Scars of The Past

The playful morning wind had whispered secrets of freshness as it raffled my hair, the cool dawns, breath,and sweet swept across the land as usual. My heart was filled with different thoughts before stepping into the hospital. I smiled, faintly, while drinking my coffee gently. It is a warm and refreshing chill on my skin. It's going to be a long day at work, my scary time. The quiet hour before my rush. The email messages, response to emergency calls. The clatter of the keyboard, attending to patients and working on new research. I hadn't even dropped my bag yet when the call came through. The man was dying. The automatic door slammed open. A gurney burst through, rattling under the weight of a blooded old man. He looked pale, and his right hand twitched uncontrollably. My pulse quickened as I ran down the hallway. The fresh morning air I had just breathed on my balcony sweet, beautiful, hopeful, still clung to my coat, but in a blink, it vanished, replaced with fluorescent lights, antiseptic burn, and chemicals. The ER door burst open. The male, in his sixties, was found unresponsive. Scalp torn, breath irregular. “ He’s lost a lot of blood.”One paramedic shouted. The man lay still. Too still. My expressions were focused, but there would always be a calm before the storm. But my breath cut into my throat when I saw him. He didn’t belong here. I knew him. Not because he was always sitting near the closed bakery store at the corner of my street. He always sat there, hunched on that rusted bench. Just before the train station. “Elena,” I called her name, whispering. “That’s the old man from my street.” She looked astonished. Saying: “He was supposed to come yesterday for his check-up routine. But he didn't show up. There was no call, no cancellation, just silence. Elena said. My stomach dropped. “Vitals are crashing!” a nurse yelled. I moved forward, slipping on my gloves with fingers that didn't feel like mine. He was there. Always every morning without fail. Smiling. A quiet smile that makes one feel as if he knows me. His eyes would always follow me with an observance that weighed, like my work of movement has a song he knows by heart. “Elena,” I barked. “Get me a Neuro kit, alert Radiology and ICU page. I want this man scanned now,” I yelled. And then I saw it. Tucked under the collar of his torn white shirt. A folded slip of paper, soaked halfway with blood but could be seen very well. I pulled it out with trembling fingers. A pencil sketch. of me. My fingers went numb, breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. Why? How..? Why did he have this? I thought he was just another lost soul in the city. Then I remembered. Yesterday. I had fallen clumsy, on a sidewalk c***k, my ankle twisted. I hit the ground hard, a slight bruise and scraped palm. He was just there, watching. “Seriously?” I snapped, catching his gaze. “You’re not going to even apologize?” There was silence for a few minutes. The echo of my footsteps was the only thing hanging between us. Then, softly, he smiled. He spoke. His voice was brittle, broken by time, but certain. “You sound just like her.” I froze. The man's words hung in the air. I stepped back to create space between us,and stood still. He smiled, again, softly looking away while parting his lips in silence. I got confused and decided to ask him what he meant. Then before I could, A low sound whistle sliced through the air from a far distance. The train. We both heard and turned towards the direction and just immediately my phone rang. I swallowed hard without saying a word and left. And now, here he was. Bleeding. Dying. And now my patient. “Doctor”, Elena's voice gently brought me back from my thoughts.She handed the CT scan on a tablet. “You need to see this.” I took it half, bracing myself. But nothing could have prepared me. The image showed massive internal bleeding. I zoomed in well. And kept on reviewing the procedure and traced the problem. “Elena!” I barked. Every team should get ready now. Nothing more matters to me at the moment after seeing the test result. Rather than just getting myself ready for war. We wheeled him out of radiology. His vitals flickered, his heart rate was erratic. I held his hands as the anesthesia rolled him into the ICU. The sketch was still in my hands. I held it like it carried every memory. I was too afraid to let it go. He stirred, eyes opened slightly. “Sir” …I moved closer. “Can you hear me? You're safe now.” His gaze found mine. Eyes dimmed with pain. Looking straight at me. And smiled. That same soft smile. The one I saw every morning. “She told me….. “He grasped. “If I ever saw you… I should protect you.” My throat tightened. “Who told you?” I asked in a tiny voice. But there was no response. Just silence His eyes drifted….. And closed.