Saving Elijah

woman said softly. "We call her Maggie."
    "Elijah," I said.
    My son sat down next to Maggie and opened his book.
    The little girl smiled, widening her chipmunk cheeks. "Do you want me to read that to you?" Her voice was barely audible, and scratchy.
    Elijah nodded.
    She took the book. "What happened to your head?"
    Elijah smiled, then leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Maggie smiled back. Then she took my son's hand, and both of them closed their eyes. They stayed that way for a long while, holding hands, eyes closed.
    Maggie's mother and I just watched. Neither of us made a sound.
    After a few minutes the two children opened their eyes, and Maggie began reading the book to Elijah, and they looked at the pictures together. She seemed to love all the pretty fish, too. When she was finished, her mother said it was time for her to sleep, she had a big day tomorrow.
    I slept on a cot next to Elijah's bed, and in the morning it was over, twenty-four hours of observation. There was no sign of any seizure activity, not a trace. But when Moore came in, he still said he wanted to keep Elijah on the medication, at least for another few months. Reason enough to get another opinion.
    As I was packing up to leave, Maggie's mother came to the doorway.
    "Can I talk to you?"
    "Sure."
    I told Elijah I'd be right back, then went out to join her in the corridor.
    "I asked Maggie why she and your son did that," she said. "I mean, closed their eyes."
    I nodded but didn't say anything. Just held my breath.
    "She just finished another round of chemotherapy, you know. Now they're talking about a bone marrow transplant. I mean, if we can find a match."
    I put my hand on her arm. "I hope you can."
    She sighed—a great, exhausted sigh. "My daughter is so, so sick. They're not even sure she's going to make it now." The woman's voice was full of tears. "She was in remission for a while, but it was during the winter, and she was sick again when summer came. She used to love summers, because she could swim. She hasn't been swimming in three years. Her father taught her when she was four and she was good at it until, well, until all this." Another sigh. "Her father and I are divorced now."
    "I'm sorry."
    She looked bewildered. "Can you imagine? A man walking out on a daughter so sick. He moved to New Jersey. He has a new wife now, hardly ever comes to see Maggie. I'm here all the time. He just couldn't take it, I guess. Sometimes I can't take it, either. I don't know. How could I have married someone who would do that? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this—"
    "It's all right. Really."
    She wiped her eyes. "Anyway, do you know what she told me she saw when she closed her eyes? She said they were swimming."
    "Swimming?" I wanted to run away, I didn't want to hear it and I wasn't even sure why.
    "She and your son," Maggie's mother continued. "She said the water was warm like a bath, and as clear as the air. Clear as the air, that's just what she said. And she said the sunlight was shining right through from the sky. And there were so many fish, she said, all bright colors." She hesitated. "She said swimming with Elijah was so much fun. And ... well, I just wanted to tell you that. That she had fun. Maggie's so scared all the time. She never even smiles anymore. And she's so sick, and so tired of it all, and sometimes I think she wants to just give up. But last night when we got back to her room, she laughed when she told me about swimming. I'm not sure I understand it, how she could be swimming by just closing her eyes. But I do know she was laughing about it, giggling. It was so good to see her giggle again. Know what I mean?"
    I did.

    *    *    *

    When Sam and I were getting ready for bed that night, I told him about Elijah and Maggie. Then I told him about my Great Barrier Reef vision, the azure water, the limitless ocean, though I referred to it as a dream.
    Sam seemed barely interested. "And?"
    "Isn't that sort of strange? That Elijah and Maggie were swimming like that? It's just like the dream. Like we shared a dream, or had the same vision, or something."
    "You mean like a religious vision?"
    My husband was a good man, a moral and charitable man, but his view of the world didn't include religious visions any more than it included ghosts.
    "I don't know, Sam. Are there any other kind?"
    "You're not a religious person."
    "You mean because I haven't insisted on doing rituals?" We had tried to follow the most important