The door was open a crack, so I snuck a peek. The girl in bed, maybe about 10, appeared to be watching TV. She was very still, very quiet, very subdued. And I didn’t see a parent or adult in there with her.
Still standing outside the door, I started floating some small bubbles in to get her attention. It wasn’t really working. The air flow kept pushing them back toward the open door, into my face, and out of the room.
I kept trying, higher and lower angles, blowing them to keep them in the room. After a few more bubble streams, I peeked in to see if they’d gotten her attention. They had. She had rolled over on her side, facing the door, arm outstretched to reach the bubbles that got close to the bed.
Rubber chicken Dr. Fowlbreath ducked her head in, checked the girl’s name on the whiteboard, then pulled me in. I sheepishly waved hello; she waved back. I could tell this visit was going to stay quiet.
I introduced Dr. Bear; his bigger bubbles floated better and further. Her smile got bigger, too, with each bubble she reached for and caught. Mom returned with her breakfast, and she was greeted with a bubble bath.
I pulled out a cocktail napkin, saw that she was watching closely, and started making a paper napkin rose.
Up to this point, I’d been using just hushed sounds and my face to communicate. This continued, using different odd sounds – like squeaks, grinds, clicks, and crunches – with each twist and move. That seemed to amuse both of them. Kind of amused myself, too, doing something in a different, funny way.
Finished the rose, she accepted, produced a flower sticker for mama, quiet thank you’s and smiles from both, and with a little wave, we said good-bye. I slipped out quietly, closing the squeaky door behind me.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Still standing outside the door, I started floating some small bubbles in to get her attention. It wasn’t really working. The air flow kept pushing them back toward the open door, into my face, and out of the room.
I kept trying, higher and lower angles, blowing them to keep them in the room. After a few more bubble streams, I peeked in to see if they’d gotten her attention. They had. She had rolled over on her side, facing the door, arm outstretched to reach the bubbles that got close to the bed.
Rubber chicken Dr. Fowlbreath ducked her head in, checked the girl’s name on the whiteboard, then pulled me in. I sheepishly waved hello; she waved back. I could tell this visit was going to stay quiet.
I introduced Dr. Bear; his bigger bubbles floated better and further. Her smile got bigger, too, with each bubble she reached for and caught. Mom returned with her breakfast, and she was greeted with a bubble bath.
I pulled out a cocktail napkin, saw that she was watching closely, and started making a paper napkin rose.
Up to this point, I’d been using just hushed sounds and my face to communicate. This continued, using different odd sounds – like squeaks, grinds, clicks, and crunches – with each twist and move. That seemed to amuse both of them. Kind of amused myself, too, doing something in a different, funny way.
Finished the rose, she accepted, produced a flower sticker for mama, quiet thank you’s and smiles from both, and with a little wave, we said good-bye. I slipped out quietly, closing the squeaky door behind me.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
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