Hourglass

The young doctor reaches into the back of her locker, moving her hand until her fingers hit the spine of a book. Carefully, like a mother might hold an ailing child, she brings the book out into the dim light of the locker room. She runs her fingers over the gold lettering, feeling the crevices in the words, the gentle indents of fingerprints in the cover.

Fingerprints, the woman muses, chuckling,that’s all we are. Fingerprints

With a gentle hand, she peels back the front cover and reads the familiar dedication there.

I thought you might find this interesting, Natalie. Every aspiring doctor should have one. Happy Ninth Birthday!

Auntie Susan, 1981

Lovingly, she flips away hundreds of dog-eared pages until she reaches the last one. This page is covered in stains and smudges but in the very middle there is a second, rapidly scrawled dedication. She reads every word, slowly, carefully, remembering.

The woman wonders why she even bothers to read the dedications anymore. She has both of the memorized, word for word, inflection for inflection. She could recite them to herself whenever she pleased. But there is something about holding the book, just having that history there in her arms to feel, to see, to touch.

With this in mind, the doctor returns the book to the back of the locker and walks out the door and into the hospital hallway, out of the hallway and into the street, the scribbled words of the second dedication playing over and over again in her head.

The night is warm and quiet as she climbs into her car. The soft street lights play over the shiny taxis, sending streams of red and silver into her eyes. Sitting there, in the front seat of her car, amidst car horns and evening traffic, she whispers the words to herself.

Noelle,

I’m so sorry to leave like this. I suppose it’s a bit my fault. I suppose, in a way, it’s everyone’s fault. But I want you to know that I care about you and will always care about you and that you will find other people who feel the same way. Stick to those people, those people who love you. Do the things you love to do. Most of all make your life your own life. Don’t listen to what other people say. Follow your dreams and never once look back at where you came from. Do it for me. Most of all do it for yourself.

Make every single day count.

Amities,
Natalie.

Noelle Fournier feels the little pricks of tears in her eyes, the pricks of remembrance in her heart, the pricks of light in the sky.

Embracing it all, she starts her car and drives down the street, towards home, towards her family, towards her life, the lights of Paris shining all around her.