We had both gone swimming that day in the little wading pool in Greenside Park. Well, we were really too little to learn how to swim yet, but we thrashed our feet and walked our hands across the bottom, and it was practically the same as swimming. Later, Mother feared it was the cold water that caused the misery that followed.
A few days later, Vicki came down with a cold. At least everyone thought that’s what it was. But it turned out to be something else.
Vicki was my younger sister, but not half as good as me. I was seven years old and very grown up. My sister was only five and she couldn’t even clean her side of the room right. I divided our room with a piece of yarn laid across the carpet, and I was only responsible for my half. I made my own bed every day. And I carefully cleared off my desk, making sure that I dusted off my fake red telephone which had a secret penny-bank inside. I vacuumed my side only, right up to the yarn.
Vicki’s side was always a mess. She didn’t have a desk, but she did have a little baby carriage over in one corner that was filled with her three favorite dolls. I didn’t like her dolls at all. In fact, her favorite one looked the worst. Its neck was broken, so you had to keep snapping the head down to make it stay. She’d no sooner put it to bed, when pop! Just like that the doll would be in two pieces, the head resting about two inches above the rest of the body. But she never cared. She’d just snap it back together again.
She called it Krista, and it didn’t even have hair. She kept the same old dress on it day after day until it turned a kind of dirty gray color. I offered to wash the dress once, but I no sooner removed it from the doll when she screamed and called Mother, claiming I was making Krista sick by taking off all her clothes.
When Mother showed up, she took one look at the mess on Vicki’s side of the room, and the subject of the doll was dropped. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Vicki! Look how messy everything is. And look how neat Terrill’s side is. And she always hangs up her clothes without having to be told.”
When she left, I stuck my nose up in the air and said, “Ha! Serves you right!” But Vicki just ignored me and tried to pop Krista’s head back in.
But then everything changed. Her crying woke me up one morning, and I found her halfway to the door on her hands and knees. She said she had to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t figure out why she just wouldn’t stand up and walk normally. Leaning over her, I put my arms around her waist and tried to lift her, but she was too heavy for me.
I got really scared, then, and I ran downstairs to tell Mother about it. I was crying and so scared I could hardly explain, but I think she knew something was very wrong, because she ran upstairs without waiting for me to finish.
After that, my memory isn’t real clear. I remember walking into our bedroom and seeing a doctor bending over her. He looked worried and Mom’s eyes were all red from crying. I was so frightened.
Mom and Dad took Vicki to the hospital that same day. They wouldn’t let me come with them, and that made me feel bad. If I had gone with them, I would have held her and somehow said something to her that would make her feel better.
I was sent to the neighbor’s house instead.
Later, after dinner, Mom had a talk with me. She told me that Vicki had Polio. I asked her what that was and she told me it was a terrible sickness that might mean that Vicki would never walk again. Then she started crying and Daddy had to come in and comfort her. I ran out of the house and down the street, trying to make the black, crawly thing in my stomach go away.
I never again asked what “Polio” meant. I was too afraid of the answer.
I tried to make it up to Mom for the awful sadness that seemed to be closing in on us. I offered to wash the dishes after dinner one night, and she whispered “yes” without even looking at me. She didn’t remember, I guess, that she never taught me how to wash dishes. The sink was too high. I needed something to stand on, I guess.
Another time, I stayed in my room the whole day. I took away the yarn that divided our room, and I vacuumed both sides. I took fresh sheets from the linen closet and made her bed up real nice. Then I cleaned out her doll buggy and cleaned all the doll blankets. And Krista’s dress. And I put some paste on Krista’s neck to help keep her head from falling off.
Then I discussed the problem with God. I told Him that if He would make Vicki well again, I’d stop making fun of her dolls. I even promised not to divide our room with yarn anymore.
I think it was the yarn promise that convinced God I’d changed. Because after that, Vicki started to get better.
The next time we went to the hospital to visit her, the nurse told us she was in the therapy pool. We walked down the long corridor and into a big room with an inside swimming pool. I saw Vicki in the pool, hanging on to the edge, wile a lady in the pool worked her legs up and down slowly. Bright, colorful patterns of light played up and down the walls and ceiling. I couldn’t take my eyes off the shiny flickers.
Vicki looked excited to see me. When she saw me watching the flickers of light, she motioned me over to the edge of the pool. I looked at Mother, and she nodded an okay to me. I went over to the edge and sat down, trying to avoid all the little puddles of water.
Vicki grabbed hold of my hand. “See all the lights on the walls and ceiling?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Do you know what they are?”
I shook my head, mesmerized by her shining eyes.
She motioned for me to bend over towards her so she could whisper in my ear. While the doctor lady held her legs, Vicki hoisted herself up a bit and whispered, “My nurse says they’re my own special angels who have come to make me well. Look how many there are!”
I looked around, stunned. There must have been hundreds of shimmering angel wings all over the walls and ceiling. “Oh, Vicki,” I whispered, “God sent all these angels just for you? Now I know you’ll get well.”
She nodded solemnly, her eyes shining with expected victory.
Within a year she was walking again.
Editor's Note: This is a chapter from an up and coming book by Terrill Smith titled
Feathers on my Path. The excerpt from the book is titled "The Yarn Story". The book should be published in the fall of 2010. Terrill Smith is 69 yrs. old, and the author of a book for Middle School and High School teachers titled
Motivating the Bad Attitude Kids.