The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

I ease out of bed one leg at a time, freezing at every creak of the floor to listen for a change in Samantha’s breathing, but she doesn’t stir. Tiptoeing across the dark room and getting dressed takes forever, my fingers fumbling in the shadows, though after a long evening in skirts, my t-shirt and capris feel wonderfully light. I find notepaper on her desk and write a goodbye note, choosing my words carefully so I don’t wake her:

I set the note on Samantha’s nightstand and slip into the hallway, guilt creeping in as I reach for my locket. Samantha was so good to me at the doctor’s office, brave when I couldn’t be. I wish I had her courage. Taking one last look around the quiet house, I snap the locket open.

The impact comes soft and welcoming, and I open my eyes back in the room I share with Gracie. It feels like days have passed, but the clock still reads 3:52, my cell phone resting quietly beside it on the nightstand.

I call Mom right away at work, and my heart leaps at her voice. When she asks what’s wrong, I say nothing, just wondering if I’ve ever had chicken pox. She hesitates, then says no, I was vaccinated as a baby, nothing to worry about.

Vaccinated. Relief washes over the fear I’d been carrying. I’m safe. I think of all the shots I’ve dreaded over the years without ever really thinking about what they did, and then of that little girl and her brother, blistered head to toe. Will children in Samantha’s time get vaccines eventually? Maybe someday, with more women doctors giving them, too. Will she be one? Either way, I know she’ll find a way to help people, just like she helped me today.