Hear the Wind Sing

37

Hey, how’s it going? This is Radio NEB’s Pop Music Requests. Saturday night has come around once again. For the next two hours, we’ve got lots of great music for you to listen to. By the way, summer is drawing to a close. How was it? Did you have a good summer?

Today, before I start playing records, I’d like to tell you about this letter I received. I’d like to read it for you. Here’s the letter:

How are you?

I enjoy listening to your program every week. Time goes by quickly; this fall will mark my third year of living in this hospital.

Time really does go by before you know it. Of course, gazing at a little bit of the scenery from the window of my air-conditioned hospital room, the change of the seasons holds little meaning for me, but still, when one season ends, another comes calling, and that really does make my heart dance.

I’m seventeen now, for these last three years I’ve been unable to read a book, unable to watch television, unable to walk…no, I’m unable to rise from bed, and it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even shift the positions in my sleep. My sister, visiting me, is the one kind enough to write this letter for me. She stopped going to college so she could look after me. Of course, I’m incredibly grateful to her. What I’ve learned during my three years of lying in this hospital bed is that even from whatever miserable experience you might have, there is something to be learned, and it’s because of this that I can find the will to keep on living.

My illness appears to be related to nerve damage in my spinal cord. It’s a terribly debilitating disease, but there is, of course, a chance of recovery. It might only be three percent…but my doctor (a wonderful person) gave me an example illustrating the rate of recovery from my illness. The way he explained it, the odds are longer than a pitcher throwing a no-hit, no-run game against the Giants, but not quite as unlikely as a complete shutout.

Sometimes, when I think I’m never going to recover, I get really scared. So scared I want to scream out.

I feel like I’m going to spend my whole life like this, like a stone, lying on my back staring at the ceiling, unable to read a book, unable to walk in the wind, unable to be loved by anyone, growing old here for decades and decades, and then die here quietly, I think of this and I just can’t stand it and I get so sad. When I wake up at 3am in the middle of the night, I feel like I can hear the bones in my spine dissolving. In reality, that’s probably what’s happening. I won’t say any more about that unpleasant business. So, like my sister coming here every day, hundreds of times over, to encourage me, I’m going to try to only think positive thoughts. And I’ll be able to fall sound asleep at night. Because the worst thoughts usually strike in the dead of night. From my hospital window, I can see the harbor. Every morning, I get out of bed and walk to the harbor and take deep breaths of the ocean air…at least, I imagine that I do. If I could do this just once, just one time, I think I could understand what the world is all about. I believe that. And if I could comprehend just that little bit, I think I’d even be able to endure spending the rest of my life in this bed. Goodbye. Take care.

The letter is unsigned.

It was yesterday, a little after 3pm, when I received this letter. I was sitting in the break room, reading it as I drank coffee, and when my work finished in the evening, I walked down to the harbor, looking up towards the mountains. If you can see the harbor from your hospital room, I expect I can see your hospital room from the harbor. I could see quite a few lights when I looked at the mountains. Of course, I have no idea which of the lights was your hospital room. One thing I saw was the lights of a rundownlooking house, and I could also see the lights of a big mansion. There were hotels, schools, also company buildings. Really just many different kinds of people living their various lives, I thought. It was the first time I’d really thought about it like that. Thinking that, I burst out in tears. It was the first time I’d cried in a really long time. But hey, it’s okay, I wasn’t crying because I felt sorry for you. What I want to say is this. I’m only going to say it once, so listen up: I love all of you.

Ten years from now, this show and the records I played, and me, if you still remember all this, remember what I told you just now.

I’ll play the song she requested. Elvis Presley’s Good Luck Charm.

After this song, we’ve got one hour and fifty minutes left, and we’ll go back to the same old lowbrow comedy routine we always do. Thank you for listening.