A Short Story

Recently, I wrote this short story and thought it might inspire some of you who read it. Despite it being a somewhat bare draft, I hope it uplifts you all!

The tremulous little Sam Canning sits silently on the gray leather chair in the hallway with her head against the blue wall as she peers around the corner with a weary smile at the oncoming nurses who roll children either in wheelchairs or hospital beds. If they pass her, she winks with both eyes, for she never could learn how to use one, and patiently waits for the little girls and boys to bashfully smile back at her. That’s when she lifts her head a little off the wall and watches steadfastly at the wheels as they click between the floor tiles, rolling farther and farther away from her presence. And before the patients and nurses disappear in a room or turn the next corner, she prays in her heart for each and every one of them. Then Sam’s smile fades, her head drops back onto the wall for sustainment, and she closes her eyelids with a long exhale, seeking for any rest she can find. But then she hears the returning sound of rolling wheels and opens her eyes once again to bring a little smile of solitude to another pale patient.

After Sam prays her next prayer, the door beside her opens and she turns her head hesitantly to capture the expression of her daddy.

“Hi,” she can only whisper. Mr. Canning attempts to smile, but it’s weak and lowly as if a cold September breeze swept it away in its passing. He blinks hard while glaring softly down at his daughter whose face is a crisp white as paint, beckoning for anything but to see the frailty of her movements and the crocheted pink hat set neatly over her head. Her lips hardly lift enough to grin back at him and that thought pierces his heart like a needle.

“How ya doin’, squirt?” He asks, trying to sound strong and playful as he fidgets with the yellow envelope in his big hands.

“I’ve been winking at the children that come down the hallway, Daddy. I think it’s helping them.”

“Ah, good for you. I’m sure they could use your encouragement.” Sam watches cautiously as her dear daddy folds and stuffs the envelope in his back jean pocket. Then he bends down and lifts her lightly from the chair as if she weighed as little as a puppy. She giggles softly and reaches her pale lips to kiss his gruff cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers in his ear. And before Mr. Canning could repeat it back as he usually does, he glanced at the doctor's somber face behind them before walking around the corner and tapping the elevator button in uncomfortable silence as he cradled his delicate daughter in his arms.

Why won’t he talk to me, Sam asks herself as she watches her daddy drive the car beside the curb and then twist the key to turn off the rumbling engine. With her head resting against the passenger seat, she waits and worries, gazing as Mr. Canning plays with the jingling keys with his fingertips. In the silence of the evening, he sighs and scratches his forehead. Once he looks back up, she sees his eyes twinkling with tears. When they dangle from his lashes, Mr. Canning wipes them hastily with the back of his hand.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asks as her daddy wraps his fingers around the car handle.

“No, dear. I’m just tired, that’s all.” As he pushes the car door slightly open after glancing longingly at the side mirror, Sam fidgets forward and squeezes his arm with all the energy she has. Mr. Canning pauses and peers out the window.

“Am I dying, Daddy?”

Mr. Canning says nothing.

“Please tell me. I won’t be frightened,” Sam begs in loud whispers as she clings to Mr. Canning’s coat with her two bony fingers. Mr. Canning turns around to face his girl. She catches the sparkly sight of the tears that trickle down his rough cheeks in long, wet lines and smiles innocently as she reaches to wipe a tear off his chin. Mr. Canning’s throat twitches.

“Oh, Sammy. You ain’t gonna die. You’re never gonna die. However, there will come a time where you’ll leave me for a little while. God will take ya up where he took your mother that once, and you’ll stay in a purty place where meadows, ponies, butterflies, and flowers reside! You’ll feel better there. You’ll be able to run again and play with other little girls again. And you’ll be free! You’ll be healed, Sammy. And then, when the time comes, I’ll come up there with ya. And we’ll be in the meadows rompin’ around together, you and I, and your mother too. And we’ll all be so happy!” Mr. Canning exclaims as he cradles his daughter’s chin in his big hands. He frowns as more tears ripple down his cheeks.

“That’s like a dream. Oh, please don’t cry. Don’t you want me to see mama again?” Sam asks.

“Sure I do!” Mr. Canning chuckles shakily. “I would give anything to see your mama again.”

“How soon Daddy? How soon am I gonna go?” Sam queries. Mr. Canning hesitates as he gazes steadfastly at his little girl.

“Well,” he starts after a long moment, “Whenever God has your purty place ready.”

“But I’m not ready to go that soon!” Sam cries aloud. Abruptly, a jolt of pain spirals down her spine and she shivers as it pulses through her stomach. After a moan, Mr. Canning clasps her cold hands in his.

“But don’t you want to be healed, Sammy?”

“But I promised mama before she went away that I’d save somebody. I haven’t done that yet, Daddy. I want to save someone before I die. Just one person. I want to save someone so they can save someone else for me.” Mr. Canning smiles down at the dreamy eyes of Sam Canning, which were itching with tears.

“Won’t you tell God I can’t go yet? Won’t you tell him I’ve gotta stay until I save somebody?” Sam coughs.

“But Sammy--”

“Oh, Daddy, please?” She moans again.

Mr. Canning waits until Sam’s eyelids drop in exhaustion. He waits until he can recognize the frailty of human strength that caresses her. And after he waits, after it happens, he wipes his tears with his palm and opens his wet lips to speak.

“Alright Sammy. I’ll tell God to take his time until you save someone. It’s a good thing God has patience, cause I haven’t got the strength to see you suffer.”

A week had passed since Sam told her daddy about her promise to save someone. And each day, since that night, she thought of that promise and tried each day, in every way possible, to achieve her goal. However, each day, her thin self decreases in strength and valor. Her white cheeks cave in and her body thins. Her voice even grows quieter, until she can hardly speak. Yet she persists to accomplish her goal and never ceases that task.

On Tuesday, Mr. Canning, sitting from the dining room chair in the apartment, watches as Sam sketches beautiful pictures on paper for her loved ones, and he worries as her timid fingers etch, slower and shakier, the innocent landscapes and thoughtful words of a sweet-hearted, yet dying little girl. The colorful bracelets tied around her wrists slip and tap against the table as she folds the cards and stuffs them in envelopes, then addresses them. Afterwards, she stacks them in the pile beside her and crosses off the person’s name on her hand-written list. Finally, to conclude the act, she coughs, and drops her head down on her folded arm to rest.

“Sam are you alright?” Mr. Canning asks hastily.

“I--I don’t feel right, Daddy.”

“Let’s get you in bed again, you look terrible.” Sam doesn’t lift her head.

“But I’m not done, Daddy,” she starts in a whisper. “I’ve only done four cards,” she says. Swallow after swallow, the pools of tears scrape down Mr. Canning’s throat as he attempts to hold them back. He walks around the table to Sam and sets his palm on her head.

“Sammy, we need to get you your pills.” He lifts her dead weight gently up from the chair and sets her head on his shoulder before rushing to her room. After laying her gently on her bed and pulling the covers over her skinny limbs, he moves her desk chair to the bedside. Sam only blinks wearily. Filled with worry, Mr. Canning runs to the kitchen, spills the pills on the table before snatching two, and runs back to her room. “Here, these will ease the pain,” he untwists the bottle of water and holds it to her lips with the pills. “C’mon, drink,” he urges. Sam stays still and white, not responding. Then she swallows and parts her dry lips.

“Daddy,” she hardly speaks. Mr. Canning’s brows meet.

“What, darling? What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t drink it down,” she starts. “Daddy, I think I’m dying.”

“No, just drink this. You can’t die yet. C’mon, Sam.” The child lifts her hand and pushes the bottle away.

“No, Daddy. I’m gonna die. I can feel it,” she tells him.

“Sam--”

“Won’t you listen to me? For me, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Canning hesitates as tears flow up to his eyelids. His daughter looks so white, so pale, so transparent almost. He sighs and sets the pills down.

“Alright.” He grabs both her hands in his. “You can tell me anything and I’ll listen.”

Before Sam starts, she weakly blinks, then exhales stiffly, then blinks again.

“I’m gonna die, Daddy, and I haven’t saved anyone yet. I don’t think I will. I promised Mother, and I tried, but I didn’t do it. And I know it’s too late. I’m dying too quickly.” She coughs before starting again. Round tears slip down her face. “I just want you to do it for me. I want you to mail my cards and give flowers to the neighbors and kiss grandma for me. Won’t you do it for me, Daddy?” Mr. Canning stood silent as he reached down and rubbed his hand over her prickly scalp, where few brown, prickly hairs were pointing through. Then he smiled and let long tears fall from his chin too.

“Sam, you’ve done more than you realize. You’ve saved millions of someones, and you don’t even know. Those smiles at the hospital saved each child, brought each one courage. Those flowers to the neighbors made their day; you saved them. Even when you gave compliments to all the persons at the store on Friday, that saved each and every one of them. Even if you don’t receive a “thank you”, nor a speech from them that you DID save them, you’ve done enough by being who you are, and trying. Even the doctor told me how strong you are, and it saved him from worry.” Mr. Canning was crying now, wet streaks were all down his face. Sam wanted to wipe them, but she didn’t, because she was wiping her own.

“Sam, you’ve not only saved the world around you, you saved me. I would have never prayed so much if it weren’t for you. I would have never known there could still be hope and joy in life during trials if it weren’t for you. And you remember this when you leave me, that you SAVED more than just a someone. No matter how small the act, you saved hundreds. And when you’re gone, I will do just the same. And so will the rest of them.”

Only an inch apart, Sam and her daddy weep and grin together through the silence. And there they wait as Sam’s eyes drop slower and slower and her breathing is shakier and shakier. There they continue to gaze at each other until she finally whispers through her still, small voice once more, “I love you Daddy.” Then her fluttering eyes close. Her lashes meet and never open again. And the last exhale easily sweeps from her pale lips, set like a kiss onto her daddy’s face.

When the child’s gone, Mr. Canning only kneels there, staring at his daughter’s tender face as he weeps in the darkness of her room. However, he weeps not in sorrow, but in content as he listens to a distant giggling from a far away distance of a little girl and her mother as they dance and romp through the pleasant meadows of heaven, cheerily sharing their joy of a new life, where illness is vanished, and every someone is saved.

Sending my love and prayers,

Makenzie Monson