And Nothing More

* * *

It was odd to him, after a time, that Ellen Shaw hadn't come to visit, and he wondered about this. They must know that she had saved him, must know that she was a hero. But as days passed, each so much like the one before, each so filled with weakness, she never came.

He wanted to thank her, first and foremost. Elvis had told him he should but more than this his heart told him to. And as well, he wanted to tell her what The King had said, that she had a good soul and that she had committed no sin, that her interests in boys and makeup were normal and healthy.

Healthy. How much time do we as Christians talk about what is healthy? So much time we spend on what is sinful, on correcting sin. Why?

He didn't know.

He asked about Ellen one day. It was with Annie, who was by his bed so much.

"What about her?" his wife asked.

He spoke slowly. "How is she?"

Annie shrugged. "I have no idea. What does it matter?"

"I'd like ... to see her."

"You should concentrate on getting better, Eric."

Sleep had come after this, and then therapy, and time with his doctor and talk over and over about the future. His father at some point appeared, and his mother, the former telling him to be tough and the latter looking like she had aged a decade.

And still it came back to Ellen Shaw. Annie didn't understand, so he asked a nurse.

"The girl who they brought in with you? We haven't seen her."

This nurse made way for another nurse, and then another, until finally it was a heavyset black woman.

"I remember her," this nurse said. "She was in shock, poor thing. Her father came and picked her up. You mean she hasn't been by to see you?"

Eric shook his head.

"Now that is odd. You ask me, that girl deserves a medal. Made the 911 call, then had the sense to try CPR instead of panicking. Ellen, that was her name, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll tell you what, Reverend. I'll see if I can't find her for you and bring her in to see you."

"Thank you," Eric said.