FRIDAY'S GIRL ·ϿʘϾ·

Chapter 22

***DRAFT***

Anyone walking through the oncology ward of NorthBay Medical Center would sense something strange in the air. Even I, not familiar with the place, could notice an uncommon silence that extended through the hallways of the entire floor. It was one of those cloudy afternoons when the bustle of the hospital matched the quiet streets of Fairfield; a perfect prelude to the rebellion we were organizing in room number four.

Despite my six-foot-three stature, I was finding it difficult to help Mr. Friedman sit up in bed, as he had a lot of IVs and cables connected to his arms. My hands held his skeletal body under the armpits, trying not to hurt him.

"I'm an old wreck. Even my eyelashes creak. I make more noise than a street fight between cats," Mr. Friedman joked as April brought the wheelchair closer to us.

"Easy there, big bad wolf. You look as strong as an oak to me." To give my statement more credibility, I drew a wide smile on my face. Although I tried to pretend that his cadaverous pallor didn't exist, his glassy eyes, like half-empty bags of water, spoke of someone who was preparing to leave.

The old man's balance wasn't very good due to the illness, so when his eyes rolled in their sockets as if hit by intense vertigo, turning as white as snow, I held him more firmly, preventing him from falling to the floor.

"Mr. Friedman, are you sure you feel strong enough to go ahead with the plan? If you're not well, we can leave it for another day." April, with her red nose and clown makeup, looked at the good man with a mix of concern and anxiety.

Her sincerity surprised me. And, although comparisons are odious, I couldn't help but think of my girlfriend, remembering the false cordiality she often showed to certain people, a gesture that disappeared as soon as they left. I had normalized that attitude so much that now I felt puzzled seeing how that genuine feeling brought a mischievous smile to the old man's face.

"I'm not planning to kick the bucket today, young lady. Or at least not until I see my wife," he affirmed with conviction, letting himself fall into the chair.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed, making me smile involuntarily. Every time she used that expression, it amused me; it reminded me of one of those village church ladies, dressed in black and holding a Bible.

"So, are you ready for the adventure?" I asked the good man, who nodded without the slightest hint of doubt.

The respect and admiration I felt for him increased considerably. It was the third time I had visited him in the hospital, and during that short time we had spent together, his enormous vitality and stubbornness made it hard to believe he was so gravely ill.

"When I was just a chick, I used to sneak out of school to go fishing, jumping through the window." Mr. Friedman settled into the seat while April hung all the treatment bags on the IV pole. "Of course, back then I didn't have so many gadgets connected to my body, and everything was much simpler. The teacher never caught me! Those were the days!"

"Let's cross our fingers and pray we have the same luck today. Are we all ready?" April gave me a nod, while the old man gave a thumbs up to indicate he was ready.

I firmly gripped the plastic handles and gently turned the wheelchair, aiming it towards the exit. One of our "sparrows" sneezed once to indicate that we still couldn't leave the room. That was the code name we had chosen for the children participating in our escape plan.

"You shouldn't be here, young man," said the silhouette of a nurse that appeared in the opaque glass of the door alongside a much smaller one. "Come on, I'll take you back to your room."

"I was really thirsty. I pressed the button several times, but no one came." The child's voice spoke in a plaintive tone. In the distance, our sparrow coughed loudly to indicate that it was safe.