Chapter 13 - TRAUMA ROOM 2
Two years later, Leo returned to our hospital.
Not as a patient.
Richard had arranged through hospital administration to deliver thank-you cards to several staff members.
Leo was ten.
Taller.
Healthy.
His right forearm carried faint scars where the worst skin injury had healed.
He wore a green T-shirt.
No cast.
Marcus saw him first.
“Buddy.”
Leo grinned.
“You look old.”
Marcus stared at me.
“I saved this child.”
“You stabilized his arm.”
“Heroically.”
Leo laughed.
Clara hugged Richard.
Then Leo looked toward Trauma Room 2.
“Is that it?”
Richard asked:
“Do you want to see it?”
Leo thought.
“Yeah.”
We checked that the room was empty and that hospital operations allowed a brief visit.
He stepped inside.
Looked at the bed.
Monitor.
Instrument tray.
Then at the corner where his mother had stood.
He did not cry.
He said:
“It’s smaller.”
Trauma does that.
In memory, rooms grow.
Fear stretches walls.
Returning safely can restore dimensions.
May you like
Leo walked out after less than a minute.
He did not need more.
