Roxanne Point of View.
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The rain continues to mizzle around me as I trek the streets heading to the hospital. I hear a few sirens from here and there, rescuing some injured people from far away. There are several nurses, doctors, and other medical staff running everywhere, catering to the patients. I could almost paint the scene like from a modern war zone without the violent guns and whatnot.
As I head over to the entrance, dozens of familiar figures meet my gaze.
There are other people in their wheelchairs greeting me from the entrance. Some of them are children, while others are elderly people trying to live by themselves. Upon meeting my gaze, each of the people I know bows their head to greet me. I also do the same and exchange their welcoming expressions.
These challenged people already know my name since I have been visiting this hospital ever since we moved here four months ago.
"Are you here to visit your mother?" An old lady scrolls her wheels towards me and offers me a ramune bottle full of round tablets of candies.
Ramune is a popular summer drink, but what I have with me are Ramune-flavoured candies. These spherical capsules have a sugary feeling and a pinch of sour aftertaste with a nice fizzy punch.
I take the candies with me and save a few for later. I know that my mother loves these snacks every time she feels depressed about her memories.
"Yes, I am. I have not visited my mom for four days." I lower my head to express my gratitude after taking the candies from her hand. This woman also knows the condition of my parents, and I know her problems as well.
"Take care then." With a single response, the woman bows her head and moves her wheelchair towards the ward.
As the talk concludes, I carry on with my goal and go to the annexe, passing by many bustling nursing staff. Upon heading closer to my destination, I twitch to the peculiar feeling arousing my senses.
The smell of alcohol and bleach lingers inside my nose. It is the familiar scent whenever a person goes inside the hospital. But as I move on, I can sense the cherry fragrance in the air, which is the only scent that disrupts the funky cleaning material.
I find dozens of patients inside their rooms, with their children watching beside them. The television hanging from above is the only noise resonating through the silent corridor. Some of these invalids move around the indoor garden park because of their schedule despite their inoperable limbs.
My legs stop at the ingress with an imprint of a recognisable surname. The name tag shakes as I heave out a sigh before entering inside. After gathering my courage, I slide the door open and discern two people inside the room, bringing my heavy heart with me.
"Oh, you are here already." Father glances behind and sees me setting foot in the hospital room. He reaches out for a chair and invites me to sit with him alongside my sleeping mother.
Our unit is like those wards I have seen coming into this area. We also have a television dangling from above. Taking a glimpse at the side, I could see cabinets and a fridge on the corner and a window to view the outside world.
However, outdoors is not a sight worth watching. As I peer through the glass, the rain continues to pour down on the ground, wetting everything along its way.
"Don't even bother hoping she wakes up." Without filtering his words, my father loses hope, stands up, and opens up a wooden drawer.
"Dad!" I scream.
Silence caves in through our ears as I latch out my thoughts. After raising my voice, my father stares at me for a while, surprised at my sudden reactions. Within a few seconds, he shifts back his gaze back to my mother on the hospital bed, knowing what he has said is inappropriate for the situation.
"I am sorry." My father whispers to himself while flickering through dozens of hospital bills. "I just could not stand myself watching your mother like this."
I stole a glimpse of those sheets when I was still eight years old. As I scanned the documents, I felt a sudden tremble in my hands at the sight of millions of dollars greeting my eyes. It accounted for twenty-five thousand US dollars for the entire year of our stay inside the hospital.
"Is your friend okay with this?" Dad asks me a question while computing the amount of sum we need to pay for the hospital bills. However, every time we head over to the cashier, someone has already filed their checks and purchased the entire duration for my mum.
I could not give him an answer since I have not brought up this topic with Yuki. Although I feel grateful for her actions of providing financial help to my comatose mother, the money comes from her hard sweat and dedication.
It is never my idea to leech my best friend for my advantage.
I plan on working at part-time jobs here in Japan, hoping that I could support both my mother and Yuki with the invoices we receive. It will not be high paying work, but enough to add coins in our pockets. With my knowledge of animating videos, maybe I could get a decent paycheck while gaining experience at a company once I graduate from the international school.
Father and I also need to pay our rent every month since we do not own any houses here in Japan. We still have to mind our necessities such as our hygiene, water and electricity bill, and meals. Despite missing his right leg, my father refuses to give up and works as an accountant inside a bank far from this town.
It is the only work inside the country that accepts challenged people.
The thorns inside my heart pierce me and my stem, eventually wounding my body. Each time I visit my mum, my mind feels like I am paying my condolences to her grave. Sometimes I question myself, wishing for something impossible to achieve. As the doctors have said to me, there is little chance for her to wake up from the trauma.
Every night I wish for the stars above to trade my life with hers. I hope I could be the one in that bed instead of my mother.
However, no matter how hard I wish for her health, our problems keep emerging out of nowhere. The two of us could not go by and sustain our needs with few paychecks in the job of my father. We need to do something before living in the streets with nowhere else to go.
"We cannot depend on Yuki forever." My father crumples the remaining pad and throws it to the bin, right next to where I am. It is a logical argument that even I could second his claim.
But what option do we have?
Dad trudges towards me and reveals a paper in his hand. Upon picking the pamphlet, I notice numbers and a location near my father's working place with a Japanese man wearing a black suit. It is an advertisement for people who are looking for jobs. These employees need to invite and welcome consumers to put their money in this bank.
"I know you want to be an animator someday, but that would not put food on the table." My father exclaims and tries to put a sense to his words.
However, that is not the job that I want to have when I become an adult. It is not because I hate being an accountant, but because I wish to do something I love. I want to become someone who creates stories into moving pictures and frames with the designs that I make with my hands.
I shake my hand and turn him away. But my father is persistent.
"Take this, in case you change your mind." He goes in front of me and forces the paper in my hand.
I do not want to prolong the argument, so I place the folded paper inside my pockets, uncertain when to open it again and leave the room. The distinguishable alcohol scent of my surroundings stays the same, as if haunting me.
As I walk past the entrance, I pick my phone and dial a person among my few contacts. The screen changes before me, revealing the picture of Yuki in her uniform. My phone produces audible beeping sounds, but it is not from someone who has answered the phone.
"Hello, this is Yuki! Please leave a voice message after the beep. I am out to write, err-, doing something!"
I clutch my phone between my fingers and send her my reply.
"Apologies, Yuki, but I will run late tonight. I just need to find something. Don't worry about it." I leave my best friend a voice message and resume looking for a job opening around the area.