Orange Leaves

 

Emily walked outside the hospital to get a breath of fresh air. Burnt-yellow leaves floated in the air, descending from several large oak trees. Fall would be here soon, but for now the grass was still green.

Emily watched Neph and Lydia from a distance play on a small playground outside the hospital. She heard the ratcheting sound of sprinklers across the lawn. Everything came alive. The clear bubbles of dew on the grass. The crisp orange leaves. The cool air. It was as if she had just been given a new prescription and now suddenly everything was in focus. The accident had, in a strange way (or perhaps in a completely obvious way), made her consider the preciousness of her own life.

She thought about all the things people think in such situations: how short life was, how quickly it could go. How all of it was out of one’s control.

Rebecca told her that she had simply spaced out. She’d been feeling tired, not herself. Was driving south, to the desert, for no reason in particular, something about Lee and Becca. Then she remembered her necklace, the sound it made slapping against the windshield. Then darkness.

There were still so many things Emily wanted to do with her life—teach, get her doctorate, work on some research. The last thirty years of her life had gone *snap* (she actually snapped) like that, quicker than anything—folding laundry, and cooking dinner, and acting as a bus driver/personal chauffeur for her several kids and husband. Emily had barely left the house. But what was one to do?

As she walked around the hospital, she saw a lady, about her age, in a wheelchair. Staring off into the distance toward the lawn and the playground.

“Hi,” Emily said, approaching cautiously. She felt compassion for the lady, who in an uncanny manner, for whatever reason, reminded her of herself. “How are you?”

“Me? Oh, fine,” said the woman, clearly not wanting to be rude, and yet keeping her distance. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“You have someone inside?” the lady waved at the hospital building behind her.

“Yes. It’s my, well . . . I guess it’s my daughter-in-law’s mother. Car accident.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear.

“That’s okay, she’s fine.”

The two stared at each other.

“You know, I can’t help but notice the ring on your finger,” Emily said, pointing to the silver ring the woman was wearing on her right hand.

It was a ring engraved with the letters, CTR, a common Mormon phrase, which stood for Choose the Right.

“What ward do you go to?” Emily asked the woman.

“Oh, yeah, well,” said the lady, glancing at the ring, “it’s been a while since I’ve been to church, honestly, but some folks from my old ward, over on Main Street.” She paused, then asked, “Are you familiar with Cedar City?”

“No, not really, sorry.”

“Well, they came to visit me and brought me flowers and also this ring. I’m not sure if I’ll go back but, it was a nice gesture. . . and now, a good reminder.”

Emily nodded and smiled. Besides the wheelchair, obviously, Emily noted that there seemed to be nothing overtly wrong with the woman.

“What are you, well . . . if you don’t mind my asking, I don’t mean to be rude of course, what are you in for? You seem . . . fine.”

The woman would not meet her eyes. She stared off into the distance and Emily instantly regretted asking the question.

“No,” the woman eventually said, “it’s fine, I’m learning it’s necessary to admit my own wrongdoing, my own faults. Rather than pretend like everything is okay. I was, am, I guess. Addicted to opioids. I took too many on my way to Wal-Mart the other day. Got into an accident. Apparently, I dozed off and swerved across four lanes of traffic.”

“Oh gosh. When?”

“This, was, let’s see, heck, just day before yesterday. The paramedics gave me some Naloxone at the scene of the accident. I was that far gone. They saved my life. And the doctors were kind enough to let me sit here an extra day or two to recover, with a sprained ankle. It’ll ruin me financially, being in this hospital for three days. But I don’t want to go back home. I have no one or nothing to go back to besides them pills.”

Emily didn’t know what to say.

“It starts off so innocently, you know?” the woman continued, her eyes now focused on the orange leaves blowing in the wind.

Emily nodded, though she did not truly know.

“One pill for some back pain, another for the stress of the kids and raising a family, then you just want more. It’s a good feeling. It’s a great feeling, actually. Everything just sort of drops off you and you feel weightless, totally calm and peaceful. You can go to sleep without trouble and all the stresses and worries and anxieties of daily life just sort of evaporate into the air above you . . .” She did a sort of motion with her hands as if outlining clouds.

Emily admitted to herself that this did, in fact, seem nice, though she could never imagine taking pills.

“I’m sorry, this group I’ve been going to, they tell you not to fall into nostalgia about when you were using.”

“That’s okay.”

“You know, I should get back inside. But it was nice talking to you for a minute, um–?”

“Emily.”

“Emily. I’m Miranda. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you. Choose the Right.”

“Yes, um, you too,” said Miranda as she hit the silver handicap symbol to the right side of the automatic door and wheeled herself back inside.

Emily finished her walk around the playground. She would return to Salt Lake tomorrow with the family, patch things up with Mark. She’d been so silly to flee her home and family to go to some wedding five hours south. But then again, wasn’t it ordained in some way? It had to have been. Emily thought about Wendy as she yelled for the kids to come. She decided she would schedule dinner with her. Life was too short to be scared of what the possible consequences of what if might be. Emily suddenly felt brave and alive. Willing to take on anything.

As Neph and Lydia and Emily headed back inside the hospital, Emily watched the burnt-yellow and orange leaves falling to the ground as the wind picked up. She wondered if a cold front was coming through. If not now, then one would be here soon. Summer was bleeding into fall. Fall would then bleed to winter. The seasons always came here in North America. No matter what. There would always be another storm. Pero una otra primavera también.