That Thing Between Eli & Gwen

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Shave, eat, sleep, talk to your girlfriend.”

“You know—”

“Of course I know. Just because I’m your mother doesn’t mean I’m blind. I could tell the moment it changed and you two weren’t pretending to fight anymore. Have you spoken to her since?”

I said nothing.

“So for all you know, she might not even be your girlfriend any more.”

I sighed, not really wanting to have this conversation.

“Did you know she was done with her mural? I’m heading to see it now. Or did you forget that the world keeps spinning, even when you stop?” She opened the door. “You coming or not?”

“I’m coming,” I muttered, holding the door for her to walk out. In all honesty, I hadn’t realized Guinevere was done. She had kept trying to meet up with me, talk with me, but I’d pushed her away. I wasn’t ready to feel better yet.

“Well, isn’t this a production,” my mother said, glancing around at the doctors, nurses, a few well-enough patients, and even some press.

Guinevere stood in front of them, gripping her hands together tightly, her nervous habit. She had changed into a simple pink skirt and black v-neck shirt, her hair pulled into a braid on one side.

She looked cute. She had put in a lot of effort, even wearing makeup. When she saw my mom she nodded to herself, and then her eyes shifted to me and she smiled before facing the rest of the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming. For many of you, I know the chairwoman didn’t really give you a choice,” she said, getting a few laughs.

My mother only crossed her arms, eying those who laughed.

“When she first asked me to paint this mural, I honestly had no idea where to begin. So, I wandered the halls of the hospital, sometimes noticed, but for the most part not so much, because everyone had eyes only for the patients. And being doctors, isn’t that what you want? In the weeks I’ve been here, many have gone, sometimes happily and sometimes on sad terms. The people who remained no matter what were the doctors. I hope this serves as a reminder of the promise you all have made, and how thankful we are for it.” She spun around, nodding to the people above the curtain.

It came down in one swift motion and left us all speechless. She had drawn patients at different points on the wall with the background of a park, the older ones in wheel chairs and another with a cane resting on a park bench, teenagers listening to music, parents holding their children, all of them coming from the far distance. At the corner of it all, from top to bottom, was the Hippocratic Oath, which explained why she had needed my textbook. My mother, myself, and the rest of us could not help but read again:

“I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant: I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are require

d, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism. I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug. I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery. I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God. I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick. I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure. I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm. If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.”

“Thank you all for allowing me into your hospital, and thank you to the students and the NYU art department for your help; I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said to them as we all clapped.

My mother walked over, wrapping her arms around her. People called to her for photos and press work. The more her attention was divided, the more jealous I became, because they all had the chance to congratulate her and shake her hand before me. She was amazing and talented and beautiful, and I just wanted to hold her and tell her that.

“You aren’t thinking about walking through the crowd and kissing her, right?” Ian came over to me, pulling off his K-POP scrub cap.

“And if I was?” He looked back toward me like he was impressed, even leaning back.

“Welcome back, Dr. Davenport. I wasn’t expecting you to return from the dark side for another few days. I guess all you needed was a GP boost.”

“A GP boost?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know whose initials those are. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to go take a selfie in front of the mural.” He smiled, walking past me.

“You're an idiot.”

“You love me anyway!” He put up a peace sign as he walked.

Shaking my head at him, I stayed in my spot. I would wait until the crowd was gone and the excitement went down, and then I would go to her. For the moment, I was more than happy to just watch her shine.

Guinevere

I felt like I had been smiling and getting blinded by flashes forever, but watching a few patients take photos in front of the mural made up for it all. I sat down, staring up at it, practically amazed with it myself. Not really the painting, but with the oath on it. I felt like whoever read it would really believe in the love affair between art and science. Both were in each other, really.

“Is this seat taken?”