There is no place in the world where Lucas can imagine himself without Haydeé. A metaphor of the faithful love that he professes to her is the flower he throws to the ground, in each step she takes.
She is convinced that flowers grow inside the walls. The seeds stick to the soles of the shoes, and once the mud is all gone, the grain releases itself and the plant grows. Somewhere. Behind a door that never closes, under the sink, inside a vase; where by imitation or by osmosis, it learns it must grow. So it grows, and a flower is born, before it is discovered and ripped off for being someone's favorite and put in place with the others in the vase.
The new one detaches itself from the false bouquet and falls to the ground because someone notices it is time to change the water and takes care of emptying the vase, making disappear the withered daisies resting inside a cylindrical jar of rusty metal.
She finds the flower in the ground, during her daily walks from the visiting room to the solarium, where the light and heat of a three o'clock sun enters and spreads, flooding the west wing of the building, through enormous windows.
To her, they are only numbers that do not make sense adding, but Lucas keeps the score, because he told me: 137 hours of sitting in front of an empty chair, waiting in vain for the arrival. At first, of Martin, now, of anyone; uncle Rob, Rachel, or Jesus, the gardener. She waits, with her eyes fixed on the clock, waiting for the clock hand to make a full turn. Then she gets up mechanically, moves the chair to its place, and the stare is lost again, at some point far and deep from the ground.
That's the reason why she finds the flowers, and for that, Lucas escapes to the garden whenever he can. He does have permission to go out into the yard without custody; he earned that in the third year of hospitalization. It was informed to him in the same office where they explained to Haydeé her current prognosis. And how the doctors had done everything within their reach, and she had to make her own effort now. And that Martin would be imprisoned for a few years and that she, now, was going to be safe there, where they could take better care of her.
They were right about something: after months of physiotherapy, she managed to walk again, slow and steady, moving as if she were a drifting, precarious boat in the middle of an ocean.
These are ideas that Lucas puts into her head to distract her from disappointments. He tells her that she is the figurehead of a mighty vessel, impossible to be sunk, that has crossed seven seas and oceans that have not been named yet.
Then she plays along, makes an effort and it barely escapes her lips, "Cap... tain ". And he lights up, he clasps his hands and looks up as if he were saying a silent prayer. He hooks his arm around hers, and they sail together to the dining room; avoiding obstacles, giant waves and marine monsters with human forms. And they laugh.
I have not heard from them again, but I still like to imagine them, transiting calm waters, coral reefs, away from loud sirens and diagnoses.
Photo by Harry Burk on Unsplash
Photo by Sweet Ice Cream Photography on Unsplash
Photo by Darrin Henein on Unsplash