Precious Moments

I open my eyes. A perfect blue sky overhead, soft spring grass beneath me, bright sunlight warming my body. A wonderful day. I reach my arms up over my head, spreading my fingers out, pressing up with my palms as if I could push the sky away from me. I breathe in and fill my lungs with flowers and dew drops and trees. I lower my arms to the soft, damp grass, palms down, feeling the earth beneath my fingers, getting under my nails, becoming a part of me. I hear bees buzzing around, collecting their livelihood.

I’m in a small meadow surrounded by the trees of a forest. I can hear the babble of a stream not too far off.

Slowly, savoring every movement, I lift myself onto my feet, and stretch out my limbs, stiff from lying still for so long. My toes curl into the dirt, relishing the earthy, spongy feel.

I look down at my feet, so white from being indoors so long, imperceptibly twitching against the perfect green grass. I smile. I breathe in. I run. Each step is a precious, exhilarating feeling. The thud of my feet, the wind in my face, the ground beneath me—so absolutely perfect that I don’t stop until I’m breathless.

I look around me again and notice that the sun has been obscured by clouds. What I had thought was the babble of a stream now sounds more like a drip, drip, drip, constant, incessant, maddening. The bees don’t seem to buzz, buzz, buzz anymore, but beep, beep, beep instead. The sky is becoming even darker, like a storm is gathering. I’m scared now, it’s dark, so dark, and I can hear the drip and the beep and it makes me want to—

I open my eyes. Perfect whiteness overhead, starched linen beneath me, glaring fluorescent light on my face. An ordinary day. I breathe in and my lungs fill with antiseptic and tears. Slowly, painfully, wishing with all my heart that I could do more, I turn my face to the side and look past the multiple drip bags and various machines and stare longingly out the window, as I have for the past three years of my life.