Eavesdropping Death

Glinda: 3

Glinda

It is a euphemistic moment when some escaped canary nests on the closed window’s sills. I watch it peck the glass and hear its silent chirp inside the quiet room. I stand before it and watch it tilt its head to me but when I open the window, it flies away scared. I sigh and breathe in as the air marches its way into the room.

              “Glinda?” someone says behind the door and walks in. “Can I have your minute?”

              I nod and invite Jodi to sit on the hospital bed with me. She is in her ever warm attire; beaded necklace, laced blazer and a floral loose dress. I smile at her before I grab a croissant and take a bite from it.

              “Yes? How may I be of help?” I inquire and offer her a bite but she refuses.

              “You met Kristoffe yesterday, right?” she asks and sighs. “Things moved too fast from the two of you, I see. How do you think of it”

              “Him?”

              “No,” she counters. “How do you think of you in it?” Jodi rephrases.

              “I’ve never felt this way before… even with Kurt. It feels like last night when Kristoffe brought me to that park, there is this lingering sensation in my chest I wanted to tell him. My hand wanted to hold his and my head wanted to rest itself on his slouching shoulders.”

              Jodi smiles and holds my hand.

              “Look, I am not planning on giving in to anything… or to anyone. I felt the way of being left – it’s painful. At least, I’ll be here if he needs me. We can be friends. After all, friendship is a safe place to be close and open at the same time.”

…

I am right. I always am. It has been days and weeks since Kurt’s funeral and the wound in me started to heal gradually. However as it coagulates, wounds are still prone to infection – and infections usually make a little laceration worse and more painful.

              As a person with cancer, I understand there is no such cure for it but chemotherapy wherein radiation eliminates the cancer cells in me. This act of salvation somehow threatens me as well. My hair is losing me. I am getting weaker. Then part of me just deteriorates, then another like an insidious chain to death itself. I just pray that like other survivors, I will exist to enjoy life without this condition. It’s insidious, same as what I am feeling when Kristoffe holds my hand and leans on my shoulder.

              We’re friends – we are in safe areas wherein we can be open and close at the same time.

              “You like croissants, right?” Kristoffe asks when he accompanies me to work.

              “Yes,” I reply.

              “Then you like cinnamon too. Me? No.” He acts nauseated. “It’s gross.”

              I giggle. “I don’t like it much.”

              He eyes me ridiculously. “Explain why you like croissants and not cinnamon.”

              I hide my giggle. “Those are different things, Kristoffe.”

              He blushes out of his misconception. It’s adorable. His face lights up slightly and his eyes loses direction. He continues walking until he trips. I laugh at him as he regains his poise. He dusts his shirt off and looks down. He seems cute when he acts too smart then ends up wrong. Maybe it’s just because he’s speechless and I’m not used to it. I pat his head and walk faster then him.