Hospital Visits (Planned and Accidental)

"Oh, and I want to be here when morning comes
When the stars in the sky fade into one"
  - Just My Soul Responding, by Amber Run



Here on the equator, it gets dark around 6:30pm, so when I arrived at the hospital at 7:00, it felt much later than it actually was.

Instead of being able to walk inside and up to the front desk, a high metal fence surrounded the public hospital, and two formidable-looking guards stood beside the narrow gate which was the only available entrance and exit.
"Who are you here to see?" one asked. Flustered, I tripped over my friend's name, yet with more confidence gave the section she was staying in, and her bed number, as I'd been instructed to do. The guard spoke into his walkie-talkie. Only one visitor at a time was allowed in, so the current visitor has to come out before I could enter.
As I waited outside, the second guard looked me up and down.
"How old are you?" he asked me in Spanish.
"Thirty-two," I replied flatly, mentally rolling my eyes. People seem to ask me that question either because they're interested in me or because they expect me to be younger. I don't look that young. The guard nodded, keeping any further thoughts to himself.

Finally, I was allowed to enter the hospital. I paused inside the entrance, getting my bearings on where to go next when to my surprise I heard a low voice say, "Sonnet."

I turned, and there in the waiting room where two of my Casa Gabriel boys! Jesus, who graduated three years ago and now helps out on the weekends, was holding a wad of tissues to his nose. Beside him sat Daniel, a young man still living in the home. Both wore full soccer uniforms, just as I had seen them three hours ago before they left to go play as part of a local team.

"What happened?" I exclaimed.
"Broke my nose playing soccer," Jesus said with difficulty. Beside him, Daniel bowed his head. I would learn later that the two of them, plus one other player, had collided. It was actually Daniel's head which made contact with Jesus's nose; the pain of the break was bad enough to make Jesus pass out.

I sighed, feeling badly for both of them. Suddenly I realized that Jesus was sitting in a wheelchair.
"The chair! Is something else wrong?" I asked.
"No no, just my nose. They just had me sit here," Jesus assured me.
I stood there, torn, wanting to stay with them and needing to go see my friend. I had to go, but ...
"Can I take a picture, to show my friend? It's so crazy we're all here in the same hospital!"
"How embarrassing! But okay."
Jesus held up his hand in a peace sign as I snapped the photo. I must confess: for some reason, that picture makes me smile. Jesus is a strong man, tall, authentic, and muscular, with shoulder-length dreadlocks and a smile which transforms his face. Yet just as he and other boys are sweetly protective of me, I'm highly protective of them. Even when they no longer live at the house, and even when they're fully capable of taking care of themselves. I was glad to have seen him, glad Daniel was with him, and glad that the injury was nothing more serious. It felt like a coincidence, all of us being there in the hospital together, in a place I'd never been to before that night, while also feeling not like a coincidence at all.

My friend was there for observation, and appreciated the company. We talked for two hours all in Spanish. I showed her the photo I'd taken in the waiting room and we talked about Casa Gabriel. I brought a couple of books with me and she chose one to borrow. When she mentioned disliking the hospital food, I pulled three mandarin oranges from my purse, a quick gift snatched from the kitchen counter before I ran out the door to meet the taxi I'd called. She ate one and saved the other two.

When I left, I called Jesus to see if he and Daniel had made it home. They were home, so I slid into a taxi. The driver had the radio playing low. We drove through the darkened city, all twinkling lights and the yellow glow of the moon. I thought back on the guards and their questions, of navigating life in Spanish, of perfectly planned 'coincidences' and of long conversations. I gave directions to the taxi driver until, around 9:20, he pulled in front of my door and I stepped into the night and into my home once more.