Here Comes The Sun

four

june 30th
toronto

HART HAD INSISTED ON MOVING THE WEELCHAR HIMSELF, therefore I let him before he was going to change his mind about co-operating. Toronto's air was warm and nice, the sun peeking through light clouds which gave the city a peaceful atmosphere – the kind you'd want while getting lost in a book as you sat by the shore with both feet into the softly waving water. Many patients were outside, especially the kids from the oncology department. Seeing them play by the pond, smiling and shining, created a wave of euphoria in my body.

When I looked down at Hart, he was looking at me with that smile he had been wearing as long as I knew him – which was only a day. I frowned my brows a little, and he nodded at the children.

"Don't start crying," he said.

"You don't want to know what they're going through – some of them are incurable. And yet, they enjoy the smallest things like sunshine." I continued walking towards the wall of roses, my favorite place in the hospital's garden. "I wish I could be more like that."

"If you're dying you'll appreciate everything a lot more." Hart struggled to keep track of me, but didn't moan about it and caught up within four seconds.

"But I am dying, we're all dying, every day." I stopped at the stone wall covered in beautiful, red roses, and inhaled the fresh smell which worked like a drug on me – it could get me calm in a fraction of a second. I sat down on the bench, and watched Hart park his wheelchair beside me. His skills were poor and he had to retry several times, unintentionally exposing the probable fact that he wasn't a very good driver either.

He stopped trying and sighed, his wheelchair slightly skew. "You're a very clever woman."

"Thank you, sir."

Then we just sat there, staring into nothings, the quiet sound of our breathing connecting us. I wondered if our heart beats were synched, beating in the same tempo like two instruments in a song from The Beatles. The Beatles.

"So, you're a fan of The Beatles?" I asked.

"Man, it's more like an obsession nowadays." He laughed and shook his head. "It's gotten tough, there isn't a single day without Paul's voice cracking through my speakers. At this point, situations remind me of their songs."

"Does this situation remind you of a song?" I curiously looked at him as he thought about my question.

"Well, it's not a Beatles' song, but it'll do." He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through what looked like thousands of messages and eventually went to his Spotify app. I purposely looked away to be surprised by his choice of song, but when I heard the introduction of one I had awfully often listened to, I felt both turned down and excited.

"California Gurls by Katy Perry? That's what this situation reminds you of?" I laughed and shook my head.

"Honestly, everything reminds me of California Gurls by Katy Perry. Woman falling on her face because she is too drunk? California Gurls, we're unforgettable. Michael Jordan playing basketball? Daisy dukes, bikini's on top. Robert Downey Junior? Sun-kissed skin, so hot, we'll melt your popsicle." He shrugged his shoulders as if it was the most daily thing ever, and I couldn't stop laughing. This man was funnier than anyone I had ever met, there was potential for him in becoming a stand-up comedian. "Anyway, what do you listen to?"

"Anything, really. And when I'm in a dark place, it's usually country music."

Hart open-heartedly laughed and hit the side of his wheelchair. "Dude, I'm imagining you sitting in a dark room with a cowboy hat and a stroke of wheat sticking out of the side of your mouth listening to fucking Take Me Home, Country Road."

"To the place I belong, West Virginia, mountain mama," I sung which resulted in Hart not being able to stop laughing, and that resulted in him coughing as if he had asthma.

"Shit," he swore eventually, "I got asthma, calm down ma'am."

I must've not seen that in his medical history file . . .

"How about you calm down, then?" I chuckled. "Do I need to get you an inhalator?"

He shook his head and gestured with his hands that he didn't need it. "It's fine, I haven't used an inhalator ever since I have gotten asthma."

"Of course you haven't. I mean who still uses an inhalator? It's not like it's going to keep you alive when you can't breathe or something, useless things," I said sarcastically. Hart stopped coughing and threw his head back, groaning loudly. "Are you alright?"

"Man, I feel my stitches moving when I laugh and cough. It feels awful. Is this a way to limit my fun here?"

"One hundred percent."

He looked over at me, eyes rolling over my whole body. "How's life as a nurse who isn't an official nurse yet?"

"Good, but very busy. I'm usually here on Saturday's and mostly during the week as well after college. I don't mind though, I like it here. My mother's a doctor and also works in a lab, so I keep learning new things."

"Ah, Heather Kaufman. She's wonderful. She stitched me down." Hart paused for a second, but then continued talking with a higher-pitched voice than before. I'd never get tired of his talking considering the fact that he put a lot of emotion in his voice which made every story he told much more interesting and amusing. "You know she's hooking up with that Dennis guy, right?"

"What?" I asked pretty shocked by his knowledge, "How do you know that?"

"Oh come on, it's obvious. How old is Dennis? Twenty-nine or something? The young man falls for the gorgeous, intelligent boss lady, in this case Heather Kaufman, and the gorgeous, intelligent boss lady can't resist the young flesh of Dennis. I mean, as a man objectively looking at Dennis, he's handsome. Can't blame your mother." He looked at me and frowned his brows. "Why are you looking so surprised? I'm more surprised that you didn't know that."

"Have you heard them or something?"

"I already knew it when I saw them looking at each other, pure desire flaming in their eyes. And I didn't only hear them, I saw them as well. I was casually walking around the hospital in the middle of the night, side note; never do that, because it's scary as hell, and then they just were there fucking in like a little room."

"First of all, please keep the details to yourself. Second of all, why did you go into that room?"

"I was looking for crutches, duh. The lights weren't on, and I didn't expect people having sex in there. Especially not a forty-year-old doctor and a twenty-nine-year-old assistant or whatever he is."

"But you heard them."

"Yep, and as weird as that sounds, that made me even more curious to go in. Also, they obviously saw me as well. It was awkward. I had to actually go in to grab the crutches, and then I awkwardly left. I don't know how to feel about it, it weirdly turned me on."

"Oh my god," I said quite disgusted, softly pushing his arm as he started laughing, "but how did you manage to get there without crutches then?"

"Funny you ask, because here is when it gets juicy. I arranged one of those little cars, you know, the one you maybe had when you were little? So I just drove through the corridors in my little Ferrari."

At that point, I didn't know whether to believe him or not. This guy had quite the fantasy and good lying skills.

"I hopped over there on one leg, duh," he said after a few seconds, "but maybe you guys should buy those kind of cars. I'll sponsor them."

"But why did you want to have crutches so bad in the middle of the night?"

"Why the hell are you cross-examining me, Jesus Christ? I just couldn't sleep and wanted to make my body function again after lying in bed for a day straight. Question your mother like that instead, damn."

"Promise me to not tell anyone, alright?"

He looked to his right. "Heard that, Jeffrey? Don't tell anyone, alright?" Then he looked back at me. "Oh, no worries, that's just my schizophrenia. He won't say a word."