The Delicate Woman ~ Inspired by Strayed

I don’t remember her name, but I remember her room number: 306. She was a new resident at the facility, however within three days of her admittance everyone knew who she was. She didn’t belong. I remember my first time going into 306. The bright red glow of her room number blinked over and over again and the piercing beep that alarmed for her room rhythmically rang through our ears. No one wanted to go in there; the other workers all silently avoided the blinking light on the monitor as they pretended to go through paperwork, pretended to help other residents, pretended to not fear room 306. It was my turn. I slowly inched toward the room, the blinking light and the rhythmic beep pacing my every step. The door was cracked, and with just a light push, I entered. She was lying in bed. Nothing but a thin white cloth draped over her long, skinny body. I turned off the monitor and walked over to her. The cancer consumed her. But, she didn’t care. Her hair was white and frail, her skin soft, but delicate- a single touch could tear her apart. She sat up from her bed, aching with every move.

“Take me to the bathroom.”

I held her hand and linked my arm through hers to help her stand. She was  light. We stood up together too fast, and she gave out a low moan. I could hear the bones in her knees crack with each soft step she took as we made our way into the bathroom.

“Don’t turn on the light”, she rasped. “I like the darkness.”