A Little Luck

This girl is lovely. She is kind and beautiful and sick. She is from Egypt and hasn't been home in over a year. The first time I met her I spoke slowly and loudly, knowing that doesn't make my English any more Arabic, but at a loss of what else to do. She let me finish, patiently, and responded in plain, quiet English, her cheeks briefly blushing soft pink where a nauseated pale green would soon take over. I spent months with this girl and her mother, both so far away from home. I happened to vacation to Egypt, where I couldn't help but think of my patient. I brought her a small purple bracelet I found in a bazaar in Cairo. A beetle bracelet. It's meant to bring luck. I knock softly on her door, and head to her bed. Her eyes are shut tight, blocking out the world as best they can. I whisper her name and she opens her eyes to let me in. She smiles and winces. I tell her where I've been and place the bracelet in her hand. She doesn't move for a minute. And then she does. She pulls herself up to sit. Her face lights up and her eyes fill with tears. She hugs me with all the strength she has. The sores on her tongue make it hard for her to speak, but she mouths Thank You to me and she doesn't need to say another word. She holds out her wrist, and I slip the bracelet on. She runs her fingers over the little beetle stone. Luck, she says, and looks to me.