to the boy on the other side of the curtain in the emergency room

I heard you come in.

I heard them talking about you like you weren’t there.

I heard them trying to convince you to get a gown on and I heard your silent refusal.

I heard them threatening to cut your clothes off to get your hospital gown on.

And then I heard your name.

I sat for a minute debating HIPAA laws and whether it was my place.

And then I didn’t really care about all of those adults and had to help my boy, so I pulled back the curtain.

“Hey, buddy, remember me? I was your Head Start teacher.”

Eye contact.

A tiny flicker of a smile.

“You’ve gotten so big! I can’t believe it! I’m so glad to see you! Do I get a hug?”

I got a hug.

Collective sigh of relief from the team of professionals who don’t know what it’s like to be by yourself in the ER in the middle of a mental health crisis.

“Are you having a rough day?”

You nodded.

“I’m so sorry.”

More eye contact.

“You’re gonna get through this. I’m so proud of you.”

A real smile this time.

“Hey, these guys are on your side. They’re not the bad guys. Can you do what they’re asking you to do?”

You nodded again and then you did it.

You cooperated, and then they brought you lunch and you watched The Price is Right and you had a nap and your spirit settled.

I asked them to bring you a blanket because I could tell you were cold but didn’t want to ask them for anything.

I left the curtain pulled back from the wall and sat between the kid I’d brought in and the kid I remembered being a 5-year-old preschooler building skyscrapers out of blocks.

I prayed for both of you as the nurses buzzed around and the mental health evaluator asked all the predictable questions.

My kid got discharged while you were sleeping but I hope the nurse gave you my message.

“I am so happy I got to see you. I am proud of you and you are going to get through this.”

You matter.