hospital windows

I am at the hospital with my son for a minor procedure. In the recovery room, while Anton is flipping through TV channels at the speed of 1000 clicks per minute and consuming hospital's monthly supply of saltines, I am studying hospital windows that look like shiny appliques on red walls surrounding a small courtyard. Each one has a story... and most of them are sad (except for the second floor, the maternity ward.) You can clearly see how long the person has been there... some had piles of magazines, books, food, cereal boxes on the windowsills, clearly an indication that the room has been or will be occupied for a while. Other windows are bare of stuff and seem somehow even more tragic... There are some windows whose inhabitants are trying to get a little fresh air, so a shoe or a box are sticking out to prop them open.

There is a window particularly close to where I am standing and open to my view. A girl of about 5 years old is sitting on the windowsill with her tiny red backpack glued to the glass. Her dad clumsily makes attempts to brush her hair, but she makes it impossible for him to make any progress... she moves her head back and forth, shakes it, she puts her feet up in front of her as if trying to keep him out and push him far away. He makes a couple steps into the room and there is now a woman in my view... she is on the hospital bed, wearing the hospital gown that makes her pale face appear almost platinum in the morning light. The girl stretches her arms towards her mom (the exact opposite from what she was doing a minute earlier to her dad.) The mother is emotionless, she stares through the window and I wonder if she sees me. The girl, whose face I cannot see, is defeated... her feisty spirit is gone as if swallowed by her mother's weary gaze... dad returns into the picture and picks his little daughter up with tender confidence, he now sits her on his lap and brushes her hair. The hair is in a nice ponytail... hairbrush returns into the little red backpack... "Mom, MORE SALTINES!" Interrupted, I try to catch a glimpse of the little red backpack, but it is gone... the curtains are being drawn to hide the frail female from morning sunlight streaking into the room, from my unwelcome curious eyes... from unwelcome visitor with a red backpack.