Vanilla Sky

As soon as the cab pulled into the hospital’s driveway, Vanilla threw a few dollar bills to the driver, thanked him, and leaped out without another word. The entrance door glided opened automatically, only barely managed to avoid having Vanilla running full speed into it. Beyond the door, murmurs filled the room as voices chattered away, while waiting for their turns to be called. Here and there, nurses assisted to the needs of patients. But Vanilla couldn’t see that, didn’t even care about it. Instead, she rushed toward the elevator, pressing the button with an upward arrow repeatedly.

“Come on, come on…” she chanted, frustrated.

When it didn’t seem likely that the elevator would arrive anytime soon, Vanilla turned on her heels and headed toward the flight of stairs at the other end of the room. Vanilla climbed the stairs with difficulty, perspiring as she forced the muscles in her legs to expand and contract irregularly. A numbing sensation was starting to spread through her feet. Sometimes, when she took a step, a slight pain would shoot through her left leg, slowing her down. The fall must have done some damages.

After many flights of stairs, Vanilla finally reached the neurology floor. She pushed through the door at the top of the stairs, entering a hall that filtered with white light, casting a glow to the equally pale walls. Vanilla’s feet carried her forward, down the corridor that stretched farther like a tunnel without an end, her fear increasing by the second. She could have lost her mind, lost her sense of everything if it were only a little more. What stopped her, she saw, was the familiar figure of a man, hunched over on a waiting chair, his hands clasped between his knees.

“Uncle,” she said breathlessly, coming to a stop.

His head shot off, allowing her to see the dark circles under his eyes. For a moment he stared at her with wide eyes, but then he sighed, his ashen face returned to color. “Vanilla, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“What happened to my mom?” she carried on as if she hadn’t been listening to him.

He rose to his feet and put his hands on her shoulders, his expression worried. “Vanilla, listen——”

She stepped away from his touch. “Tell me what happened to her!” she demanded, her voice was piercing and distance, even to her own ears. Her unusual burst of fury was capable of causing anyone to flinch, but the older man’s face only darkened in dejection.

“The doctors are helping her,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on in there right now. All we can do is wait.” The exhaustion in his voice was barely visible, but she noticed it and felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out at him. An outsider.

He sat back down, staring at the blank wall across the hall. He was waiting for her to sit down beside him. For a moment she just stood there, staring at the door at the end of the hall, closing her out like the woman lying unconscious beyond it. She didn’t want to think of that face, pale from years of seclusion, of not being able to live under the blue, sun-filled sky, and possibly could never again. Vanilla held back a sob, her eyes moistened with tears that she didn’t want to shed.

Silently, she moved to Uncle Lewis’ side and dropped down on the chair next to his. She closed her eyes, forcing back the tears. She laced her fingers together, but it did nothing to stop the shaking.

Uncle Lewis glanced at her with concern. He didn’t know why he could have missed it before but Vanilla was a wreck. She looked more miserable than the woman who was fighting for her life in that room. The knot in her hair was loose; pieces of hair fell out of place like she had just got out of bed. He caught glimpses of what looked like dust and gravel tangled in her hair. Her face was no better. Part of the skin on her forehead had been scratched, fresh blood oozed out from the wound, mixing in the sweat.

And then he looked down to her hands and exclaimed, “Vanilla, you’re bleeding.”

She turned to him and frowned in confusion. “What?”

He sighed and stood up. “Come with me.”

She just stared at him, as if she had not a clue what he was talking about. “What’s wrong? Let’s go,” he urged.

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “No, I want to stay here.”

“But you’re bleeding. We need to get you treated.” He sounded more tired than ever.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to leave Mom’s side,” she said. The desperation in her voice suddenly provoked a memory from long ago, one that had left a strong impression on him, one that he could never forget.

Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind, still as vividly as the first time he remembered it. A small girl with deep brown hair was running down the hallway and toward him. The doctor and a few nurses ran after her, yelling her name. She stopped to stare at him, and he in return gaped with wide eyes. Her small, delicate body was covered in white bandages, over wounds that were about to bleed, staining the white material one again. The bandages wrapped tightly around her head, extending down to her left eye, covering it completely. The fear and grief in the way she looked at him startled him. The desperation in her gaze hurt him to look at. Those eyes that once sparkled like precious gems were murky, drowning in the darkest part of her sinking heart.

He rubbed his temples, pulling himself back to reality. He gave one final look before given in, defeated. “All right, you can stay here. I’ll be right back.” And he began striding down the corridor, out of sight.

Vanilla was still staring down at her hands, which never ceased to tremble. Slowly, she lifted her head to stare at the opposite wall. She exhaled heavily, as if breathing itself was difficult for her. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, she had told herself. She had learned to accept that her mother could leave this world anytime, yet just the thought of it made her go insane. She could never get used to it. The feeling of slowly being ripped apart, slowly dying a torturous death. She couldn’t imagine what would happen without her mother in her life. Since the accident happened, Vanilla had disregarded herself. She devoted her time, her everything to her mother, the same mother who was causing her pain. Who, then, was more pitiful?

Uncle Lewis came back a moment later. Vanilla only noticed his presence when he knelt down before her, his hand holding a piece of cloth. To her amazement, a hole had ripped through her jean, revealing an ugly blob of blood on her knee. He brought his hand down to dab at the wound, which made her winced at the sudden sting.

“Look at you,” he admonished, frowning. “How did you hurt yourself like this?”

“Ah…I tripped,” she lied.

He peered at her, his eyebrow rose. She was a terrible liar, he knew that. She was always too honest for her own good. But he didn’t question her further, knowing that she would willingly come to him when she truly needed to. Sometimes, she never acted like a child that needed protection and care. But he still worried relentlessly.

“And rolling on the ground too?” he pointed out, indicating the dust that had clung to the opened wound.

She avoided looking at him, nibbling on her lip. That part was true, though he didn’t need to know that. When he was done with cleaning the blood, the cloth was smeared with her blood. Vanilla grimaced at it, not liking how much blood she had lost. It should have been enough to make her faint. Her thought wandered back to the scene of the accident. What had happened, she wondered. Vanilla remembered the dizzying sensation, the blurry vision, and the bone crushing fall. Involuntarily, the image of the boy with blue eyes appeared in her mind. Her heart which had never wavered toward anyone before, felt slight pain. An unknown unease rose in the pit of her stomach, making her wince.

She shook her head, clearing his face from her mind, and dismissed the earlier incident as lack of sleep. Uncle Lewis, after throwing the bloody cloth into a trash bin close by, sat down again.

“How was your job?” he asked, trying to make a light conversation.

“I was just about to finish,” she replied. Something flashed through her. “And…Oh God…my next job,” she exclaimed and straightened up.

Hastily, Vanilla reached into her bag, in search for her phone. Then she realized her phone was no longer there. She herself had given it to that boy. She smacked her hand against her forehead, cussing her stupidity. Uncle Lewis, while watching her, was beyond confused.

“I gather you didn’t make it to your next job?” he suggested.

“Yeah…I…um lost my phone too,” she said sheepishly.

“You can use mine.” He was about to reach down into his jean’s pocket, when Vanilla held up her hands.

“No, no. That’s all right,” she insisted. “I’ll talk to the manager myself. It’s not going to work if I’m not there.”

The hour passed by in silent. Vanilla hadn’t the energy to talk, and Uncle Lewis didn’t want to make it worse for her. Inside her head, she counted the time that was slowly ticking by, the mechanical tick tock of the clock arms knocking against her skull painfully, as if counting down toward the end of the world.

The end of the world came with a loud bang, as the double doors swung open. Vanilla rose, anticipating what she had dreaded for hours. The bed rolled out with the help of Dr. Borg and a few nurses, carrying a small woman, wrapped in white blankets. Vanilla rushed to the bed side, searching frantically for any sign of life. The only thing that put her at ease was the oxygen mask on her mother’s mouth. She hurried to match the pace of the moving cart, but one of the nurses frowned at her, asking her to step back. But she didn’t, not until Dr. Borg advise her not to disturb her mother, for she was still weak from the operation.

Afterwards, she and Uncle Lewis followed the senior doctor into his office. They were about to sit down for a long chat.