The Paper Bag Christmas (6 page)

Finally Madhu broke the silence.

“I have an idea!” he shouted as he turned to face the pair of green eyes glaring out through the paper bag. “Katrina, I’ve heard you used to participate in the gurney races. Is that true?”

“Yes,” she replied questioningly. “But I stopped going. Too many kids made fun of me. Besides, nobody could beat me so the thrill of it was gone.”

“I can beat you,” Madhu said, still looking her straight in the eyes.

I didn’t know what gurney races were, but if Madhu could race as fast as he could speak, I figured he could beat just about anyone.

“Nobody can beat me,” she snarled as she planted her hands on her hips. “’Cuz I’m not afraid of getting hurt. I’m going to die soon anyway.”

“Then race me!” Madhu was smiling nonchalantly. “If you win, then we forget all about the Christmas pageant—
none
of us will participate. But if I win, then you must come with us and take whatever part you are assigned. Deal?”

Katrina didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be sizing up her challenger. “No,” she said finally.

“But Katrina!” Madhu fired back. “If you think you can’t be beat, then why—”

Katrina cut him off mid-sentence. “I’ll race
him
!” She was pointing in my direction.

I looked back over my shoulder on the off chance that someone had snuck up behind me. There was nobody there. “If the little elf wins, I’ll be in the pageant.”

Gulp.

W
ITH SO MUCH GOING ON
at the hospital that night, it wasn’t hard for us to slip unnoticed to the service elevator located in the east corner of the building. It was the only elevator that still serviced the eighth floor during construction, and it was conveniently out of sight from anyone who might have prevented us from going through with what I was beginning to think was a very bad idea.

Gurney races, I soon discovered, were not so much races of speed as they were acts of downright stupidity. Yes, they were fast, but speed was of less importance than distance. It was, more or less, a game of chicken on a hospital gurney. Two competitors climbed aboard their own rolling carts near the top of a long, wide access ramp that sloped gently down toward an open stairwell. It wasn’t a steep slope, but the smooth wheels picked up enough velocity on the hard tile floor that by the time racers approached the landing above the stairs, they were moving at a dangerous pace. The winner of the race was the one who jumped off the gurney last.

Several children had received moderate injuries as a result of their participating in the gurney races, but each had made up a story for the doctors about how they’d been hurt in order to cover up what was going on late at night on floor number eight.

The so-called races had begun in September when the hospital’s top floor was closed for renovations. A couple of nights each week scores of thrill-seeking patients would sneak upstairs after most of the doctors and nursing staff had gone home for the night. There, beyond the scrutiny of adult supervision, they were free to do as they pleased—and what pleased them the most was racing the gurneys.

“Y
OU SURE ABOUT THIS,
Katrina?” I asked once we had selected our gurneys and were ready to begin.

From the top of the hallway looking down I felt more than a little anxiety about our chosen means to get Katrina to participate in the pageant.

“Maybe there’s some other competition we could try,” I offered hopefully. “A paper airplane contest would be nice.”

“Sounds like you’re scared, Molar,” she said, egging me on. “Are you chicken?”

Even though I was one, I would never admit it. “Yeah, uh huh. As if.” It was a lame comeback, I know, but I was too scared to come up with anything better.

“Fine,” she said. “Just remember you can’t touch the walls to slow yourself down. Otherwise you are disqualified. And you have to stay head-first on your stomach until you jump off. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I clucked. “Let’s just get this over with so we can go sign up for the Christmas pageant.”

Madhu and Aaron stood holding on behind the gurneys, preventing them from rolling away until we were ready to start the race. Next to me, lying rigid on her stomach, Katrina stared intently through her paper bag on the hallway ahead.

“Okay then, very good. I think we’re all set,” announced Madhu. “Both of you, please be careful. Mo, if you would be so kind as to win, that would be splendid. I am very anxious to become a wise man.” He slapped me on the back for encouragement. “Okay racers, take your mark. Get set. Go!”

As the last word escaped Madhu’s lips, he and Aaron gently released our racing machines, allowing gravity to take hold completely. It started out somewhat slowly, and for a second or two I half imagined the race was no big deal.

I was wrong.

Over the next fifty feet the speed picked up considerably, and by one hundred feet the wheels of my gurney began wobbling under the stress. Katrina and I were literally neck and neck, each of us with our head stretched out in front of our accelerating death traps to better see the approaching stairwell. The bag over Katrina’s head soon began flapping in resistance to the air, and for an instant I thought it might catch a breeze and pop right off.

We reached the hundred-and-fifty-foot mark in what seemed like a blur, but the final fifty feet felt more like a slow-motion movie. In those remaining seconds I saw pictures of children hanging on the wall, a doctor’s stethoscope collecting dust on a cabinet, and even a small wad of gum stuck in a corner where the wall met the floor. But mostly I just saw Katrina next to me, and she showed no signs of giving up. All of my muscles were flexed, ready to spring the instant she made a move to get off.

That moment never came.

With twenty feet left before the edge of the stairs I panicked and screamed out, “Jump!”

“You first!” she shouted back.

“No you firrrrssssstttt!”

After that it was just screaming and flailing as our rolling beds both hit a lip of carpet near the topmost stair, sending us catapulting head first toward an open landing twenty steps below. On the way down I thought I heard voices shouting from somewhere far behind us, but that was just white noise behind the clamor of steel beds tumbling down the stairs and the terror coming from my own mouth as the concrete floor approached.

“Uggghhh!” My whole body shuddered on impact. For a moment or two I thought I was alright, until the world around me started to become gray. Through the fog that enveloped me I saw two bright green eyes staring down at me, hovering somewhere in the mist. The eyes were familiar, yet somehow different than I’d remembered them.

No bag! I see her face! Is she okay?

And then everything went black.

Chapter 7

The greatest mistake in the treatment of diseases is that there are physicians for the body and physicians for the soul, although the two cannot be separated.

—Plato

M
o. Hello? Can you sit up straight please and look at me?” Someone was talking to me, but I didn’t recognize the voice. “Mo, try opening your eyes.”

“Ah!” I gasped as I followed the instructions. “That’s bright!” I brushed my hand instinctively at the small brilliant flashlight that was shining back and forth between my eyes.

“Look up. Good. Look to the left. Good. Yes, I think he has a pretty good concussion to go along with everything else, but that’s not surprising given how far he fell. Some aspirin and a few days’ rest will help that.”

When the flashlight clicked off and my pupils returned to normal, I was better able to get my bearings. I was propped up on a hospital bed wearing nothing more than a loose-fitting gown that was completely open down the back. My left arm was held tightly in a sling. Mom and Dad were in the room, along with Aaron and Madhu, all of them watching attentively as the doctor examined my aching body.

“You’re quite lucky, Molar,” the doctor said as he kicked his rolling stool away from my bed. He then stood and began scribbling notes on a medical chart.

I didn’t like how the doctor spoke to me. His voice was a bit nasal and he articulated his words way too much. When his mouth wasn’t moving he scrunched up his lips awkwardly, as if he was annoyed at something. I guessed that he was either really tired or he thought way too much of himself.

He didn’t look up from his chart as he continued speaking. “A scaphoid fracture of the wrist, middle ribs five through seven fractured at the posterior angle, and a severely bruised clavicle. But other than that, just the contusions on your head and face. Not bad really, considering the nature of your . . . eh hum . . .
accident
.”

“Where’s Katrina?” I asked once the doctor finished speaking medical jargon that was way above my contused head. “Is she okay?”

“That’s the girl who wears the paper bag, right?” asked Dad. “She’s just fine, Son. A few bumps and bruises but nothing serious. She’s in her room. I think she feels bad.”

“Why would she feel bad?”

“Well, as near as we can tell, most of your injuries are because of her. We think you broke your wrist on your own, but the other injuries were likely from her landing on you. You hit the ground a split second before she did and broke her fall.”

“Yes, that is definitely the case, Mo!” added Madhu excitedly. “Oh, you should’ve seen it. Truly a spectacle! Something I will never be forgetting in all my days.”

“I’m glad
you
enjoyed it,” I winced. “But did I win? Is Katrina going to be in the Christmas pageant with us?”

I tried to stand up, but a pain in my side told me I should sit still.

“She hasn’t decided,” shrugged Aaron. “Says she didn’t lose since you touched the ground first, even if it was well beyond the finish line. You’ll have to talk to her about it.”

“But that will have to be another night, I’m afraid,” said my mom from her seat in the corner of the room. Surprisingly, she smiled as she talked. “For now, we need to go get a cast on that arm and then get you home.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Oh, I’m plenty upset,” she feigned. “But Aaron and his friend explained why you did it. Mo, we bring you here to spend time helping others. I’m not happy that you put yourself at risk, but I’m proud that you went to such great lengths to try to get Katrina to join the pageant. She seems like she could use a friend like you. But next time be a little more careful, okay?”

“Okay Mom,” I said, trying to hide my smile. “I love you.”

A nurse helped me out of bed and rolled me in a wheelchair down to a lab on the first floor where I got my very first cast. It was a heavy, white plaster wrap that extended from the middle of my palm to just beyond my elbow, effectively locking the arm uncomfortably in a right angle to keep my wrist and forearm better immobilized. My chest was taped and wrapped in an ace bandage. Someone had already stitched my forehead and scalp before I woke up, so there were bandages encircling my head. And the bruised clavicle was more of a tender nuisance than anything else, so after it was iced they left it alone.

By the time the doctors and nurses were done working on me, it was nearly eleven o’clock and I was very tired and sore. Mom and Dad drove me home and carried me to my bed. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

T
HE WEEK FOLLOWING
my gurney accident was perhaps the most mind-numbing expanse of my life. My body hurt too much to move about, and there was very little to do from the confines of my bed. The first day or so was made bearable by cartoons and prescription drugs, but after that I wanted to pull my hair out from boredom (if only my hair was accessible beneath the bandages). Not only did I long to join my brother on the hospital visits in the evenings but I even missed going to school.

While I was at home in bed, Madhu and Aaron both got parts in the Christmas pageant, even though they missed the first session on account of my getting hurt. Aaron was assigned to be the narrator, a part usually given to one of the nurses, but they made an exception once they heard how well he read the script. Madhu got a part as a wise man, just as he had planned, although it took some strong arm twisting since all the wise men parts had been assigned earlier.

“Just imagine!” said Aaron excitedly when he told me about it later. “A Hindu using the Bible to prove he should get a part as a wise man. It was fantastic!”

In order to get his desired role, Madhu discussed the matter with the pageant director, Nurse Wimble from the third floor. She was a quirky woman with big hair and a strong Southern accent, and she was the hospital’s self-proclaimed authority on the Bible if only because her husband was an ordained minister. When Madhu explained that he wanted to be one of the wise men, she merely laughed, thinking he must be joking. But when she realized he was serious, she flat-out refused.

“We already have three wise men. We can’t have any more than that,” she said indignantly in a long Mississippi drawl.

“But why can’t we have more than three? Is there a limit on the number of wise persons who can participate in the Christian story of Jesus’s birth?” Madhu tried to talk slowly so the nurse could understand.

“Mr. Am-bu-ri, Ah know you’re not terribly familiar with our religion, but
Ah
am. Ah have read the Holy Bible every day for as long as Ah can remember, and it clearly says there were three wise men. And so that is how many we will have in our production.”

“But Nurse Wimble, I am thinking you are wrong.” Madhu usually used a lot of words when he spoke, but he also had a way of getting right to the point when he wanted to. He spoke loud enough for people nearby to hear, and they all stopped what they were doing to listen.

“What did you say young man?” snapped the nurse. She was wriggling her nose in disgust. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Nurse Wimble, I would not be so bold as to say something like that. No, you are definitely not a liar. You are simply mistaken on this matter. The Bible is not specific concerning the total number of wise men.”

“It most certainly is! And that is the end of this debate. Now tell me, Mr. Madhu, y’all believe the cow is sacred, right? Well holy cow, Ah just had a wonderful idea! You’re gonna be a cow in this here pageant. How does that sound to you?”