Most human beings keep at least one puzzle piece of themselves from the rest of the world. For some it is something dark, and ominous. For others it is a simple moment of peace with the world. For Sister Hilda since her days in the war even the peace, and solitude of religious life did not always fulfill a hole deep in her soul longing inner peace. Since girlhood the only cure able to plug the hole was a long aimless walk.
What she's searching for can often be found in the hour before dawn when most are sleeping, even the birds. She has located in the midst of a day on country lane with dirt etched upon her cheeks. On this she sets out as her colleagues climb into their beds. The moon hangs high in the dark black eternity that is the universe.
The days that follow rush, and swirl past her like a high speed train. Work exceeds what feel like limits. Exhaustion rises within her. Late one evening she finds herself perched upon a stool awaiting the sterilization of her tools. Trixie arrives from a delivery, and begins to unpack her bag. Sister Hilda doesn't respond to her half-hearted greeting. Trixie pauses the task at hand, and silently observes Sister Hilda.
The religious sister's head rests atop her fists as her instruments succumb to the heat of the sterilizing process. Her blue eyes are clearly affixed to the steel in front of her. Dark heavy circles accessorize her face. Trixie quietly crosses the room. She stops a few paces from Sister Hilda. She gently taps her elbow.
"I am capable of securing your instruments. It is well past midnight. Perhaps you should retire for the evening."
"I am in no rush," she responds as she avoids eye contact.
Trixie furrows her brow, "I can see that. Are you alright?"
"Just tired," she relents.
"I have exceeded my limits for caffeine today. I am still wired. I find myself fully capable of attending to your instruments in your absence Sister."
"Aye," Sister Hilda reluctantly nods.
A couple of weeks later Trixie is headed back to her room from the lavatory at just past two when she notices light spilling out from Sister Hilda's door. Never one to leave well enough alone she tiptoes to the end of the hall. She quietly opens the door, and finds the Sister tucked beneath her blankets, and a pile of books sound asleep with her lamp on. Trixie examines the texts covering the bed. Some are religious, other are philosophical, and the last is a nursing text. She quietly extinguishes the lamp in the pursuit of a hasty exit. Sister Hilda shifts in her direction knocking some of the texts to the floor.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Trixie apologizes.
"I only hope I am not the one who woke you with my carelessness."
Trixie shakes her head, "Hardly. My bladder interrupted my slumber."
"It seems as if while I'm making my rounds I could go for days without having to attend to my bladder."
Trixie nods in agreement, "But such a vital organ has not received my transmission that I prefer to sleep without its interruption."
"Life is full of interruptions though."
"Since you're not still fully asleep can I ask you a personal question?"
"Has anyone ever been able to stop you, Trixie?"
"Not to the best of my recollection."
"Proceed," Sister Hilda nods.
"Are you in the midst of an existential crisis?"
"Why do you inquire?"
"The assortment of reading material which you are seemingly buried beneath."
"We are all buried beneath something, Trixie."
"I only ask because you have been particularly distant and withdrawn lately. I am growing concerned. Perhaps a crisis of faith? Then again, your reading list seems to suggest something with more breadth than just a crisis of faith. You don't owe me an answer. I am available if I can be of assistance."
"Good night Trixie. I appreciate your concern."
Night turns into day, and it just so happens that Trixie, and Sister Hilda are the last one to be on rotation. The pair of them silently clean, organize, and inventory. Trixie's mind wanders relentlessly as she returns the mop to its resting place.
"Sister Hilda," Trixie ruptures the unbearable silence.
"Yes?" Her head tilts upwards from the clipboard within her grip.
"Can you please dissuade me from being overwhelmingly concerned about you?"
"I'm as right as rain, Trixie," she plasters on a heavily feigned smile.
"I wish that I could believe that. I desperately want to," Trixie responds as she takes a few paces towards Sister Hilda.
The nun sighs heavily, "As do I."