Willow spent the next few weeks doing her best to get to the hospital, keeping her eyes and ears open at all times for anyone in need of her special ability. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to help someone without revealing her secret. She had mastered the art of pretending to trip and grab someone, to regain her footing, thus making contact with the person she was trying to help.
Willow felt embarrassed when a man on crutches scolded her for being “a klutz.” She didn’t linger for the man to come out of the examination room, fearing he would assemble the puzzle as his broken leg was suddenly and mysteriously mended.
Willow had a real close-call one October evening. While bringing her mother some dinner at the hospital, she visited the burn unit where she placed her hands on a heavily sedated six-year-old boy with second-degree burns on his face. When the nurse on duty returned, Willow had to play dumb, as if she was lost: “Oh, my mom must’ve given me the wrong floor...” Willow was already a fair distance from the boy’s bed when she was interrogated by the nurse on duty, whose shift was just ending. When the burns were gone from the child’s face the following morning, the doctors were extremely baffled.
After several weeks of similar events, Willow decided she had better not visit the hospital for a while. She couldn’t keep roaming the floors, leaving a bunch of unsolved mysteries in her trail. No matter how large the hospital was, she didn’t need the staff buzzing about the mysterious healings taking place on various floors. She was especially worried that someone might think to check a security tape, spotting her exiting a patient’s room.
The hospital wasn’t the only place Willow used her gift. One woman with a neck brace was surprised to see Willow approach her in the mall and ask for the time. The woman had to raise her left arm, past her eye level, in order to give Willow a response, since she couldn’t bend her neck. Willow thanked her by shaking her hand, and then made a swift getaway down the escalator where Razzel was buying pretzels for them.
Willow was never positive that her gift had worked on everyone, since she was always so quick to make a clean escape. She was also uncertain as to how long it took for her “patients” to heal, and often wondered if it all depended on the severity of their injury or illness.
Between school and her covert activities, the Fall seemed to fly by for Willow, and before she knew it, Halloween and Thanksgiving had passed in a blur. The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Willow decided to go to The Fritzfield Mall by herself. She wanted to buy a Christmas gift for Razzel. Razzel had always wanted a large lava lamp for her room … “I want one with red liquid that looks like large droplets of blood floating around.” Razzel always felt they were too expensive, so Willow had been setting aside some of her allowance each week to buy one for her.
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When she arrived at the mall and exited the bus, she walked through the open square in the back rather than go through the main, front entrance. She knew the square would be decorated for the holidays and loved to see the display of lights and animated figures. She was often teased by Razzel and Wyatt for “wasting time looking at the kiddy stuff.”
Willow had just entered the square when she began to hear singing. As she got closer to the center of the square, the song grew louder and the lyrics clearer. The female voice sounded so beautiful. She knew she had heard the song in some holiday film but she couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter; she was drawn to it.
When Willow reached the singer, she couldn’t see her. A large crowd of shoppers, who had stopped to listen to the performance, obstructed Willow’s view. Everyone was whispering and pointing. Willow had seen street performers before, but never one that had drawn such a vast audience. After the girl finished her song on a long, high note, the crowd roared with applause and praise. Willow still couldn’t see who was receiving this thunderous ovation. She heard the voice once again, but this time it was not in song.
“Thank you all so much. I appreciate your support, but there are others that need your support more than me. If you wish to make a donation, please see Caroline, to my left, and she will take down all of your information. Thomas, to my right, is handing out cards with the website which you can donate to at your earliest convenience. We also have CD’s for sale, where all of the proceeds will go to The Center for Neuromuscular Diseases. The website is also on the back of the CD. Please take a moment to log on whenever you get a chance. It has a ton of information on the type of research the Center does which has helped so many people, like myself, in coping with their condition. My name is Sandy Whisp. Thanks again for standing out in the cold with me. Happy Holidays, everyone.”
The crowd applauded once again and began to disperse into two lines. As the sea of people parted, Willow could see that the person she had been listening to was not what she had expected at all; the girl was sitting in a wheelchair, and appeared to be quite short. Through her tights and leg warmers, the girl’s legs appeared thin and frail, as if the slightest bit of muscle tissue was wrapped around fragile bones. She had short, cropped, black hair with a purple streak running through the right side, and her eyes were like nothing Willow had ever seen. They weren’t blue, but closer to purple; a shade of violet that was almost the exact tone of the streak glistening in the girl’s hair. She appeared to be in her early twenties, but it was difficult to tell for certain.
Willow continued to stare in amazement as the girl graciously shook the hands of her new fans, who were praising her amazing vocal ability. She lingered for a few minutes until she heard the last person compliment the talented singer. “A beautiful voice for a beautiful girl,” an elderly woman observed as she shook Sandy’s hand and parted from the performance area to continue her shopping.
Willow approached the girl cautiously as she watched her roll up the wire to her microphone.
The young girl spotted Willow and gave her a welcoming smile.
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“Hello” she said. “Do you need help with something?”
“I just wanted to tell you what an amazing voice you have,” replied Willow. “I’d love to buy a CD.”
“Thank you so much, but I’m afraid the CD’s just sold out. Oh, but you can order one from our website.”
The man standing behind Sandy handed Willow a card.
“Thanks,” replied Willow. She looked down at the card between her fingers and felt the urge to speak with Sandy in private. Maybe she could help this girl, but there was another reason. She was amazed by Sandy’s poise, the way she carried herself as if nothing at all was wrong with her. Willow was intrigued at the thought of speaking with someone who had to cope with a physical, visible handicap on a daily bases. Although Willow could tell Razzel anything, she never felt comfortable bringing up how self-conscious she felt about her leg because she thought Razzel could not relate.
Willow struggled with her thoughts for a moment and was suddenly struck with a solution to her dilemma, as she glanced across the square.
“Can I interest you in a hot chocolate?” she said, pointing to the Crispy Buns Cinnashop directly across the path.
“You’re too kind, but I’m allergic to chocolate.”
Willow looked deflated.
“But, I would never say ‘no’ to a large Crispy Spindle with extra cream,” said Sandy.
Willow smiled. “You know, I did skip breakfast this morning ... ”
“You guys okay to clean up?” Sandy asked her two colleagues. They both nodded. “Thanks. I’ll meet you both at the front entrance in a half hour or so.”
Willow followed Sandy as she wheeled herself along the path, up the short ramp and to the entrance of the Crispy Buns. Willow held the door open as Sandy wheeled herself to the edge of an open booth.
“I’ll be right back,” said Willow.
She got on line, ordered two Crispy Spindles, extra frosting on the side, and two bottles of water. She walked the tray over to the booth, set it down and placed her hand on Sandy’s right wrist.
“Thanks so much for meeting with me,” she said.
“No problem,” Sandy smiled back.
Willow stared at Sandy for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen; what Sandy was stricken with was more than an injury or a sudden illness. Willow released her grip … nothing. As disappointed as Willow was, she wasn’t surprised; she knew there had to be limitations to her power, otherwise she would have sprouted a new leg by now.
“Man, I haven’t had one of these in a while,” said Sandy, picking up the larger of the two buns from the tray.
“Me neither,” replied Willow. “They’re sooo good, but after I eat one, I feel like I need a nap.”
Sandy smiled as she spread extra cream onto her cinnamon bun.
“So,” she said, “here you are treating me to my favorite dessert and I don’t even know your name.”
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“Oh, sorry,” said Willow, removing her winter coat and wool hat. “My name’s Willow – Willow Krimble.”
“Krimble? I can’t quite place that. What’s your background?”
“Oh, we’re mixed. My mom’s Polish and Irish, my Dad was English and German.”
“Your dad was?”
“He passed away shortly after my seventh birthday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Willow Krimble. I do have a knack for asking the wrong questions.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Willow. “You couldn’t have known.”
When Willow sat, Sandy noticed her prosthetic limb as her pant leg pulled up a bit.
“So,” said Sandy, wiping her mouth from another large bite, “it seems as if you wanted to speak with me about something specific, and not just my singing.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“That’s the other thing I have a knack for; being able to read people when they have something on their mind. And you, Willow Krimble, have a ton on yours. So, what’s up?”
“Well, Sandy … the way you sang out there … you ever … have you ever thought what your life might be like if you didn’t have your … condition?”
Sandy smiled and Willow was relieved to see she was not offended by her question.
“You know, I have thought about that – many times. How maybe I should be on some large, prestigious stage somewhere jumping around with choreographed back-up dancers, thousands of people cheering me instead of a few dozen in malls, schools and hospitals. Oh, believe you me, Willow Krimble, I have thought about it.”
Sandy took another bite, wiped her fingers with her napkin and took a sip of water. She looked up at Willow and took a deep breath.
“When I was about your age,” she began, “I was in the hospital visiting a friend of mine that I had met at the Center when we were both very young. His name was Danny. He was diagnosed with a much more advanced and severe case of muscular dystrophy than mine. I won’t bore you with the medical jargon. By the time I arrived at the hospital with my dad, Danny’s parents were outside his room crying inconsolably. Doctors said he only had about 12-24 hours left. His parents allowed me to go in and see him by myself for a few minutes … to say ‘goodbye.’”
Sandy seemed to gaze at her tray for a moment, ensnared in thought.
“He was in a bad way when I saw him, wasted away to practically noth - ” she swallowed hard and turned her attention back to Willow, forcing a weak smile, “ - so, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him, anything at all.” She took another sip of water. “After a few moments of silence, he muttered something about singing to him. You see, when we were younger, we used to sing songs together to cheer ourselves up. You know, kiddy songs. I hadn’t sung since I was six, and even then it was only noise, but I had to try. I thought about one of the songs we used to sing together, Sun Over The Stream. When I opened my mouth, I couldn’t believe what happened; it was as if something had taken me over, as if I had suddenly, at that moment, been given an incredible gift that I hadn’t previously possessed. Danny kept his eyes closed, but smiled the entire time I sang. He proved the doctors wrong that day.” She took another bite as Willow leaned forward in her seat in anticipation. While Sandy chewed, Willow grew impatient.
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“Did he live?” Willow asked anxiously.
Sandy shook her head. She wiped her lips with a clean napkin and swallowed.
“He passed as soon as I finished my song.”
Willow slumped down into her seat.
“Oh, I’m not telling you this story to depress you, Willow Krimble. You see, I made his last few moments peaceful for him. Even moments after he passed, he never lost his smile. And I never would have known I could sing like that had it not been for him. So, whenever I wonder what life may be like for me if I were, let’s say, for lack of a better term, normal, I come to realize that what I get to do is so much better than normal. I don’t entertain for fame and fortune, but if I can inspire anyone sick or well to try something new that they never thought they could do ... Would I be happier if I were the next Celine? I can’t harp on what I have no control over; I can only go as far as I can with what I’ve been given. And that’s something I can be extremely proud of no matter what the CD sales say.”
Willow straightened up in her seat, smiled and took a bite out of her cinnamon bun.
“You know something, Sandy? My Grams would really like you.”
Sandy smiled.
Next Chapter
Willow felt embarrassed when a man on crutches scolded her for being “a klutz.” She didn’t linger for the man to come out of the examination room, fearing he would assemble the puzzle as his broken leg was suddenly and mysteriously mended.
Willow had a real close-call one October evening. While bringing her mother some dinner at the hospital, she visited the burn unit where she placed her hands on a heavily sedated six-year-old boy with second-degree burns on his face. When the nurse on duty returned, Willow had to play dumb, as if she was lost: “Oh, my mom must’ve given me the wrong floor...” Willow was already a fair distance from the boy’s bed when she was interrogated by the nurse on duty, whose shift was just ending. When the burns were gone from the child’s face the following morning, the doctors were extremely baffled.
After several weeks of similar events, Willow decided she had better not visit the hospital for a while. She couldn’t keep roaming the floors, leaving a bunch of unsolved mysteries in her trail. No matter how large the hospital was, she didn’t need the staff buzzing about the mysterious healings taking place on various floors. She was especially worried that someone might think to check a security tape, spotting her exiting a patient’s room.
The hospital wasn’t the only place Willow used her gift. One woman with a neck brace was surprised to see Willow approach her in the mall and ask for the time. The woman had to raise her left arm, past her eye level, in order to give Willow a response, since she couldn’t bend her neck. Willow thanked her by shaking her hand, and then made a swift getaway down the escalator where Razzel was buying pretzels for them.
Willow was never positive that her gift had worked on everyone, since she was always so quick to make a clean escape. She was also uncertain as to how long it took for her “patients” to heal, and often wondered if it all depended on the severity of their injury or illness.
Between school and her covert activities, the Fall seemed to fly by for Willow, and before she knew it, Halloween and Thanksgiving had passed in a blur. The Saturday after Thanksgiving, Willow decided to go to The Fritzfield Mall by herself. She wanted to buy a Christmas gift for Razzel. Razzel had always wanted a large lava lamp for her room … “I want one with red liquid that looks like large droplets of blood floating around.” Razzel always felt they were too expensive, so Willow had been setting aside some of her allowance each week to buy one for her.
___________________________________
Page 61
When she arrived at the mall and exited the bus, she walked through the open square in the back rather than go through the main, front entrance. She knew the square would be decorated for the holidays and loved to see the display of lights and animated figures. She was often teased by Razzel and Wyatt for “wasting time looking at the kiddy stuff.”
Willow had just entered the square when she began to hear singing. As she got closer to the center of the square, the song grew louder and the lyrics clearer. The female voice sounded so beautiful. She knew she had heard the song in some holiday film but she couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter; she was drawn to it.
When Willow reached the singer, she couldn’t see her. A large crowd of shoppers, who had stopped to listen to the performance, obstructed Willow’s view. Everyone was whispering and pointing. Willow had seen street performers before, but never one that had drawn such a vast audience. After the girl finished her song on a long, high note, the crowd roared with applause and praise. Willow still couldn’t see who was receiving this thunderous ovation. She heard the voice once again, but this time it was not in song.
“Thank you all so much. I appreciate your support, but there are others that need your support more than me. If you wish to make a donation, please see Caroline, to my left, and she will take down all of your information. Thomas, to my right, is handing out cards with the website which you can donate to at your earliest convenience. We also have CD’s for sale, where all of the proceeds will go to The Center for Neuromuscular Diseases. The website is also on the back of the CD. Please take a moment to log on whenever you get a chance. It has a ton of information on the type of research the Center does which has helped so many people, like myself, in coping with their condition. My name is Sandy Whisp. Thanks again for standing out in the cold with me. Happy Holidays, everyone.”
The crowd applauded once again and began to disperse into two lines. As the sea of people parted, Willow could see that the person she had been listening to was not what she had expected at all; the girl was sitting in a wheelchair, and appeared to be quite short. Through her tights and leg warmers, the girl’s legs appeared thin and frail, as if the slightest bit of muscle tissue was wrapped around fragile bones. She had short, cropped, black hair with a purple streak running through the right side, and her eyes were like nothing Willow had ever seen. They weren’t blue, but closer to purple; a shade of violet that was almost the exact tone of the streak glistening in the girl’s hair. She appeared to be in her early twenties, but it was difficult to tell for certain.
Willow continued to stare in amazement as the girl graciously shook the hands of her new fans, who were praising her amazing vocal ability. She lingered for a few minutes until she heard the last person compliment the talented singer. “A beautiful voice for a beautiful girl,” an elderly woman observed as she shook Sandy’s hand and parted from the performance area to continue her shopping.
Willow approached the girl cautiously as she watched her roll up the wire to her microphone.
The young girl spotted Willow and gave her a welcoming smile.
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Page 62
“Hello” she said. “Do you need help with something?”
“I just wanted to tell you what an amazing voice you have,” replied Willow. “I’d love to buy a CD.”
“Thank you so much, but I’m afraid the CD’s just sold out. Oh, but you can order one from our website.”
The man standing behind Sandy handed Willow a card.
“Thanks,” replied Willow. She looked down at the card between her fingers and felt the urge to speak with Sandy in private. Maybe she could help this girl, but there was another reason. She was amazed by Sandy’s poise, the way she carried herself as if nothing at all was wrong with her. Willow was intrigued at the thought of speaking with someone who had to cope with a physical, visible handicap on a daily bases. Although Willow could tell Razzel anything, she never felt comfortable bringing up how self-conscious she felt about her leg because she thought Razzel could not relate.
Willow struggled with her thoughts for a moment and was suddenly struck with a solution to her dilemma, as she glanced across the square.
“Can I interest you in a hot chocolate?” she said, pointing to the Crispy Buns Cinnashop directly across the path.
“You’re too kind, but I’m allergic to chocolate.”
Willow looked deflated.
“But, I would never say ‘no’ to a large Crispy Spindle with extra cream,” said Sandy.
Willow smiled. “You know, I did skip breakfast this morning ... ”
“You guys okay to clean up?” Sandy asked her two colleagues. They both nodded. “Thanks. I’ll meet you both at the front entrance in a half hour or so.”
Willow followed Sandy as she wheeled herself along the path, up the short ramp and to the entrance of the Crispy Buns. Willow held the door open as Sandy wheeled herself to the edge of an open booth.
“I’ll be right back,” said Willow.
She got on line, ordered two Crispy Spindles, extra frosting on the side, and two bottles of water. She walked the tray over to the booth, set it down and placed her hand on Sandy’s right wrist.
“Thanks so much for meeting with me,” she said.
“No problem,” Sandy smiled back.
Willow stared at Sandy for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen; what Sandy was stricken with was more than an injury or a sudden illness. Willow released her grip … nothing. As disappointed as Willow was, she wasn’t surprised; she knew there had to be limitations to her power, otherwise she would have sprouted a new leg by now.
“Man, I haven’t had one of these in a while,” said Sandy, picking up the larger of the two buns from the tray.
“Me neither,” replied Willow. “They’re sooo good, but after I eat one, I feel like I need a nap.”
Sandy smiled as she spread extra cream onto her cinnamon bun.
“So,” she said, “here you are treating me to my favorite dessert and I don’t even know your name.”
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Page 63
“Oh, sorry,” said Willow, removing her winter coat and wool hat. “My name’s Willow – Willow Krimble.”
“Krimble? I can’t quite place that. What’s your background?”
“Oh, we’re mixed. My mom’s Polish and Irish, my Dad was English and German.”
“Your dad was?”
“He passed away shortly after my seventh birthday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Willow Krimble. I do have a knack for asking the wrong questions.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Willow. “You couldn’t have known.”
When Willow sat, Sandy noticed her prosthetic limb as her pant leg pulled up a bit.
“So,” said Sandy, wiping her mouth from another large bite, “it seems as if you wanted to speak with me about something specific, and not just my singing.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“That’s the other thing I have a knack for; being able to read people when they have something on their mind. And you, Willow Krimble, have a ton on yours. So, what’s up?”
“Well, Sandy … the way you sang out there … you ever … have you ever thought what your life might be like if you didn’t have your … condition?”
Sandy smiled and Willow was relieved to see she was not offended by her question.
“You know, I have thought about that – many times. How maybe I should be on some large, prestigious stage somewhere jumping around with choreographed back-up dancers, thousands of people cheering me instead of a few dozen in malls, schools and hospitals. Oh, believe you me, Willow Krimble, I have thought about it.”
Sandy took another bite, wiped her fingers with her napkin and took a sip of water. She looked up at Willow and took a deep breath.
“When I was about your age,” she began, “I was in the hospital visiting a friend of mine that I had met at the Center when we were both very young. His name was Danny. He was diagnosed with a much more advanced and severe case of muscular dystrophy than mine. I won’t bore you with the medical jargon. By the time I arrived at the hospital with my dad, Danny’s parents were outside his room crying inconsolably. Doctors said he only had about 12-24 hours left. His parents allowed me to go in and see him by myself for a few minutes … to say ‘goodbye.’”
Sandy seemed to gaze at her tray for a moment, ensnared in thought.
“He was in a bad way when I saw him, wasted away to practically noth - ” she swallowed hard and turned her attention back to Willow, forcing a weak smile, “ - so, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him, anything at all.” She took another sip of water. “After a few moments of silence, he muttered something about singing to him. You see, when we were younger, we used to sing songs together to cheer ourselves up. You know, kiddy songs. I hadn’t sung since I was six, and even then it was only noise, but I had to try. I thought about one of the songs we used to sing together, Sun Over The Stream. When I opened my mouth, I couldn’t believe what happened; it was as if something had taken me over, as if I had suddenly, at that moment, been given an incredible gift that I hadn’t previously possessed. Danny kept his eyes closed, but smiled the entire time I sang. He proved the doctors wrong that day.” She took another bite as Willow leaned forward in her seat in anticipation. While Sandy chewed, Willow grew impatient.
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Page 64
“Did he live?” Willow asked anxiously.
Sandy shook her head. She wiped her lips with a clean napkin and swallowed.
“He passed as soon as I finished my song.”
Willow slumped down into her seat.
“Oh, I’m not telling you this story to depress you, Willow Krimble. You see, I made his last few moments peaceful for him. Even moments after he passed, he never lost his smile. And I never would have known I could sing like that had it not been for him. So, whenever I wonder what life may be like for me if I were, let’s say, for lack of a better term, normal, I come to realize that what I get to do is so much better than normal. I don’t entertain for fame and fortune, but if I can inspire anyone sick or well to try something new that they never thought they could do ... Would I be happier if I were the next Celine? I can’t harp on what I have no control over; I can only go as far as I can with what I’ve been given. And that’s something I can be extremely proud of no matter what the CD sales say.”
Willow straightened up in her seat, smiled and took a bite out of her cinnamon bun.
“You know something, Sandy? My Grams would really like you.”
Sandy smiled.
Next Chapter