Saved By Lily

Saved by Lily

One fine morning, I was sitting in Peanut Park. The elm

trees were waving their hands, the white patches were

beautifully sprinkled on the grass and nature’s perfume was

scattered in every direction. There were lots of people around.

I watched kids playing hide-and-seek, people buying

ice-creams, birds swimming in the sky and all the other

wonderful things. A blanket of blissfulness clouded the park, but, for some reason, nothing made me happy. A dark cloud was hovering above me. My hair was in a

dismal state, the tie hung like a corpse and the shirt bathed in

sweat. My boss fired me that day because I dashed out of the

company without his consent. I told him that the doctor had

called me immediately as my mother’s condition was

deteriorating, but he didn’t listen. I lost the only job I had. So I

thought of visiting Peanut Park to refresh my mood, and not

to think of the loss. In the evening, I returned home.

I got a call an hour later. The screen showed James on it, ‘Will Parker speaking!’

‘Hey Will,’ James spoke in a weak voice, ‘did you get the

news?’

‘What news?’ I asked, a heavy weight sinking in my heart.

‘Will,’ he spoke, ‘see, um…your mother is…no more.’ My phone slipped from my hand.

‘Hello…hello!’ I could hear. ‘Are you okay, Will?’

That news left me speechless. My heart skipped a beat. I

felt my lungs choke; I wasn’t able to breathe properly. It was

too heavy for my ears. The only way to climb out of pain was

death. My mother? How is it possible? No! She can’t die. I

met her few hours ago, and she talked to me perfectly well. She is strong enough to recover. I fell on the floor. My legs

went limb. My face went shocking red. My face crumpled. I

had no sense of anything at that time. Nothing mattered in life. Was it the end? I walked straight to the dining hall and kicked

the chairs, the table and everything I could lay my hands on. I

screamed like anything. I was too disturbed. And one

question kept crawling in my mind, ‘She can’t die! How is that

even possible?’ That day, I had been attacked twice. Firstly, when I was fired. Secondly, when my mother died. This

happened so quick that I didn’t get time to think; think of

anything. Of the two, the greatest shock was of my mother. The next day, my mum arrived. I could no longer call her, I

could no longer tell her how broke I was; she lay motionless

yet peacefully in the coffin. She was going away from me

without her goodbye kiss. After the funeral procession, I

stood there, waiting for some miracle to happen. How I

wished I could deal with Death and have my mother in lieu of

my soul! I stared at her grave for a long time, so long that my

eyes turned red. My eyes became blurry. At that moment, an

idea struck my mind. I spent most of my life with mother, so

why not follow her to the grave. Then, there would be no boss, no job, no worry…just me and my mother. It was the best

option I could think of.

‘I am coming, Mum.’ Saying this, I left her grave, and the

graveyard. It was raining heavily, but not heavier than my

pain. I headed straight for Bernard’s Hill. The hill was near a

hospital. As I approached the end of the hill, I felt light. After I

jump from there, I would be away from the world, no one cares, I would be relieved of the pain and, most importantly, I

would meet my mother. When I looked down the ledge, I saw

a road occupied with moving vehicles. There was no turning

back. My decision was final. But then, I heard a sweet voice,

just like my mother’s. That voice seemed so sweet that I

turned back the moment I heard. And I saw a girl standing

there with an umbrella, smiling at me.

‘Uncle,’ she said, ‘what are you doing over there? Come

under my umbrella before you get wet.’ I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say her that I was

about to jump. Something got into me, and I rushed towards

her. Her voice resembled my mother’s, so I thought of

listening to her before I die.

I couldn’t see her face when she held my hand and led me

under the hospital’s roof. When light threw on us, I saw her. She was hairless. She told me to wait there while she fetched

something for me. When she returned, I saw a cup in her

hand.

‘Here,’ she offered, ‘you’ll feel better.’

‘Thanks,’ I forced a smile, ‘if you don’t mind, can you tell

me why your hair—’

‘Oh,’ she spoke, ‘the doctors say that I have cancer.’ Her words shook me from within. She was a beautiful child;

her parents must be worried about her cancer.

‘How are your parents doing?’ I sipped the coffee.

‘My parents’ she replied, looking away, ‘are dead. Well, I

never saw them.’

‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘I recently lost my mum.’

‘Is that so?’ she looked straight into my eyes, ‘Losing your

mother must have been painful, right?’ For the first time, I felt like talking. That moment taught me

that sorrow lightens when shared.

‘Yeah,’ I sipped another.

‘How you feeling?’ she asked.

‘I’m feeling, um…’ I said, ‘good.’

‘Would you like to see my sketches?’ she changed the

subject to cheer me up.

‘Yeah…sure,’ I said, nodding, ‘why not?’ She came a minute later.

‘Wow!’ I complimented. ‘These are mind-blowing sketches!

How old are you?’

‘Thank you!’ she ginned. ‘I’m thirteen.’

‘Really, I should say,’ I commented, ‘these are too beautiful!

At such a young age, you’ve got a real talent!’

‘Is it so?’ she covered her face with her hands. ‘Thank you

so much, Uncle!’

‘Lily!’ a voice came from the other end of the hall.

‘Oh no!’ she whispered. ‘Miss Margaret’s here. Now, you

go…will you come tomorrow? Do you know little-finger hug?’

‘No.’ I said. She held my hand, made a fist except for the little finger

and she locked her little finger with mine.

‘Promise?’ she asked smiling.

‘Promise.’ I said.

‘Your name?’ she asked.

‘Will.’ I replied.

‘See you tomorrow, Uncle Will!’ She waved goodbye and

out of sight.

I had walked straight into the mouth of death, but this

angel saved me. I was confused and happy at the same time. She was fighting off cancer; a deadly disease yet there was a

hint of happiness in her voice and a sheen of love in her eyes.

I wondered if she knew that she had shortage of time. And

there I was, acting like a fool. I headed back home. I thought

it was all over before meeting Lily, but she taught me to be

strong. Her face swam in my eyes. Such an optimistic girl!

Whenever I thought of committing suicide, her smile blocked

my thoughts. Then, sprouts of optimism shot in my mind. I

could turn a new leaf; I had strings of opportunities waiting for

me. The thought of suicides died slowly and I started to feel

the present; I was able to observe my surroundings. And finally, the next morning, I completely forgot about my lost

job.

I drove to my mom’s grave, said my prayers and headed

for Bernard’s Hill. I thought of Lily. I was the happiest that day.

‘Excuse me!’ I said to the receptionist.

‘Good morning!’ she replied, ‘How can I help you, sir?’

‘I want to meet Lily.’ I said. The receptionist broke eye-contact, but luckily, I caught her

eyes.

‘What happened, Miss? I asked. ‘Are you crying?’

‘Lily…’ she said, catching for breath, ‘she is no more. She

passed away this morning…ar-around six.’

‘What!’ I cried. ‘No.’ It was a great shock to me. For a moment or two, I gaped

at her. I couldn’t accept it. I asked her where she was. But the

receptionist said nothing and led me behind the hospital. She

stopped near a small grave which read ‘Lily-Little Artist’.

I fell on my knees. For few moments, I thought it was a

dream, but then I realised it wasn’t. She really left me; the

one who changed my life.

I hugged her grave and cried. I felt her standing just beside

me. Her voice echoed in my ears, and face swam in my

tears.

‘Lily!’ I cried. ‘Come back! How can you leave me? I love

your drawings Love you, my child!’ The receptionist had quite a struggle lifting me up. I had

been shaken completely; broken from within. After I drank

water, she gave me a diary and a painting.

‘Lily wanted to surprise you,’ she said, ‘she drew many

sketches, b-but her best sketch is the one you are holding.’ I quickly unwrapped it and gasped at what I saw. I ran my

fingers over the sketch. She drew my sketch, and it was a

smiling face. When I opened the diary, her recent entry was

as follows:

‘Dear Diary

Today, I met Uncle Will. He is a good person. I served him

coffee, although many of my friends disliked it, he loved it. And I showed him my sketches. He complimented. Very

sweet uncle! And do you know what! He has promised me to

meet tomorrow. I will surprise him with his own sketch. I bet

he will be more than happy. :)

Your Friend

Lily’

 I took the sketch and her diary with me. To this day, whenever

I leave for work, I always look at my sketch and Lily’s diary. They happen to give me energy. Love you, Lily! You will

always be in my heart.