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Student Short Story Third Prize, $150

When my wild roommate asked for help, I had to come through.

"Is She Dying?"

by Dianna Sanderson

She was drunk, and she was dying in my arms. Choking and gasping for air from her asthma attack, Anne asked me, "Do you think young babies go to heaven?"

"Yes, I think they do," I told her, then fumbled through an explanation.

Fortunately, whatever I said seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, and the questions stopped.

I was in the city of Madrid, Spain a phone call away from my parents, a few feet away from Anne's friends, down the hall from our group's chaperons—but I'd never felt so alone.

People crowded around Anne, debating whether or not we should call the chaperons. Her friends hesitated, because Anne's asthma attack had been triggered by a night of alcohol consumption, and alcohol had been strictly forbidden in our hotel rooms.

This was our last night in Spain. We had all come on a study abroad program—22 high school students from across the United States.

I had known the trip would be an adventure for me. The three other girls who had come from my high school had been in some of my classes, but I didn't really know any of them.

Soon all of that changed. Upon entering Spain, we had taken a weeklong bus trip to reach our host families. The conversation on the bus had centered on how everyone would be able to get drunk, get high, or sleep with someone before the trip ended.

As an Adventist who grew up in a conservative family, I felt a little out of place. But I did what I could to be friendly, while not getting caught up in anything I felt could lead to trouble.

And I had determined to study my Sabbath school lesson faithfully on the trip. I struggled some, but for the most part I had been successful.

I say for the most part, because while I studied my lesson every day, I still seemed to have a confrontation with my roommate, Anne, every day. I kept thinking, Maybe I should be practicing the principles from the lesson more.

Anne was from my high school, and we fought about everything. We fought about the strange people she brought into the room, the drugs, the late hours I had to stay up with her, her habits, my habits, rules, lack of rules—any and every little thing that annoyed us. And neither of us are the type who like to lose arguments.

Anne was the youngest child from a wealthy family, and I'm the youngest of nine children. We were both familiar with getting our way. By the end of the first week we felt irritated with each other.

So we spent the rest of our stay sharing the same room in our host family's home, but having nothing else in common. It would be a lie to say we never got along, but in my mind I always felt as though we couldn't be friends. We were just too different.

Once in a while I'd feel a burst of kindness, and I'd go out of my way to be nice, but it was always short-lived. I just thought to myself, Why should I bother if she can't appreciate it?

On the last night of the trip our whole group stayed in a hotel in Madrid. We ate dinner at a local restaurant. For some reason, Anne and a few of her friends ended up sitting at my table.

We talked for a while about the trip and the people we had met. I think we were both more relaxed with each other when other people were present. After dinner I returned to the hotel and went to bed.

I fell asleep quickly, but awoke just as quickly when I heard fists banging on my door. I struggled with the lock and let in a group of girls who pleaded with me to find Anne's inhaler.

I rummaged through her things but couldn't find it. Grabbing my robe, I followed the girls down the hall to another hotel room. Inside Anne paced the floor, gasping for air. She looked pale.

"Anne," I said, "I can't find your inhaler." The seriousness of the situation hadn't hit me yet.

"It's OK. I'm not having an attack. I'm not having an attack. I'm not having an attack," she chanted, more to herself than to me.

"Anne," I tried again. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Are you drunk? Is there something you can use other than the inhaler? Is there something I can give you?"

Suddenly it struck me that she could be dying. And I wasn't sure if she knew what was happening that worried me even more. Everyone in the room was drunk.

Anne walked over to the bed where I was sitting and lay down. "Can you give me something?" she asked, clasping her fingers around my wrist. "I'm drunk, but I don't need the inhaler. I'm hyperventilating, not having an asthma attack. I just need to lie down."

Then Anne's eyes pleaded with me. "Do children I mean young babies go to heaven? I really need to know. My priest says they don't, and that can't be fair. It doesn't make sense, and I need to know."

"Anne, I think they do. I think children and babies will be there for us to raise." I don't remember what else I said, and I'm not sure if she even heard anything after I answered her question.

But something within her was put to rest, and she fell asleep.

For a brief moment while Anne slept, something spiritual connected in me. I understood for the first time why we need a priest someone to hear us and comfort us. But I also understood why no earthly priest can replace a loving God, who will use any way He can to prevent us from falling too far too fast. He was even using me to minister to my drunken roommate.

That night I felt deep compassion for Anne, a compassion that I know God gave me. I began to realize what God's unconditional love really means, and that I can show God's love through a steady voice for someone who's drunk, hyperventilating, or spiritually uneasy.

"Dianna?" Anne's voice jolted me from my thoughts. "I liked the way you stuck to your religion while you were here."

I should have studied with her, I thought guiltily.

"I don't know where to go spiritually," she went on. "I don't know what to do I never know what to do. If I could be religious, I would be. But I can't I can never be. I don't want to end up someplace I'd rather not be, doing things I'd rather not do."

I shouldn't have argued with her as much as I did.

"I know you think I'm always drunk and that I do it for attention. But it's the only time I can really face what's happening."

I shouldn't have been so judgmental.

We talked all night. She told me about her brother's attempt to kill her. And her own attempted suicide. Her inability to have kids. Her doctor's prediction that she'd be blind by the time she was 21.

I'd never known what she was going through. And before that night I'd never really cared. But God gave me His love so I could love Anne.

Anne and I have both graduated now, but I still pray for her. And I know that He has already redeemed her and me and He has a beautiful plan for us both. With Him, we never have to guess where He'll take us; the answer is always the same: higher.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze" (Isaiah 43:1, 2).

Dianna Sanderson won third place in the Student category of the 1997 Insight Writing Contest.