through tears I heard my mothers voice: Son, everythings fine.
Im alright, Mum, I tried to sound upbeat. They said only a few stitches, and Ill be discharged soon.
I cant stay the night with you, she said, but Ill be back shortly.
Im not bothering you, Mum, I managed a weak smile to the nurse, thanks.
The nurse replied, You wont be out of here for longmaybe three weeks.
A fellow patient, a fellow survivor, asked, What happened?
I was a paramedic. Our plant in Birmingham had some gas cylinders explode. We rushed in, three of us got trapped inside. I was the last out. Just as I reached the door another cylinder blew up. I dont remember the rest.
Its my fault, I muttered, recalling the chaos.
A colleague, Gary, entered. Hey Tom! How you holding up?
My limbs are fine, I said, raising my left hand in greeting.
Good to hear! We were pulled out together. You were covered in blood, but the doctors were right there.
Thanks! Gary grinned. They might even nominate us for medals.
Itll be a while before they let me out, I warned.
The doctor, a man in his forties, entered later. Hows our hero today?
Fine, thanks.
If you can talk, youll live. Let me have a look.
Did you mean to make this easy for me? I joked. No, Evelyn Whitmore. Shell be back the day after tomorrow.
Two days later I tried to get up. My leg pain was still fierce, my right hand was bandaged, and I had dozens of bruises all over. The surgeon who had stitched me up earlier that week came for the morning rounds. She was young, confident, wearing glasses, and her white coat suited her perfectly. Though I was twentyseven and already married, the marriage had ended after six monthsour temperaments never clicked, and my exwife despised my modest rescueworker salary.
Good morning, she said, approaching my bed.
Good morning, doctor. Did you operate on me?
Yes, she smiled. Anything wrong?
No, everythings perfect. Thank you!
Let me examine you.
She leaned over, and my eyes fell on the pendant hanging from my neck, the zodiac signs glinting.
Evelyn Whitmore! I gasped.
She stared at my swollen face, then apologized, not recognizing me.
Im a Taurus, I pointed at the pendant.
Tom Gibbons? she asked, her lips trembling. Do you remember me?
Of course, Evelyn, I said, placing a gentle hand on her wrist. Sorry.
She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. I never imagined wed meet like this.
After that, Evelyn never visited my ward again. I realized she kept a schedule like mineday shifts, night shifts, and two days off. I didnt want to appear helpless in front of her, so I spent the next day shuffling between beds, gripping the walls for support, and venturing into the corridor.
Evening came, the dayshift doctor left, and the nightshift staff arrived, their chatter filling the hallway. Suddenly, frantic footsteps echoed as another patient was being rushed in. Ten oclock passed, a nurse dimmed the lights, but I couldnt sleep. Around midnight I heard soft sobbing down the corridor. I slipped out and found my former classmate, now a nurse, hunched over, crying.
YouEvelyn! I called, placing a steady hand on her shoulder.
She burst into tears: I operated on a woman who fell under a car. I did everything I could, but shes now in intensive care and wont survive. She has two children, her husband is here with her.
Take it easy, Evelyn, I said.
She sobbed, Ive been a surgeon for three years and cant get used to people dying.
I know how that feels, I replied, sighing heavily. My wife left because Im always at work and barely bring home any money. Still, I manage.
She looked at me, Im still single, living with my parents.
Its not that bad, I tried to reassure her. Were only twentyseven, we have our whole lives ahead.
She shook her head, No, Tom, were already twentyseven.
A frantic nurse shouted, Evelyns pulse is dropping!
Im sorry! Evelyn rushed to resuscitation.
I lay awake that night, unable to sleep. In the morning the nurse came in, as usual, to give me a quick shave.
Is the woman who had surgery last night alive? I asked, surprised at my own curiosity.
Shes alive, but her condition is critical.
Three weeks later my wounds had healed. I saw Evelyn whenever her shift brought her past my ward, and each time a stronger pull tugged at my chest. The emergency department wasnt a place for personal confessions, but during one morning round the surgeon announced, Youre being discharged today, he said with a grin. Youll go straight to your GP, and theyll decide how long you stay in the hospital.
Yes, go on, I prompted.
Dont rush, theyll write up the discharge soon.
When the doctor left, I shaved, looked in the mirror, and noted that the two small stitches on my face added a dash of character rather than blemish. I gathered my things, headed to the corridor, and a thought flashed: Shell finally notice me!
A nurse handed me the discharge paper.
Goodbye, Anthony! Dont come back! she said with a smile.
I had a modest onebed flat, but I drove to my parents houseMum had been waiting anxiously and even taken a few days off work.
Son! she exclaimed, hugging me. Youre alright, I see.
Lets have a meal. Look at you, getting thin.
Ah, Ive missed home cooking!
She urged, Youll stay here until youre fully recovered and married. Your rooms still empty, so get yourself cleaned up!
That evening I stopped at the barbershop, then returned home to collect some clothes. Mum immediately began ironing them. Later, my father arrived from work; we all sat together as we used to, chatting late into the night. I fell asleep in my childhood bedroom, thoughts of tomorrows doctors appointment, work, and the evening ahead swirling in my mind.
The next morning I went to the GP, drifted between offices before lunchtime, then returned to the factory for my shift. That night I started packing.
Where are you off to? Dad asked.
Dad, remember back when I was in Year4 and you made that pendant for a classmate?
Evelyn Whitmore, the notsopretty one? I laughed.
Yes, you even said, You might end up falling for her.
Thats right.
Shes a surgeon now, the one who operated on me. She still wears that pendant.
Funny how things turn out, Dad said.
Dad, your words came true. Im going to see her.
Twentyseven years isnt a long time to start a life with the one you love.
