Eavesdropping Death

Kristoffe: 3

Kristoffe

She is in my mind. Therese keeps on talking in my mind.

              “I hate you! I-I thought you’d never leave! I t-thought we’d be together!” Her words wrap my heart with barbed wires and tighten themselves each time I try to recall. I hold my heart and realize there’s no such thing. It is still my old wounded heart, still fresh. Just forgotten.

              Somehow I do notice I do have a heart. I have not forgotten it, just denied. Later on before I can sleep, I’ll huskily ask myself why have I denied it? I realize people deny things just to make-believe a more desirable truth. Yes, I was wounded and still am but when I saw how Therese was alive and well, my heart beat lively, bounced so giddily. The thought gives me a reason to sleep again with eyes closed.

              It has been months since I last saw her but because of her happy grin with her nephew, I find myself standing and fighting a current that blows me away. I keep fathoming what is driving me back. I see nothing but only pain. Although hurting that every time my heart beats, I resist it and convince myself that Europe… or England is only a small country. Someday in the near future, Therese will see me again and by that time, someone can hold me on the doldrums I never knew how I got onto.

              “It’s a great thing I see you always blissful, Kristoffe,” Glinda says softly.

              I chuckle and stir my coffee, breaking the French bread and dipping it into my beverage. I stare at Glinda and there’s a puzzling smile I cannot distinguish if it’s a I’m-happy-for-you grin or a you’re-too-happy curve. I hold her hand squeeze it. I smile and give her the other fraction of my French bread.

              “You need a break. You’ve been injecting too many patients vaccines and taking their urine analysis but you forgot how you need to examine what’s wrong with you and what you need to interject that workaholic character,” I rant and sigh at the end.

              Glinda looks at me as if she’s going to spill something out but I am mistaken. All she does is chuckle and mock me with a cajoling giggle.

              “You definitely are some whacked-up guy, Kristoffe. Just months ago, you kinda despised everything in this planet. You even told how irrelevant my ferns are then now you even see rainbows scattering on the roads.”

              I giggle and Glinda rolls her eyes. She holds my hand reluctantly and smiles for me.

              “I am happy though,” she says and it is nearly a whisper. “I always have hoped since the day you first ate French bread with me, you’ll not hesitate to dip it on your coffee. Look, you’re enjoying a warmed piece of bread.” She smiles.

              I sigh and lean forward. A voluntary convex arc sprouts from my lips and it pulls a similar one on Glinda’s. I touch it and it fades. Somehow it bothers me. It’s like anything I still touch dies. Then my arc crumbles down the earth as it quivers and a verging storm forms in my eyes.

              “Oh why?” Glinda asks me as I try to sabotage my tears.

              “T-These are t-t-tears of joy,” I lie.

              “No they aren’t,” Glinda reels while I am vulnerable. “There’s something wrong with you.”

              “No—”

              “I know,” she smirks and sips her coffee. “You’re thinking that you cannot make anyone happy again. Is that what you are thinking of right now? You are obviously crying because you feel so lonely that no matter you try, Therese won’t pop from thin air even I will sing ‘oh bippity boppity boo’ she won’t appear. Are those the probable reasons?”

              I sink on my seat. I am rather flabbergasted than teary knowing all those are right. At first, I am intrigued of how our appetence has grown so strong that Glinda knows when, how and why I cry. She stands and hugs me. Back then, hugs can’t heal what I have. Until now it is futile but it’s the best to cover up the wounds. I snuggle her cradle and sigh heavily.

              “I’[m tired of your algorithms, Kristoffe. Let me guess, you’re going to chuckle.” She pinches my nose as I resist humor. I give in and she inhales the scent of my scalp.

              “You still have night shift later, right?” I inquire and she nods.

              “The other nurses are being transferred to the hospital on the next city because there’ll be a local festival so they’re taking safety pre-cautions.” She sighs. “That means I won’t get any sleep at all… for two days. Yay,” she sarcastically remarks.

              “But why aren’t you with the others? You’re one of the best nurses.”

              “Cancer. Diseases hinder you to life’s journeys and experiences,” she says with a pursed lip.

              I furrow my eyebrows and fired, “Then I believe a heartache is considered a disease.”

              She shakes her head. “It’s a condition and people tend to treat it as a disease because they often cause heartaches to people as well. It’s like a socially contagious disease that never stops. Let’s label: Heartache; the eternal epidemic.”

              I giggle and lift my mug to drink my coffee. It pull my attention back again. I realize how much we’ve talked that my coffee lost its hotness. Nevertheless, I still drink it. Not all concatenations are ramified. Some stay stable while others outrage. That’s simple like life.

The hospital halls reminded me of a mad world inside an asylum. Well they’re both medical facilities and have little dissimilarities but still, I felt I am in the hospital of wickedly insane people than a hospital of weak or diseased individuals.

              The halls are dimmed as if abandoned. The silence is thin; a footstep two stories above can be heard. Few nurses in their white uniform walked like zombies under fair complexion. I scoot on my seat, waiting for three in the morning; Glinda’s night shift end.

              A nurse approaches me and gives me a hospitable smile. She says I may occupy the room on the end so I can rest but I refuse. I don’t want Glinda searching for me in the brink of dawn. I lay my back on the cold stainless bench and scoot to a convenient position. A paper crumples as I wince on the stale cold bench I’m on. I sit and review the file.

              Scanning it, it belongs to a Shaunard. Therese is a Schaunard. I review it intently and find out it is her nephew’s records but it has been some time since his last check up. It is a year before. I fold it and insert it on my breast pocket. Somehow, something inside me begins to enkindle but at the same time, that thing tries to extinguish itself. It’s a complex feeling I can’t seem to understand. Part of me wishes to know Therese’s whereabouts but part of me doesn’t. It’s inconsistent.

I have brought Glinda back to her apartment past four in twilight. I walk down the dim sidewalks shaded by trees. The dandelion rays cloak me in darkness but bright enough to distinguish me moving. I cringe and hug myself. The folded paper stabs my chest so I pull it out and read it.

           

I purse my lips and walk faster but stop after a few steps. A more fatal object points straight to my abdomen. It is so sharp I can feel my body wincing by itself. I swallow hard and cease my breathing. A lot heavier air blows on my ear and that is the last thing I hear.