“It’s fine, I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and come straight over to me. How are you, my dear?”
“I’m well, thank you. I was wondering, should I call you Mrs. Davenport, or Dr. Davenport?” She was the chairwoman after all, and she was wearing a white coat.
“Whichever makes you more comfortable. Please, let me show you where I would like the mural.” She turned to lead the way.
I followed, closing the distance as we walked. I found my eyes shifting from the nurses, doctors, and patients, to the floors and walls, the different blues, whites, and grays.
Like Eli’s apartment. I snickered at that. I was right; he had set up his apartment to match the hospital. I wonder if he even realized it. Why do I care?
“Guinevere, did you hear me?”
Crap. “No, I’m sorry, what were you saying? And please, call me Gwen.”
Nodding, she repeated herself. “I asked, have you thought of anything to put up? Or done a mural before?”
“Yes, I have done a few, but never for a hospital. My first work was painting a mural at my high school; I think it is still up. I probably won’t know what to paint for a while, and my ideas might even change, unless you have thought of something?”
“Sadly, no.” She frowned, crossing her arms as we stopped before a large black and white wall with the hospital logo hanging on it. “For years, I’ve walked past here always feeling like something is missing. It’s so cold, but I can never think of what should be here instead. So if you have any ideas at all, I’ll leave it up to you.”
Having a client tell you to 'do whatever' was both an artist's dream and worst nightmare. Yes, it gave me creative freedom, but what if they hated it? Stepping forward, I ran my hands across the wall before looking up.
“Is it too big? You don’t have to cover the whole wall—”
“No, it’s fine. I think I can manage, but I will really have to think about this for a couple of days and sketch. And I have two requests.”
“Okay.”
“The first: do you mind if I walk around the hospital for a while, just to get ideas? I’ll do my best to stay out of everyone's way. I usually take photos, but I realize that might be a problem here.”
She thought for a moment before nodding. “That's fine, but please be mindful. And your second request?”
“Would it be possible for me to put up a sheet or something?”
Her eyebrows furrowed together. “A sheet?”
“When I start working, I prefer if people aren't watching me, and it helps to keep people back. Oftentimes, people are tempted to touch. I have no idea why, but they are.” And it drove me insane.
“Yes, that’s fine. When can you start?”
“Tomorrow, but for now I will just measure and think.” I pulled out my sketchpad.
“Well, please let me know if you need anything, all right? You have my number, and I’ll be walking around—”
“She means spying.”
We both turned toward Eli as he approached in his dark blue scrubs and white coat. He handed a cup of what smelled like tea to his mother before drinking from the other one he held.
“I would never spy—”
“Oh please, you hate surprises. I bet she will be down here every other day, trying to get a peek at what you're doing.”
“Your lack of faith in me hurts.” She frowned, facing me. “I might come down sometimes, but I won’t say a thing—”
“You’ll just feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of your head—ouch.” He stopped when she grabbed his arm.
“I’m going to go before I harm one of my most precious doctors. Thank you again, Gwen.”
“I still don’t think we need a mural!” he called as her heels clicked down the hospital hallway.
“You think of your patients, I’ll worry about the hospital.” She waved, but didn’t turn back as she drank her beverage.
He shook his head. “She didn’t even say thank you for the tea.”
“Do mothers really ever have to say thank you?” My mother's comeback was always that she deserved it for giving birth to me.
“Do a decent—” He stopped when his beeper went off. Grabbing it, his eyes widened, then he took off running. It wasn’t just him. All the doctors around me were paged, one by one, and each ran off in the same direction as Eli.
It was hard not to panic at a sight like that. Part of me wanted to leave, but another part of me, the part controlling my feet, slowly walked down the dark blue line they had run along, gripping my bag as I went.
At the end of the blue line I saw “ER” written above the entrance. Staying toward the corner, I watched as men, women, and small children were rolled in by paramedics.