The wind rustled through the trees, at first, a gentle tremor that made them whisper softly, a melody which sank deep into my soul. And in an instant I remembered the days when my first inspiration bit me like a vampire tasting its prey. I was under the pine tree at my primary school, scouring the hills with childish eyes and a heart that was open to love, to nature, to changes and to making the world a better place. There and then, at 12:35pm, only at age eight, I decided to be a doctor, to save the lives of my fellow countrymen (and women).
But the wind increased its pace, it became more violent, and suddenly, I was once again aware of my surroundings. Under a pine tree at the Kingston Harbour, the sea lapping at the huge concrete structures which stood tall in the water. The sound of crashing waves joined the chorus of the music of the pine trees. And the sun sparkled and warmed my skin, bathing it from clear blue skies and the whitest of clouds in the air.
A few people were scattered across the Downtown Kingston Waterfront, couples, single folks, and frisky boys clad only in underwear and shorts. Occasionally my attention is diverted, but I’m here for a purpose. I’m here to clear my head, to feel that burst of inspiration that energized me under that fateful pine tree at my primary school.
Sometime last month, I lost my motivation. I lost myself – Dr. Walters was no more. And I haven’t been to work since. Why oh why. Why did that little girl have to die in my hands? Her sparking eyes and her cute little round cheeks reminded me so much of myself that I worked day and night for six months trying to save her. But I couldn’t, I didn’t, and now I’m lost. The autopsy didn’t reveal much and so here I am wondering.
Am I in the right job? Where to next? What will do? Again I felt the breeze, this time it’s playing in my hair, tossing it about at its own will. And then the music came again from the pine trees above. Only this time was different, there was a voice, a familiar, weak but reassuring voice.
It was that same little girl, the one I didn’t save, the one I laboured to give a fresh life. And she said to me: “Don’t be afraid, you’re a great doctor, you did all you could and I’m grateful for that. Thank you. Now go back to saving the world!”
That was it! I opened my eyes in a flash, then checked my watch. It was 12:40pm, only five minutes from the time I checked – 12:35pm – the very same time, when at age 8, I decided to be a doctor.
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