She got out of the bed and, as she did every night, she walked through the sixty square meters of her apartment. Every single night, she had to make sure that she had closed the front door, leaving the key in the door, half in and half out, as she had read in a police warning.
She then proceeded to control the windows and the shutters, and finally, with the adrenaline of a scared child who has to cross a dark hallway, she always checked the closet, which required opening the built-in wardrobes to see if anyone was hiding inside it, waiting to jump out in the middle night to attack her as she slept.
She never stopped to wonder, however, what she would do, if she had ever really found someone in the closet.
After carrying out her ritual control, she locked herself in her room. She climbed back into bed and turned off the bedside lamp.
She never fully shut her bedroom window shutter. Sonia always left a few gaps through which the light of the street lamps could pass through. Living on the second floor of an apartment building, the light coming through was enough to reassure her. She didn’t like to sleep in complete darkness.
From the upstairs apartment, or from the one below, came voices and music that she had never heard before. Maybe someone was throwing a party. After all it was Saturday night, some preferred to read a good book in peace and others chose to celebrate in their home, inviting their friends. All in all, that noise in the background kept her company and she fell asleep, feeling a little less lonely.
Before she closed her eyes, she saw streaks of light cast from the open gaps of the shutter, shining on the medical records that she had left open on the dresser opposite the bed. The headlights of a car bounced their light onto the windowpanes, (she never quite understood this phenomenon), and the play of reflections it created was sometimes curious, sometimes entertaining. This time, it was ghastly...
She turned the lamp back on, got out of bed and closed the folders, went back to bed and, when she saw the electronic cigarette on the nightstand, she remembered that she had to put it in charge by connecting the battery to its appropriate charger, as Damien had taught her.
Again she turned off her bedside lamp, the LED of the battery charger flashed three times in a bluish colour, then became solid red. To Sonia it seemed like a greeting: “bye, bye, see you tomorrow!”
And goodnight.
The air had cooled, the woollen blanket that the nurse had tucked in tightly under the mattress, was not warm enough. The door opened onto the hallway of the oncology department, in addition to the cold light of neon, let in the voices of the nurses who were joking with each other.
Sonia wished one of them would come into her room, so she could ask for another blanket. Furthermore, a sudden severe chest pain forced her to pull herself up, but she had to be careful not to pull out the needles of the drips in both her arms.
She leaning back on the two pillows behind her, and tried to take some deep breaths, slowly, to see if the pain would subside.
A shadow cast over her bed, it was that of a tall, strong man, wearing a lab coat. He stood in the threshold of the door with the light behind him, and she could not see his face.
She strained to call him, trying to guess his role:
“Doctor?”
She found she had a weak voice, almost feeble, her mouth was dry, her lips glued.
The dark silhouette of the man didn’t move. He looked like a mannequin.
“Doctor?”
A cough and a muscle spasm in her chest made Sonia blink her eyes and the menacing figure disappeared.
But then she felt a hand touching her face and she saw the same man near her, who, after stroking her cheek, began to adjust the flow of the IV.
“Don’t worry, Sonia. - Said the doctor or nurse, whoever he was - It's all right, it's all under control.”
The voice was fatherly and reassuring. His touch was light and gentle. She felt the warmth of that touch on her face and it cheered her up. The man gently helped her lie down again, arranged the pillows behind her head and when he bent down to wet her lips with a damp cloth, she saw his eyes.
A lightning followed by thunder and in that light his eyes were those of a cat in the dark.
Sonia woke up. She was in her room, she recognized it from the light coming in through the window shutters.
The electronic cigarette LED was green.
“Hi, I'm ready!”
Part nine (leaves in the wind)
That Saturday afternoon, there had been a lot of VAPE users and beginners at the Clouds of smoke store. Regulars always liked to laze in the store a little more than on other days, to chat with each other and with the owner. Damien enjoyed offering them useful tips and demonstrations on the use of the various systems, spiced up with ironic jokes and wisecracks. In short, the atmosphere was always cheerful and time passed unnoticed.
Some customers even regretted having to go back home, after all, they enjoyed Damien’s company; he was a friend, they could tell him all about their lives and he listened with an unlimited patience and curiosity. He treasured everything they told him as if it was a gift. Someone once said to another customer: “This man knows how to listen with so much attention that you expect him to ask you how much he owes you, for what you have given him”.
However, many of his customers wondered if Damien was indeed a happy man. This was not a question they could ask him, it was written in Braille on his hand. If he handed you his hand, even though you didn’t know how to read the dots of that code, the physical contact with him it was enough to for him to get his message across: “Welcome to my house, but don’t ask me how much I paid it!”.
By the way, Damien’s home was big, cosy, warm and full of beautiful antique items, sometimes mixed together with modern pieces.
It reflected his soul, his manners and his qualities. Few people had had the privilege of being invited to that home. Those who had been there, at least once, longed to have the same, some day.
Likewise, his personality was also full of assets, such as kindness, cheerfulness, wisdom, a keen sensitivity to visual arts and music.
In the shop he loved to play jazz, blues and classic melodic music discreetly in the background.
On the walls of the shop he displayed posters of old black and white movies and 50s and 70s colour movies; on certain shelves he placed some comic strips such Alan Ford, Tex Willer, Mickey Mouse and the Italian cartoon Tiramolla.
There was no lack of magazines on topics such as science, politics and economy, resting on a colourful wooden plank, from time to time updated with new issues. Damien had decorated the shop with recycled materials and industrial furniture, revised and adapted to a different use and better suited to the needs of his business. The solid wood counter came from the atelier of a retired tailor; looking at it, one could imagine that craftsman, unrolling measures of precious materials onto it, while he cleverly scissor cut the square footage that the lady in turn chose, following the expert’s advice.
When Damien suggested a vape cigarette or a liquid, he perfectly replicated the precision of the tailor to whom the counter
