The Сolor of Dr. Kloford’s Shirt by Tatiana Vyuzhanina

I remember that day as if
it was yesterday when I firstly met a man who changed my life. ‘Ms Frost, my name is Fester Kloford’ once I heard since my feet crossed the frontier of main Oklahoma’s hospital. I do not remember the color of hospital ward’s walls where I spent three intolerable months, though I remember the color of Dr. Kloford’s shirt, which was peeking out under the white neatly ironed medical gown time to time. 
Many doctors passed along my reactivation synthesis of protein double-stranded DNA virus - Cytomegalovirus (CMV) by letting me know that they cannot give guarantees for my successful healing. Despite that, my hope was fresh as moonlight in April due to warm love to my two growing ups who day by day called to ask me when I will be back home and due to great work done by Dr. Kloford. He did not give any promises, nevertheless he was that one who delivered me from sufferings and delayed the date of my death.
It may seem that he was an angel who saves people from pain, actually, his coldness that proceeded through deep-dark eyes on pale narrow-sharped face was that one thing which children usually are afraid of. In my memory appears his hungry glance, the way he looked at patients’ eyes who were one-step from pass away. Dr. Kloford walked straight and he never crossed his arms, but I have noticed that he had a habit gritting his teeth while thinking about something important.
I do not know why, but he liked to talk with me, maybe he was not sure that I would recover so that tried to be friendlier. Never asking much, I have been telling him about my youthful funny mistakes, about my first love, about difficulties we broke through. He listened dispassionately. Being half-alive I was had no fear to be with him. I knew there must be the reason he decided to become infectious diseases doctor – to watch how viruses make people look and feel disgusting and not always find a solution, but could not even guess.
When all that desert of virus’ torment was far away and I gain hospital discharge, Fester Kloford opened me a piece of his childish story revealing his fight with virus’s disease without parental support he needed and pressure around him. That time he became closer to me as finally I understood how deep scars might leave indifference and cruelity of those we love.
I never met him again. My hair is gray, on Wednesdays, I nurses my grandchildren but I never forget the color of Fester Kloford’s shirt.