"Where is that hospital?" she asks, her chin wobbling as if on the brink of tears.
I notice a suitcase lying on the ground, likely dropped in shock. Her eyes overflow with tears, streaming down her cloudy cheeks. From this distance, she seems to be in her mid-twenties, clad in a muddy overcoat, an odd choice for summer. Her long, black hair cascades like strands of silk, reaching her waist.
"It's alright, she is fine now," I reassure her, attempting to ease her worries.
"I asked you something—didn't you hear me?" she speaks, with a hint of rudeness. I ignore it, attributing it to the shock of the news.
"Oh—in the southern part of this town, there's a small community hospital. It's quite far away, but sadly, it's the closest for major treatments."
She wipes her tears with the ends of her sleeve and picks up her suitcase, her hands fumbling. "I'm not very good with directions—take me there, right now."
"Huh?" I react to her sudden polite request. "I have just returned from visiting her, and I have work tomorrow so... I think you can easily find a cab or a bus. It's not that late."
She gives me a mysterious look, her face straight, probably disappointed, though I can't tell what's going on in her mind. "Oops! I mistook you for being a gentleman, which you clearly are not."
"Excuse me!"
"Yeah, I get it, just go home and don't add to my stress."
She struggles to walk straight in her high boots, heading towards her grandmother's house. As I approach the same door, I stop her.
"This house belongs to my grandparents. Where do you think you are going?"
I've had enough of her flawed personality. Who cares if she looks like an angel if she lacks the manners to speak to others? There's definitely a devil inside her.
"I'm a tenant here. I pay rent and get to live."
She scoffs loudly, obviously trying to get on someone's nerves. "I don't believe her. Does she not even have an eye to keep a tenant? Literally anyone can enter this house now."
I'm at the end of my patience and finally speak back. "Miss, did you come here to deliberately pick a fight with me? What I've noticed is that I'm trying my best to understand you, and you just won't stop insulting me. I'm sorry if I'm not the gentleman you thought I was because I wouldn't be chauffeuring you around as if you were a princess. People have other things to do. Do you get it?"
As I complete my words, with a breath caught off in my mouth, I see her expressions slowly changing. She lowers her eyelashes and looks at her boots. She starts sobbing out loudly, and tears come back in a stream. This time, she cries so loudly that the whole neighborhood comes out on their respective balconies, becoming the audience to this scene.
"I'm sorry I made you feel bad, but I'm so lost right now. I don't know what I should do... but you didn't have to be so rude to me," she says, pressing her eyes with the back of her fingers, as if forcefully trying to flow tears out of them.
The girl's mood swings sharply from anger to tears, catching me off guard. One moment she's glaring, the next, her eyes well up, and tears stream down her face. She looks away briefly, her chest heaving as if trying to suppress her emotions.
The next important thing to do is to send all the neighbors inside before she manages to tarnish my reputation. "Alright, alright, I will take you to the hospital. But please, can you calm down and stop creating a scene?"
She looks up and nods her head adorably, with a little devilish smile on her face. "By the way, can you also place my bag inside the house? It's inconvenient to carry along. Bring a bottle of water to drink on the way. I'm waiting outside."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I find myself hesitant to walk beside her, especially in the darkness. How did I become entangled with this eccentric family? Last I checked, I had my own problems to grapple with, yet here I am, feeling enslaved by circumstances, even when they don't explicitly coerce me. It's as though the situation compels me to act involuntarily.
"So, tell me exactly what happened?" she asks.
"One day, she failed to collect her newspaper and milk. I went to check on them, only to discover her in the midst of a heart attack. It was severe, and she had been experiencing symptoms for nearly a day, with no one to confide in."
"Surely, she could have reached out to me. She has my number. I wonder why she feels so alone in the world. Perhaps my grandmother tends to dramatize things; she enjoys playing the victim. I can't fathom why she neglects her family despite our efforts to support her."
Listening to Lily's account, I find myself unable to render a judgment. Their stories contradict each other, revealing the inherent biases and perspectives shaped by their positions. I'm left in a dilemma, unsure which side of the story to believe.
"There we are, that's the hospital where your grandmother is admitted. You can find Ward No. 28. Or should I accompany you to prove my gentlemanly demeanor?"
She turns to me, the corners of her lips lifting in an enamored smile. "Oh, it seems you're upset with me. I apologize. Let's not harbor any ill feelings, shall we?" She extends her hand for a handshake.
Her smile somehow manages to infect me, and I find myself mirroring her expression, foolishly smiling as I shake her hand.