Trail of Broken Wings by Badani Sejal

Author:Badani, Sejal [Badani, Sejal]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2015-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

“In my day, we didn’t have such fancy things.” William turns the camera over in his hand, inspecting it from every angle.

At seventy-two, he is my oldest patient. Having just finished dialysis, he’s cranky. I helped him into the chair next to his bed and handed him the camera. He refused it at first, saying he had no time for such things. I thought about leaving him, trying another day, but the way he turned toward the window, staring at nothing, made me try one more time. With a grunt to let me know he was doing me a favor and not the other way around, he held out his hand.

“It’s a digital camera,” I explain. “No film needed.”

“Really?” He glances at me, the first hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ve got kidney failure, not Alzheimer’s,” he says. “I know what digital is.”

“Right,” I say, amused at having been thoroughly put in my place. “You have one at home?”

“No.” He hands the camera back to me, his voice dropping. “Can’t afford it.” He reaches for the wheelchair nearby.

“They’re easy to use.” I roll the chair over, holding out a hand to him. Refusing my help, he struggles to rise from the sofa. “Just focus, click, and you have your picture.”

“What would I want to take pictures for?” He barely stands before starting to stumble. Again, I reach out to help him, and again he refuses my overtures. It’s a dance with no definitive steps. “Nothing I need to see again.” He finally settles himself into the chair.

“How about those flowers?” A bouquet of fresh carnations sits in a glass vase next to the plastic water pitcher. A “Get Well Soon” card has fallen to the floor. “That would make a nice picture.”

“Why? So I can remember them after they’re dead?”

I suppress a sigh, a deep one. This was the part of the job I wasn’t prepared for. I fear people. Having never understood what made my father tick, what made him react as he did, I am wary of others.

“No,” I try, “so you can enjoy them forever.”

“Haven’t you heard?” He points to his IV. “I haven’t got forever.”

“None of us do,” I say without thinking.

His gaze sharp now, he turns it toward me. “You make it sound like a good thing.”

I look through the lens and focus the camera before handing it to him. “No, just inevitable.” When he resists my efforts, I lay it gently in his lap. “But why not make the best of it while we can?”

He takes the camera and looks through the lens. From the other side I can see his worn eye blinking rapidly, trying to adjust. “You’re too close,” he says, bringing the camera down. “Move back so I don’t get your whole face in it.”

When he still struggles, I say, “Here, try this.” I reach around him and show him how to adjust the lens. “Better?”

“I guess.” He starts snapping pictures, one after the other. First he takes a

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