The girl looked upon the boy with such wonderment that you could believe that she had never seen a person. Sitting up in her bed she shook away cobwebs and faded blankets. Her hair was now long and still a golden shade which contrasted how short they were when she feel asleep. The young man who once stood above now had taken a step back into the hazy light. Bits of dust became visible once you looked in the light streaming from the window. She stood and stepped down the few steps that made the bed higher then the ground floor of the room. Her dress had become to short for her, the buttons had become loose and some had popped from the change in her breast size. The bottom hem of the dress had shortened to her knees when they were once dragging across the once gold shaded tiles. She ran her fingers down her soft cheeks hidden under a layer of dust.
The beauty tried to speak the boy, but only murmurs and jumbled word were released. He gave her a quizzical look and he too tried to speak. His words came out empty and without a sound. He didn’t recognize the silence being taken from his mouth as something odd. So the girl continued to try to reply to his silence, but still the confused scattered language was seething from her lips.
She soon became frustrated, she wished to speak to him so badly, but the differences between them continued to grow. His hair was straight and jet black, his eyes were a deep brown with flakes of gold scattered in the orbs; his eyes opposed to her deep blue eyes with rings of green surrounding the pupil. And his face was structured, very beautiful with an essence of wonder that surrounded him. Silver armor and black chainmail laminated his tanned skin. While his words came out hollow the girl felt as though she understood everything just by how he looked at her.
Despite her uncanny ability to read his words she still seemed unable to speak in a manor she found correct. The boy put his fingers to his lips without a word while she spoke, and then moved them to her soft pink ones. A smile couldn’t help but to slant on her face, He leaned in once more to press a kiss to her lips---
Lydia woke to a young man, his lips pressed to hers’; she sat up with a jolt, holding her chest. The room was unlike the dream. A plain hospital room, the bed with a curtain that swung around attached at the ceiling, a door connecting to the restroom, a grey counter with a sink and cabinets were placed next to the restroom door. The bed was placed against the wall in the center. To her left was a half open window that allowed a stream of morning light through. And to Lydia’s left was a wall made of a windows and a door, there also stood the boy. And while the room was nothing like a royal chamber the boy was the same as the knight that stood in her dream.
He smiled silently at her and waved. Not able to deny a smile, she replied with a confused smile and a slow wave back. The moment of silence between the two was cut short by doctors and nurses who flooded the room. Some tried to question her, while others cheered, and another doctor in the back attempted to quiet the crowd. Her dark blue eyes flashed between the scrubs filled with Charlie Brown characters, simple stripes, and butterflies that the nurses wore. Her attention was to find the beautiful knight. But the room was too full. Several other doctors came to the room and ushered the fans from the overflowing room. Lydia was so confused. Not knowing why these things where happening.
Who was that boy,
Why are all these people so excited,
Why am I here?
These where the major questions flooding her mind; they weren’t answered till the girl’s doctor came in the room and shut the door. The old woman took a seat at the stool and rolled next to Lydia with a warm, comforting, smile placed on her face.
Within the hour Lydia learned of the events that transpired during her slumber. When she was 7 when bus, going 60 mph, hit her as she crossed the cross walk to school. Nearly every inch of her body had snapped in two. Her legs, her arms, her shoulders, her neck, her ribs where shattered, and her back was mangled. But the frail girl had somehow survived the trauma. But no miracle can come to be without a consequence, she had entered a coma and her legs would be useless to her if she woke. The doctors believed fate would never release its grasp from her. But her mother and her father prayed. They prayed for 12 years to the day she had wakened; paying the hefty hospital bill just to keep their little girl alive. The doctor kindly also explained that the boy’s name Arthur. He had been a mute since a baby and was unable to speak. He almost lived in the hospital too, where his cancer ridden grandmother stayed four doors down. And she had been through many years of different cancer treatments and when he couldn’t be with her he would sit in Lydia’s room and write letters and draw pictures for her and put them at the foot of her bed. Hoping maybe one day the sleeping beauty would wake up and he could have a friend. He was also now her age of 19, but still acted as a child so said the doctor.
A few hours passed, the parents of the girl came. They cried and hugged and kissed. But Lydia stayed silent as they told stories of what happened present to her coma. Her mother looked much like her pale skin with long pretty blonde hair. But strands of white had begun to consume the front of her locks and her eyes were brown almost sunken from years of anxiety and lack of sleep. And Lydia’s father was a tall rustic looking man. He carried the genes for her blue eyes which too had sunken from lack of sleep. His skin was fair with rough hands that scratched her soft numb ones as he held them tightly. The nurse ushered her parents out of the room once visiting hours had passed and the girl watched as they all left. Outside her window was the knight who awoke her. He was talking to a nurse, then retreating to a chair in the far corner of the upstairs lobby, just outside her doors.
He was soon joined by Lydia who had crawled into a wheel chair. She looked at him in wonderment and this time a smile met him.
“I remember you,” Her voice was shaky and rough.
He looked at her his eyes widening and his lips turned to a smile.
Her eyebrows furrowed, “But I don’t remember my parents,” she tasted the word parents.
His eyebrows copied hers in thought.
“And… For this moment that doesn’t matter. I wanted to give you this.”
Her hand shakily handed him a folded up paper, his hands steadily held hers and took it. Arthur’s head turned to its side as he opened each fold with care and delicacy. A smile caressed his gentle face once he read it. The words written were:
“Thank you friend”