Page 118 of Through My Window
“Everything will be fine,” I say.
Holding hands, we enter the white hospital world. The lighting is so bright that you can see every detail of the walls and floor. Nurses and doctors in white coats pass from one side of the hall to the other. Some carry coffees, while others carry folders. Even though my mom is a nurse, my visits to the hospital have been few because she didn’t like to expose me to this place, or that was the reason she always gave me. I glance at my hand intertwined with Ares’s and a warm sensation floods through me. After giving his name to some kind of doorman in the elevator, we go up.
The fourth floor is silent, desolate. I only see a few nurses in a stall that we pass as we continue to a long corridor where the lighting is no longer so bright. I find it curious that the intensive care ward doesn’t have the vibrant light of the floor below, as if the softer lighting suits the place. I’m sure this floor has witnessed a lot of sadness, good-byes, and grief.
At the end of the corridor there are three people, and as we get closer, I can see who they are: Artemis, Apolo, and Mr. Hidalgo, Ares’s father. My nerves jitter as I’m reminded that this is something very intimate for his family. What if I make them uncomfortable with my presence?
Mr. Hidalgo is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and his head down. Artemis is sitting in a metal chair, leaning back in it, his tie undone, and the first buttons of his shirt open. His usual perfectly coiffed hair is in disarray, and I notice he has a bandage around the knuckles of his right hand. Apolo is sitting on the ground, his elbows on his knees, holding his head with both hands. He has a fresh bruise on his left cheek. Did he get into a fight?
When they hear our footsteps, they all look at us. I swallow as I see a question about my presence in their gazes, but when they notice our intertwined hands, something changes, and they seem to relax. Ares rushes to his father, and I let go of his hand.
“How is he?” Ares asks.
“Awake, the neurologist is evaluating him, talking to him, you know, the checkup before doing other tests.”
“Will we be able to see him tonight?”
Ares doesn’t bother to hide the concern and uncertainty in his voice. I know that he’s desperate to know how much the stroke has affected his grandfather.
“I think so,” his father replies, relaxing his shoulders. I stand back, not knowing what to say or do. Ares turns toward me, and his father’s eyes follow his movement.
“Dad, this is Raquel, my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
The word leaves his lips naturally, and I notice how he remembers about us starting out as friends, but before he can take it back, I smile at his father.
“Nice to meet you, sir. I hope Grandfather Hidalgo recovers soon,” I say. He just smiles back at me.
“Nice to meet you. You’re Rosa’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? You make me feel old.” Although he smiles, the joy doesn’t reach his eyes. “Call me Juan.”
“Sure.” He seems to be a genuinely nice man and that confuses me; I was expecting a bitter, arrogant old man. Although I guess I should have guessed as much when Ares told me about him last night.
My father was the only one who decided not to live off my grandfather’s money. He accepted money to start his business and when he became successful, he paid my grandfather back. I think that’s why my grandfather was always closer to us. In a way, he respected my father.
Juan has fought and worked hard to get to where he is now, and I think that speaks very well of him. I wonder what happened behind closed doors that caused Ares’s mom to be unfaithful to him and careless enough to let her son witness it. I always thought that men were the ones who screwed up homes. I know, it’s a terrible generalization, and now I realize that it’s not like that; mistakes that ruin lives can be made by both genders.
I nod at Artemis and Apolo, who smiles back. Artemis doesn’t look like the type to pick a fight with someone. He always looks so regal, mature, and cool. Or maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.
A tall, older, white-haired doctor comes out of the room, adjusting his glasses. I step back, letting Apolo and Artemis stand next to Ares to hear what the doctor has to say.
“It’s good news,” he begins, and their sighs of relief echo in the hallway.
The doctor proceeds to explain Grandpa Hidalgo’s condition using medical jargon that I don’t quite understand. The little I can decipher is that, although there are still some tests to be done, the damage from the stroke is minimal, and Grandpa Hidalgo is going to be fine. The doctor tells them that they can see him now and leaves.
I stand watching as the four men in front of me hesitate; they want to give each other a hug, but their codes of behavior won’t allow it, and I find that so sad. Why is it so hard to understand that it’s okay to hug each other when you want to cry for joy because your grandfather will be okay? Their emotions cross their faces so clearly: joy, relief, guilt.
I take Ares’s arm and turn him toward me, and, before he can say anything, I give him a tight hug. Over his shoulder, I watch as Apolo hugs his father, and a doubtful Artemis joins them. They get ready to go inside, and I give Ares a few last words of encouragement before watching him disappear through the door.
I sit in the metal chair where Artemis had been. I don’t think his grandpa would want to see a stranger after waking up from something like that. I’m waiting, absorbed in my thoughts, when I hear footsteps echo across the floor. When I look up, I see a girl walking toward me, and it takes me a few seconds to recognize her without her uniform: Claudia.
She greets me, and we start to talk. I ask her a question, and she’s about to answer when we hear the clear sound of heels heading toward us. Claudia turns, and I follow her gaze.
Sofia Hidalgo walks perfectly in her five-inch red heels, wearing a white skirt that covers her knees and a shirt of the same color with a red print. In her hands she carries a small, discreet purse, also crimson in color. Her face looks flawless with makeup that looks professionally done, and her hair is in a tight ponytail. This lady is in her forties, almost fifty, and she looks thirty. The elegance she conveys is so genuine that anyone would say she was born with it.
