Here Comes The Sun

three

june 30th
toronto

WANDERED OFF INTO THE DEEPEST, BRIGHTEST COLORS SURROUNDING ME, the sky lit up in intensive yellow and pink as I flooded up, reaching out for the clouds. Beneath me were the people I spoke with on a daily basis, and I could vaguely hear them talk, voices numbed and echoing as they came up to my altitude. I don't mind that she's dead, she always was there, but at the same time she never really was. Totally, she added no value. She'd been a loner, and she died a loner.

My dream got ripped apart by loud vibrations coming from my right side. I forcedly opened my eyes to see what was going on, and I was surprised to see a call coming in from Dennis. Before picking up, I tried to imagine reasons behind his call, especially since I never came to the hospital at Sundays.

            "Hi." I looked down at my bed, and realized that I had kicked the sheets off. My room felt hot and sticky against my skin, and my ferocious sleep had only worsened the stuffiness.

            "Morning Nova, your mother and I have a little problem; the patient in room thirty-four is eh. . . walking around the hospital and visiting other rooms, and he refuses to do the tests. I called in the nicest nurses, but he just won't listen. I know you're off on Sundays, but please help us out – you have a good heart."

After nicely agreeing and hanging up the phone, I groaned loudly with my hands in my messed up bed-hair, followed by literally rolling out of bed. Oh, no worries Dennis, it isn't like I had worked until after midnight the day before, and I'm not mentally and physically tired at all. But then I realized my mother must've been up so late last night that she had to sleep at the hospital, because she had to work early today as well. Acknowledging my overreaction, I dragged myself to the bathroom where I prepared myself to get in the shower. Seeing the fact that I was about to have my period, my skin was all messed up, and I couldn't stand looking at my reflection in the mirror. Still, I counted the pimples. Five. Five damn pimples.

Once I had arrived at the hospital, the typical smell I had gotten so used to filled up my nose and triggered the senses. For some it must remind them of bad memories, but for me it reminded me of spending jolly days and nights here during my childhood. The woman behind the desk nicely greeted me to which I greeted her back, and made my way up to room thirty-four. Mister Feingold hadn't been behaving and who needed to take care of that? Who needed to do all the dirty tasks here? Indeed, Nova Kaufman. By the time I walked through the right corridor, doctors and nurses gestured that he was in his room without saying a single word. I frowned my brows, especially when I heard music coming from there, and went into his room where, to my big surprise, nobody was to be seen. The bed was empty, window fully open which made the curtains flutter by the soft breezes coming from outside. As I slowly closed the door behind me, I listened to the music. Hey Jude by The Beatles – this man was a clear Beatles' sucker. It looked like he had figured out how to play music from the television, therefore it was so loud compared to when he played it from his phone.

Suddenly, I saw someone standing beside me from the corners of my eyes. My heart – and body – jumped, and I turned to see him; in the flesh. Hart Feingold had been standing behind the door all this time without saying the smallest sort of 'hello' when I had entered the room.

            "Hart!" I exclaimed, still trying to process the scare, "Jesus, you the shi- you scared me."

            A grin formed around his lips as he walked towards his bed with his crutches. "I didn't scare you, you got scared because I was just standing here."

            "Can you please turn down the music?" I asked politely. 

            "Aw," he pouted his under lip, "I thought everyone liked The Beatles? Especially the old people in this department. Went for a walk today and everyone I encountered was above the age of sixty. Older women are attractive, but that's a little bit above my limit Nova."

            Honestly, I was having a hard time containing my laughter. Hart was overall funny and airy, something more people should have, but the fact that he tried to ignore serious things like this, wasn't something I admired. He sat down on his bed, slowly and carefully, but then I saw it all happening – he roughly let himself fall down into the sheets, and before I could stop him, his screaming was to be heard through probably the whole department.

            "Shit! Oh my god, my fucking stitches," he lifted up his shirt and looked down at the wound, while I ran towards him to take a close look as well, "looks like you're going to have to stitch the stitches."

            This time, the grin on his face made me very frustrated – no wonder the rest of the doctors and nurses were having a hard time caring for him.

            "Hart, stop acting all funny like that. The wound was healing and you ripped it apart, now we have to get rid of the stitches and stitch your wound up again, and I promise you that that's going to hurt," I grabbed a wet towel to put pressure on the wound as he looked up to me like a scared, little puppy, "I got a call this morning to come here, because no one is able to get you to not walk around and do the tests you need to do. First of all, the doctor's have told you to not walk around, because then you're pressuring your broken bones too much. If you want to get out, grab a wheelchair and either ask a nurse to bring you somewhere or do it yourself, but don't fetch crutches and do your own thing around here. Second of all, you don't want to do the tests? Fine. But then don't come for us in a couple of years when your body starts failing in all kinds of things, alright?"

            His brown eyes didn't wander off me for a split second, and kept looking at me with his mouth a bit open as if he was so bewildered by what I just said. When I found his eyes, he furrowed his brows a bit and looked rather bewitched. Then he reached his arm out to the remote of the television and hit a button. Within seconds, Gloria Gaynor's voice blasted through the speakers with her wise words: 'I will survive!'.

            "You have got to be kidding me," I mumbled, "hold the towel."

            He listened and that gave me the chance to turn off the television, steal the remote and keep it close to me. "Why aren't you listening to me?"

            "All things happen to you for a reason," he said after being silent for a while, looking at the fluttering curtains of his room.

            "Natural disasters happen for a reason, not someone bombing you because they are crazy," I said.

            "They wanted my father and the rest of his beloved ones to die, and he died. Why didn't I die?"

            "Because all things happen to you for a reason. You survived for a reason."

            He looked up to me again, bewondered by what I said.

            "Listen Hart, I honestly have no clue of what you're currently going through, I can't place myself in your shoes, but I want you to know that all of us want to take good care of you and help you through this. All you have to do is listen to us to heal properly. I want the best for you—we want the best for you."

            "Alright, what's the first test about?" he asked.

            I thankfully smiled at him for giving in.

            "How about I take you outside first?" I proposed, "We have a beautiful garden you'll love."