right. But he realized that it was the result of one too many glasses of whiskey, or maybe more, and his mind was immediately filled with memories and fragments of a happy past that had abandoned him a long time ago. The memories of his walks by the lake, hand in hand with his wife, filled his head as if a film in black and white were being played out for him. She, who was a gorgeous brown-eyed woman with honey-hued hair, looked at him and smiled as if that moment had to last forever. The air and his lungs were filled with her scent that was like flowers in the desert; he got completely lost in her gaze. Excess alcohol got gradually in his system and Michael gradually closed his eyes; the images in his mind faded gradually and were finally replaced by a deep dark and a regretful heart.
Michael’s night had passed in the blink of an eye. Morning came.
“What time is it?” he wondered. He was stunned by alcohol.
“Fuck! It’s too late!” he said. He stood up in a hurry and tried to get back to his feet. That same morning he would have a job interview. He did not even have time for a shower. But he could not miss his coffee. He poured a little in a cup from the coffee maker in the kitchen and drank it like it was water. Finally, he was ready.
He got to the meeting point, which was the hall of a five-star hotel on Avenue 147, in New York, half an hour later than arranged. The former corporal met Mr. Gale, who was a rich businessman that wanted him to be the pilot of one of his own drones.
“Hello,” Michael started by saying awkwardly; he almost stuttered when he saw the man sitting on a very comfortable and elegant eco-leather armchair in front of him.
“Sorry for coming late. The traffic is terrible in Manhattan,” he added to try to explain. The rich man looked at him for a few seconds, and then he pontificated, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stateman, I won’t stand it. What I stand least is your delay! Without a doubt! How have I become what I am, eh? Being late? This could have been a great opportunity.” Then he cried out, “Goodbye!” he stood up with his co-workers and went away. Finally, Michael was there alone. He was furious with himself.
San Diego, California.
“Open no. 2!”
The woman’s voice who uttered these words resounded through the 60-square meter hall; it was almost muffled by the mask that covered her mouth. Five neon lights were attached to the ceiling, a floor lamp with seven lamps lit a body’s patient who was lying on a table, a row of monitors surrounded the smooth walls around the place, a special machine with mechanic arms moved on the body that was lying on the table directed by a team of surgeons standing at one end of the room, inside a sort of gazebo, behind a desk, they were all busy steering little levers on a keyboard. The place was one of the San Diego Health Sulpizio Cardiovascular center operating theaters, and the hospital was one of the most modern hospitals of the whole California. Doctor Amelia Fisher, who was the chief surgeon of the center, with her team, was carrying out one more robotic heart surgical operation that day.
“Keep on widening. Jenny, keep on widening.”
Jenny Andrew, Amelia’s vice, began to turn some casters in the keyboard in front of her, and some arms of the machine started to move. Amelia was regarded as one of the best surgeons in the State even if she was thirty-eight. She graduated from the USCF School of Medicine of San Francisco with full marks and had always wanted to be a doctor, specifically a heart surgeon, since she was a little more than a girl. His career path was marked by several difficulties, such as her parents’ premature death and the fact she was an only child. However, thanks to the fondness of her friends and her colleagues and her great determination, Amelia had attained her objectives.
“Very good. We can say that’s enough.”
This sentence was uttered every time a surgery went well, like this time. Amelia took off her mask and left the rest of the team work in front of their computers.
“I’m done for today. See you outside,” the doctor said. Then she left the room.
After leaving the operating theater, the woman got ready for communicating the outcome of the operation to the patient’s relatives.
“So, how was it?” the woman’s mother asked the doctor. She was scared and full of anxiety. Amelia leaned a hand on the lady’s shoulder to reassure her.
“Do not worry, your daughter is fine. The operation has been successful.”
After these words, the woman burst out an almost liberating sob, which was the result of the anxiety she had accumulated during the time of operation; she did not give up thanking the doctor; she wanted to hold her tight somehow. Amelia was accustomed to such scenes, but their effect on her was always good and they made her feel good. After all, these situations had contributed to her being a heart surgeon.
“I’ve only done what I had to do. You only have to stay by her side now. And everything will be okay.”
Amelia’s words were always sweet when she talked with the patients’ relatives that she operated, since she knew very well what the loss of someone that is loved meant. After the last goodbye to the woman, Amelia left the room. She was walking through the long corridor to her ward.
“So? How was it?” Thomas asked, stopping her. He was one of his colleagues as well as one of her dearest friends.
“It was more complicated than expected, but in the end we succeeded,” the woman answered. She looked tired but she was satisfied with the results.
“Excellent! You’re coming to Manuel’s party tonight, aren’t you?” the man in a white jacket kept on saying.
“Well… actually, I’m a bit tired. I’d rather stay at home…”
A strange expression entered Thomas’ features. Amelia captured it very soon.
“Listen. I really don’t feel like it. It’s been a rough few days for me. Tell him I’m sorry,” Amelia tried to explain herself.
“Okay. But just know that he will take offense,” Thomas said finally. He had been walking once again. He was walking in the opposite direction to his colleague. So, they went their way.
Once Amelia entered her room, she took off her white coat and arranged it into a locker on her right. After checking her mailbox, she took some sheets and secured them in a folder. She switched the computer on her writing desk off; she took her jacket and her bag from the coat rack and got ready for leaving her room.
She walked through the hallway, took the lift and finally ended up on the ground floor where, after a quick greeting to two receptionists, got ready to pass a special card through the sensor of a picket-shaped metal device just in front of the main exit in the building. Another workday had just passed.
Amelia was quite a peculiar woman. Sometimes her character was controversial, but she only needed to be with the right people to totally open her heart. It may have been the fate or her work, but the fact is that people like these were very few. Two of these were her friends and colleagues Thomas and Jenny. Thomas was an old college roommate of hers, whereas Jenny was her deputy within her team. He, who used to feel like a brother to her, had been looking for her proper boyfriend, but Amelia had succeeded in freeing from that situation, which she found a little uncomfortable. She wanted a man, of course, but she had not found the right one yet; she hated forced and scheduled things. Thomas used to ask her to spend some time with his friends so that
