Once again, I find myself parking my car in front of the same darkened building, greeting the same weird old guy, going by elevator to the same sixth floor and knocking on the same second door to the right.
This succession of events, happening two times a week, has by now become part of my routine, carved in me as my daily work back in the hospital. After all, it was still part of my job to do so.
And, as expected, the same person opens the door and sticks the left eye out to check who is behind it.
However, today things would be slightly different.
— Something happened, we've gotta go!
I grab her by her left hand, and, before she could even say hi, we already were right at the elevator. Under the doorman's eyes, we rush down the hallway and get into the car. When she finally recomposes herself and manages to ask where we are going, we were one block away from where she lives.
— To the hospital, obviously.
Even without facing away from the incoming traffic, I can tell she is clinching the passenger seat in a boiling pot of anger, astonishment and betrayal.
— W-What!?
— If I had told you beforehand, you wouldn't have come.
— This isn't what w-we had set!
— Yes, it is.
— No, it's not.
— Yep.
— No, it isn't!
— Of course it is. The deal was that you could go back home as long as you agreed upon receiving homecare...
— Exactly! — fortunately, her yelling isn't that much annoying.
— ... unless things got worse.
She looks at me and at her arm completely dumbfounded.
— My arm is n-not worse.
— I'm the doctor here, remember?
And at that note, she shuts quiet for now, settling down the dispute. After a few turns, we hop into the interstate, allowing me to turn the cruise control on while the car breezes through the highway. As we get closer to downtown, the stars begin to fade away, outshined by the several neon-signs that get blurred and blurred from our view. The trees give place to innumerable offices, galleries and so on, the sideways get absolutely crowded, the amount of cars on the street rises exponentially and semaphores pop up everywhere. Right then, Hanako decides to break the silence.
— You can't take me by f-force, can you?
— I suppose not.
— But still...
I drive off the freeway and get into the smaller, inner streets of the city. Soon, we arrive at the hospital's road. Its light visible in the distance makes Hanako swallow hard and shake her head. After a deep sigh, she just sits there, awaiting for the inevitable, and reaches for my hand. We look at each other while stopped at the last red light before our destination; no words are exchanged, the entire dialog is spoken by our facial expressions: she asks me to not do that, I reply that it's my job, she tries to talk me out of this, and I stand by my decision. Before one of us can wordlessly say anything else, the traffic light turns green, forcing me to break eye contact. She let go of my hand and closes her eyes, visibly holding herself from not jumping right out of the window or something like it, when my foot carefully looses the brake pedal and the car gets back running.
As the parking entrance draws near, I turn on the left-turn signal and slow down a bit. Her muscles tense up at the rhythmical beeping sound echoing throughout the car cabin, every pulse adding more and more strain in her body.
And then...
And then I turn left.
But not at the entrance, as presumed. At the intersection right after it.
It takes a while for her to notice. She opens one eye and looks around. Not satisfied or not trusting her senses, she opens the other one. She looks at me, and I burst out laughing.
— I can't believe you really fell for that one!
— W-what?
— I mean, I can't hold a straight face for that long. Wow!
— I-I don't...
— I'm not taking you to the hospital, I'm not that bad. And, as you said, things are doing great so far, right?
Her mouth moves but no voice comes out of it.
— So, wanna guess where we are going?
— I...
— Come on, think.
The whole act is so much for her that she decides to just shrug instead of try to put her thoughts into actual words.
— It has come to my knowledge that tomorrow is your birthday.
Hanako's eyes widen up even more than before.
— I thought it would be nice to take you somewhere and celebrate.
— B-but where? I don-
With a hand motion, I cut her off, and then proceed to turn right, making a big neon sign to appear before us. She stares at it marveled as we drive by it.
— This place right here.
In between her bewildered state of mind, a smile pops up in the corner of her lips. I park in one of the few free spots left, turn off the engine, grab my coat from the backseat and look deep in her eyes.
— It's your call.
— How did y-you...
— I took a calculated guess.
She gets out of the car jumping just like a little young girl.
— Good evening, welcome! Table for two? Yes, yes, I see! Feel free to choose which one you want!
We head ourselves to one of the few empty seats left, by the left side of the bar. There isn't that much decoration anywhere and, to be fair, the pricing is not expensive at all, but there is still this warm feeling of coziness in its simplicity that only few places manage to pull off. Down in the middle of the establishment, right before the karaoke itself, there is a small area reserved for the dancing floor, surrounded by an impressive variety of stage equipment probably designated for local bands' shows.
For some reason, either the establishment is not allowed to turn on its main attraction until later or they are waiting for a full house. Unlike most restaurants, though, instead of playing some famous tracks to set up the mood or to just have something in the background, they play recordings of actual clients from nights before singing those classics, keeping the people entertained with this relative freshness of the tracks. Besides that, it might actually make some bypassers interested to check the place out. However, if you think about it, it must suck to be the first one to try, because, after all, those performances are hand-picked by the staff, which might set up the bar way too high for a while. It's a clever business decision, nevertheless.
— May I have your order? — a waitress pops up from the middle of nowhere.
— Hm, yeah, I think I would like, uh, on-
— Champagne! — likewise as sudden, Hanako quickly answers with sparkling eyes. — A-And a good one!
— A bottle for two, then?
— Yes!
— Okay. Excuse me; I'll be right back with it.
She chuckles at my confused expression as soon as we are left to ourselves once again.
— What was that?
— We're celebrating my birthday, r-right?
— Yes, but...
— Then I pick what we drink.
— I've never seen you drinking — I speak as softly as I can to avoid maddening her in her special day. — Or that excited about anything, for that matter.
— Why do you hate fun?
— I just don't think it's a good idea.
— Don't be such a p-party pooper — the waitress arrives when she finishes her sentence and serves us the sparkling wine. — Thanks!
Not letting us continue our conversation, the song fades out, the lights get dimmer and everyone cheers as one of the waiters grab a microphone and announces that one of their longest regulars has come today and is going to open the night. Under a sole excessively bright spotlight, a skinny weird looking guy walks up to the front.
In an amazing display of professional showmanship, he cracks his knuckles and clears his throat near the microphone. Right after it, one of those popular songs that are always on the radio starts playing, immediately followed by another round of uplifting applauses and yells from the highly energetic crowd. With one single hand movement, he dissipates all this enthusiastic mood leaving everybody quiet, as a sergeant commands his troop's movement or as a maestro conducts his orchestra's performance.
From the open mouth of the skeletal guy standing over there, after going through the sound system of the entire building, emanates a surprisingly powerful deep voice that overshadows the entire melody. Driven by the strange but endearing mismatch between the vocals and the musical style, two couples went down to the central waxed oak wood floor area and started dancing under the enthusiastic eyes of the crowd, divided between singing-along to the tune, watching every subtle body motion or merely celebrate with their own group of friends.
Amid this myriad of sounds and lights, the delicate voice of a disenchanted Hanako makes its way up to my ears:
— I b-bet I can do better.
— Yeah, sure you can!
Without taking her eyes off the young man with the golden voice, she chugs her glass of wine almost instantaneously.
— Just w-wait and s-see... — she only moves the corner of her mouth, in response to my sarcastic comment.
Shortly afterwards, the song ends and the reflectors fade, giving way to the local default lighting. Receiving a standing ovation from almost everyone, except for a few guys who never stopped drinking since we came in, and, of course, the almost-birthday girl sitting next to me, the singer thanked everyone for the support, took a bow, and crossed the room to chat with whom appeared to be the business owner.
After a brief moment of mass hesitance, a really excited girl decided to venture ahead on the stage. As it was to be expected, she wasn't as well received as the veteran, but such skepticism wasn't enough to make her change her mind.
Hanako oscillated between drinking, grimacing and zoning out during the next few minutes, not having fun at all. As opposed to my companion, I allowed myself to just sip my drink and enjoy the moment without worrying that much about anything else.
— Is everything alright? — once again, the waitress appears in front of us after two or three songs.
— Sure, eve-
— Can I just grab the mic or is there a waiting line? — my voice is entirely drowned by her confidence, so strong that she didn't stutter even once.
— Go ahead, it seems like there's no on-
— That's great, thanks! — she cuts her off and walks towards the karaoke machine.
The waitress looks with a confused face at me as Hanako, kinda wobbly, moves away from us.
— Is she drunk?
— Probably — I raise my arm from beneath the table and show her the half-empty bottle.
We stared at each other briefly, until another waiter called. Simply asking me to not let her do something dumb, she went off to some other tables. Thus, I'm left all alone on the edge of our seats. By now, she's at the top of her momentary sacred palace, likewise at the edge of the old microphone.
From the sky of concrete emerged a single position lamp, duly focused on her long strands of dark hair which covered her pale face, even paler due to the intense brightness. In the next instant, the illuminated shut her eyes, opened her lips lightly, held her buddy of years and years between both palms of hands as to make a mighty prayer and bless all the listeners — and non-listeners too.
And so she prayed.
The owner of this soft and melodious - perhaps to a certain extent childish - voice was no longer the person I judged to be seconds ago. That woman, clad in black with a bluish stamp of butterflies near her thin waist, was a different Hanako. No longer a very private and timid person of few words. No longer a person far from being even a little bit self-confident, despite being somewhat proud. No longer someone used to be treated with utter indifference by the others; that avoids being even remotely close to the spotlight.
No, this Hanako is someone different. A free, magical self. Powerful enough to halt everything and everyone with remarkable ease, but of such fragility that could be broken in half with a faint whistle. Intriguingly common seen from afar, however elegantly sensitive when observed closely.
As an unlikely mix of many gentle fragrances, my thoughts float through my mind and around my body, guided by the subtle nuances of her words. Not long afterward, I find myself suspended, submerged in a sea of crystal clear water. In my surroundings, only water and a mystical creature, floating in the ether and conducting the sometimes angry, sometimes serene tide.
With a last word amid a passing silent tempest, the endless ocean ebbs away; the spell stops working. Without realizing it, I'm standing up, fervently applauding the responsible for what just happened, in a manner similar to everyone else.
At that note, the singer-priestess stepped down of her stage-altar and thus ended the song-prayer.
— So, d-did you like it?



— There we are.
— Huh? Oh, right. T-Thanks.
She opens up the door and stays outside, leaning on the car.
— Are you alright there?
Despite not getting an answer back, I step outside. As soon as I stand up, my legs feel extremely heavy, almost like I had a dead leg. When I realize, now both of us are reeling across the street.
— We're so wasted right now, aren't we?
— Yeah... - at that point, the distinction between a moan and an actual word flew right out the door.
Despite the fact that I'm already having some issues walking on my own, I manage to help and take her to her front door.
— It's gotta be this one — she hands me a third key, but it still doesn't unlock the door. — No, it's the other way around.
— It doesn't fit, none of these does!
— Here, let me try.
— Is it by fingerprints or something like that?
— What? No, of course not.
— Then why would it work with you but not with me!?
— I don't know, just give them to me.
— Alright, alright. Fine.
She picks them up from my shaky hand and tries the lock. As expected, it fails to open. In frustration, she punches the door frame close to the knob, making one of the key chains fly away. Holding myself against the wall, I crouch to grab it from the cold floor.
— Wait a minute... — I try to focus my drunken vision in the numbers written down on it.
— What?
— I get it now! — my laughter fills the otherwise soundless hallway. — Damn, we're so dumb.
— Just s-say it already!
— We're in the wrong floor, you silly.
Her head faces sideways and she looks at the small sign next to the elevator. Not trusting what she was reading, she repeats it out loud.
— That explains it.
— It seems like it.
— N-No wonder it wouldn't fit.
— Yeah... — I shrug and scratch my head in shame. — Come on; let's stop bothering your neighbors.
Now, this time at the right door, we finally stop making a fool of ourselves and get it open. The light emanating from the countless lamps of the main room turns out to be so bright when she flips the switch that she immediately turns it off to not get a headache. We both decide to tiredly sink into the sofa to avoid tripping over something in the way.
— So, happy birthday — my voice breaks the silence, not only to check if she had already passed out leaning on my shoulder, but also to avoid passing out leaning on hers.
— Thanks.
Another silence.
— It was fun, wasn't it?
— It was great. Thanks for that t-too.
— I guess I'll get going, then.
— I don't think you can drive... — she leans her head on top of my lap and whispers.
— I drove over hear, remember?
— It wasn't a good idea.
— Yeah, but I have to work tomorrow.
— Oh, right, forgot about that — her hair hits me right in the face as she swings her body up once again. — See ya!
— See ya, Hanako.
With some difficulty, I stand up and leave her house. Thankfully, the elevator is here, waiting for me to hop into him so he can go back to the ground floor. From there, I walk through the illuminated corridor. As I'm about to reach the door, I hear some rushed steps behind me. In a blink of an eye, someone grabs me by the arm and puts me against the glass pane.
— Where do you think you're going?
— Uh, home?
— By car?
— Yes?
— No way, I'm not letting you do that — the doorman reaches for my pockets searching for something.
— Hey, stop it!
— You are way too drunk to drive around, kid.
— Nah, I'm fine.
— It doesn't look like it — he pulls out his hand, holding something. — Aha!
— Wait, are these my keys? Give me them back!
— You can have them by tomorrow morning if you are sober.
— But where am I supposed to sleep, then?
— Here in the lounge, on the streets, in a bus, I don't care.
— Come on...
— I'm not giving them to you. Good night, sir.
And so, he turns around and goes back to his chair behind the counter. The thought of punching him come to mind, but by the way he grappled me, odds are he is good at martial arts.
Left with no other reasonable choice, I go back to the elevator, once again happily waiting for me to go somewhere else. I knock on the door and, after a long while, it opens.
— Can I sleep here for the night?
— S-Sure.
She hurriedly goes back to watching TV, sitting on top of her bed. I grab a cushion that she throws at me and make the couch. Her back and a pile of books and papers scattered around on the floor illuminated by the screen are the last things I see before crashing.