The Magic
Paul, Julie's younger brother, was incredibly impatient. He waited outside the room she shared with two other girls, complaining at the door that it was taking her so long to get ready and they were visiting Marsha today and couldn't she hurry it up a bit?
"All right, I'm coming," Julie said at last, stomping her way out the door. She seemed nervous, looking around as though Ciel might appear. But he'd explained that it would be easier not to show himself.
"Are you able to, like… fly then? Or walk through things?" Julie had asked. "Or turn invisible!"
"Only if you say the magic words," Ciel had replied, from where he'd reclined on the edge of her bed, regally, as though he owned it. She'd hesitated, and he'd felt the edges of his mouth curl up. "Come now…" he cajoled, as though this was such a simple thing. "You know them."
"Oh, all right," she had relented at last. "That's an order. Pretty please will you show me?"
So he had.
The miracle was to occur when both her siblings were present, because why not? Consequently, Julie was hardly able to concentrate, or pay any attention to Paul as they rushed down toward the waiting cars.
"Julie Davis!" The sharp voice of the matron at the door rolled out, and a few other girls and boys who had been peeking down the hall all gasped. "What have you done with your hair?"
Julie's footsteps slowed. She looked around wildly, and opened her mouth once, as though waiting for something to come out. Finally, she said, in a small voice, "It's bangs?."
"I can very well see that, but how on earth did you get your hands on scissors? You've been terribly naughty. I should forbid you to visit your sister today."
The desperate tears that filled Julie's eyes weren't feigned, and she gabbled out, "oh please, please let me see her. I'll be good, I promise…"
"Come on Julie," Paul said bravely, and took her by the arm. "We'll be late if we don't go now." He gave one uncomfortable look up at the matron before edging his way out the door, dragging her behind him.
Julie was right about the soft spot the woman held for her, though. Her mouth turned down, but when she watched the two hurry their way into the car, she didn't look angry.
The harsh wheeze of the long, tubular contraption was the first thing one heard when you walked into the room. Up and down went the tiny chest of a small girl with bright eyes, but the only reason it moved was because of the artificial pressure that forced it to. The Iron Lung had saved many lives of those paralyzed by polio, and so it had saved hers. Ciel could see, in that tired but resolute look, that familiar mantra that Marsha must always think, telling her to be brave. And the boredom was agonizing. Her brother and sister were coming today, though, and the unquenchable edge of her smile lit up the room as she chattered to the doctors and nurses about the visit. Will they be here soon? She couldn't wait any longer!
Marsha, it seemed, was not any more patient than Paul.
The reunion must have been heartwarming, the way the doctors smiled in the background as the three siblings talked over one another, and Paul kept jumping up to show Marsha another of the pictures he'd drawn. Whoosh went the Iron Lung, and then whoosh, and whoosh, and whoosh, and… then it stopped.
The sudden silence was awful. Everyone jumped to alertness, the children were crowded away, where was the failure?
"Don't worry," someone thought to tell them, even as they rushed around the contraption.
And then a shriek, from one of the nurses.
"Doctor… look!"
They all turned. What was that, inside the tube? What was moving? That small edge of her hand, scrabbling against the glass. Her chest, rising and falling.
"She's breathing,"
"Oh my God."
"Well, get her out of there, then!"
They dragged the tray out, and Marsha's hands went to her neck, and then fluttered furiously around, as though wondering what had happened. She blinked, and blinked again, and her legs moved. She dragged herself up.
"What's happening?" she said, at last, in a thin, trembling voice.
Julie burst into tears. "You're healed," she said. "Marsha—" she rushed forward, enveloping her five-year-old sister in a crushing hug, and Marsha put her arms around her like a leech, like she would never let go. "You're healed."
.
.
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