Cream soup for the hundredth time. Mashed potatoes without the cream — for the thousandth. Spoon after spoon, and still he refuses to eat.
When's he gonna start eating again? I know I'm no sweet grandma, but come on — one spoon for Ardon, a little extra for Gina, a tiny one for me, and the whole bowl for M.K., who hasn't left the side of this unwilling -throne of the Chinese emperor.- Not inherited by right, but occupied thanks to a damn nightmare I wish I could rewrite.
But I can't. He still just lies there, completely still — almost not even breathing. His chest barely rises now, though it used to quiver like it had a mind of its own, shaken by all the feelings that once lived inside Erich. That Erich — the one full of fire and chaos and heart.
Coma… never thought I'd see it this close. I always filed it under movie tropes — a plot device to show someone on the edge between life and death. A little psychic nudge, a mystical whisper, and boom — back to the land of the living.
Reality? Way duller. A person just lies there. That's it. Sure, poets call it an -endless dream, - but I've seen it raw — and it's far less romantic. No verses for me, just doctors shrugging and mumbling, -No prognosis. - Just invoices for the bed and the ventilator. -You want him to live, right?-
Duh. His life's worth more than anything. And if it takes eternity for him to lie there like this — then I'll lie next to him too. I'll die right here, and I won't even bother sweeping up M.K.'s bones after we're both long gone.
Yeah, yeah — sounds gross, hysterical, naive. I know. My parents have said as much, like a pair of seasoned senators: -It's not worth the candle, young lady. You should be focusing on finding a suitable partner and producing heirs.- To which I reply the same way, every time — by showing up at Erich's hospital bed.
Let the poultry farms produce heirs. I'll have kids only with the person I love. And that's him — this sunken, pale, once-beautiful man, whose curls have lost their glow. His dark skin stretched tight like parchment, as if his features are ready to sharpen into something deathly.
But I'm not letting that happen! I'll cure a coma if I have to — no matter how dumb that sounds. Yeah, I get it — coma's not a disease.
But whatever. I'll fix it anyway! I won't quit! You hear me, Erich? You coma people are supposed to have some freaky telepathic powers or something — so I'm hoping my thoughts can still sneak into your nearly-shut-down mind!
Too many exclamation marks in all this drama. Not enough action. I was pacing around like some cornered little animal — or, at the very least, a very stressed-out human. As usual, I gripped my iPhone tight. That sleek little device was getting crushed in my sweaty palms, but at least it brought me some comfort.
Some folks use prayer beads. Some squeeze rubber balls. Me? I cling to modern tech — which, come to think of it, has other uses…
WAIT!
What?
Smartphones have cameras. Duh. You can record video. And if you can record video, then people
even ones who aren't exactly -here- — might still see Maybe not process it yet... but maybe
someday. The trick is to deliver it the right way.
Thinking I'd officially gone nuts, I plopped down on the chair, hugged my knees, and just let the wave of emotions crash over me. But this new idea? It wasn't surrender — it was something close to hope.
I could show Erich the world. I could keep him updated. Every second I'm awake — as long as my phone's got battery — I could film everything for him. And I've got like, five power banks, so I could keep rolling almost nonstop.
Let's go, K. — I barked in full commander mode. He didn't like that tone (he only listened to Erich), but today he caved. For now, he acknowledged me as the stand-in alpha. Not a friend — that's still Erich. But hey, I'll take what I can get.
We stepped into the clinic hallway, dodging nurses, patients, and doctors, all giving side-eye to the dog trotting beside me. M.K. looked wildly out of place, I'll admit, but I'd convinced Erich's doctor he was the ultimate emotional tether — a living thread to keep him anchored to Earth.
I'm hoping I'm one of those threads too. And now that thread's gonna be my trusty sidekick — the iPhone. A gadget made by billionaire dudes (okay, not with their own hands, obviously), definitely not designed to save lives. But screw that — time for a D.I.Y. ritual. Let's turn this thing into a pendulum swinging between worlds. Key phrase — "almost the afterlife".
I inhaled like a vacuum cleaner about to explode, every pore wide open, and wandered aimlessly down the corridor, no idea where to start. What place would Erich want to see first?
Our house? No and no again. His brain doesn't work like that. His clusters are jam-packed with symbols and weird perception loops. Something fun? Nope — he'd wanna save that for later, after stopping by the home of his soulmates — Ardon and Gina!
Bingo.
Time to visit their den and stir the pot in that not-so-sleepy little cauldron of passions.
Fueled by my own genius, I didn't even notice how I ended up in a cab, barely reacting to the overly cheerful driver trying to hook M.K. up with -his stunning little lady! I'm telling you, she's a toy terrier, but size don't matter, they'll fall in love, you'll see, miss passenger!-
Yeah Here's your tip. — I handed him cash just to shut him up. He reminded me of my mom trying to -set me up- with some pedigree stud. Gross. Good thing we don't really talk anymore.
The path to Erich's house was guarded by flocks of pigeons and other birds who loved this part of town for its endless birdhouses — little condos built by my fiancé's eco-freak parents.
That's right. He's my fiancé, even if he hasn't popped the question yet. I heard him whispering to
M.K. about our wedding. Thought I wouldn't notice? Please. I know everything, darling! You're not getting out of this coma that easy. And no — this isn't abuse. It's called sincere devotion, thank you very much.
For the first time in ages, my mood lifted. Riding that little high, I stormed into the condo where Erich's parents lived. Weird digs for people who claimed to be -children of the earth,- but hey — probably just a transitional phase.
The building reeked of the most obvious scent known to mankind: classic cat pee. Straight out of every sad neighborhood description ever written. And, of course, her loyal sidekicks were here too
rancid oil, damp plaster, someone hacking up a lung, screaming kids, and wall art made of good old human urine streaks.
The perfect romantic backdrop for rescuing the love of your life…
Gina and Ardon lived on the second floor, first door off the stairs. I rang the bell a dozen times — no answer. Probably sprawled on the floor again, stoned out of their minds, plotting a tree-planting mission to Proxima Centauri. I knocked once. Then harder. Then my fist was hovering in front of the eternally blissful face of Erich's dad — who immediately hugged me and then nearly strangled poor M.K. in a cuddle attack.
Sweetheart! My sunshine! Radiant blessing! Come in, come in! We're just about to start a game you showed up at the perfect Let me help you with your shoes.
Oh come on, Ardon, really? — I backed off and kicked off my flats — What kind of game are you guys playing? Looks like something serious's brewing.
You bet! A joyous occasion — we've got a special guest, and she's not alone. — He winked at me, and boom — Erich all over — You went to see him today? And... wait, what's this? Why are you filming me with a transmitter that beams my image straight to the Pentagon?
Now he pulled away — I'd whipped out the phone and started recording. I gave him the quick-and- dirty version of my plan to help his son and confirmed I'd spent the whole day by Erich's side.
Then I turned the camera on myself and dropped the first take — which, yeah, I totally botched:
Just hey, big Er. I'm not editing any of this. I'm gonna show you the world exactly how it is. Yeah, I messed up by not explaining what's going on. You're starting off right in Ardon and Gina's house, with your dad reacting to the camera, and that's my bad.
But isn't it great? That you're seeing the world again? Tell me: it's great, right, Big Er?!
We really miss you. Me, your parents… Ardon, wave to your son, please. — He did exactly what I asked. — Now, M.K., say hi to your buddy. — I turned the camera on the dog, and he immediately licked the screen. — See? We're all here, and we love you so much. Don't be sad, okay? We'll come back here together, real soon.
I thought about kissing the screen, but after M.K.'s little tongue dance, I decided against it. Hygiene wins.
When I stopped filming, Erich's dad gave his update.
We're going to visit him tonight! — he declared. — We'll bring the wire sculpture he and Gina made back when they were kids and put on a little show for Remember the Paramedic Cabbage stories? He used to love those when he was just a tiny bean. My Erich… my baby boy… — His face twisted into knots of tears, and he sighed with the weight of sorrow itself.
I had no choice but to hug him — the way he liked — because we were both living through the same damn storm.
Enough with the doom and gloom! — The jester bounced back to — Let's go into the living room. They're waiting!
And so we went. Only two people were there. But oh, what people.
Hovering over a table made of a Frankenstein collection of planks, all hammered together by Erich's parents, was his mother — frozen still, breaking her stillness only to strike one funereal chord on an old lamp-style organ from the days of Jean-Jacques Michel. On a pouf nearby sat an old woman
giving a pedicure… to porcelain cats. Hopefully not the same ones haunting the building's stairwell.
Into this — I hate to pun but I can't help it — catastrophe, I stepped, guided by the ever-delightful Ardon, who announced:
Behold, ye feathered creatures of the sky — look who's come to join us! Almost no reaction.
Gina held her statue pose, with the occasional musical twitch. The guest just lazily waved her hand:
We Sit down already. It's game time, not gossip hour.
Before I even had a chance to plant my butt, chaos began. Ardon, still by the doorway, flipped the switch and plunged the room into darkness. The only sound was the grumbling of our guest, complaining about Japanese pet store prices. Honestly, I knew this madness would cheer Erich up
it had -our family- written all over
Little candles lit up at the edges of the table, spinning through the room with the skillful hand of Erich's mom, now moonlighting as a magician. Her elegant spider-fingers sent the candle cups flying, circling in a blur. In the middle of it all, I continued filming, until...
What are you doing? Making home movies? — the guest barked. — Wait, let me put on my rhinestone lingerie first!
I swear this is the last pun I'll allow myself, but: the spinning candles finally settled. The calm, steady glow signaled the start of something sacred. Gina, in her usual priestess mask, raised her hand and intoned:
Hearts beat, and rush toward one another, for they are about to unite. The new phase of -Spin the Bottle- has begun.
Wait, seriously?! We're playing that high school nonsense?
I almost stood up to leave — but the camera in my hand glued me to my seat. I whispered into the mic:
You seeing this, Big Er? Same old lunatics, same old Come join the fun.
Ardon, now beside me, handed a wine bottle to the high priestess of the evening. With the flair of a pro, she gave it a spin and let fate take over. The neck pointed at me, and the base grazed the guest.
Session The fates are one now — inseparable. — Gina clapped her hands in triumph. Ardon jumped up to turn the lights back on.
Most people in the room had no clue what just happened, but Ardon quickly leaned over and briefed me after a short whisper-convo with the guest:
My little sugarplum, my gentle bright spark — this is She's Erich's grandmother from some side of the family tree. She's got… something like Alzheimer's, though I'm not totally sure.
Also, she's a lesbian and super heartbroken over her lost love. Oh no, no — her wife didn't die, they just split over political differences.
So, yeah, someone needs to look after her. And I don't mean babysitting — I mean hang out. She's super lively and fun, but sometimes she drifts out of reality and starts spouting stuff.
Oh no, no, she's not getting Vietnam flashbacks. But sometimes she thinks the world around her isn't real and that she's the only -real- person left — the rest of us are fictional characters from a book or something.
Sure, she's a little loopy — but she's awesome. And she's got a soft spot for dogs, which is good because she's allergic to cats… and people.
After getting all that dumped on me, I was ready to bolt from this place before they assigned me three more eccentric and unexpected relatives. But I stopped myself — for two reasons.
First off, I figured my fiancé would be happy to see one of his relatives — even if it was my first time hearing about her. Plus, she could spice up the videos with her… unique presence.
Second, I couldn't help but admire how smoothly Ardon and Gina pulled that weird bottle game outta their sleeves just to dump this high-maintenance lady on me. I didn't even hear them whisper! They were definitely planning something else and pivoted midair. Gotta hand it to 'em — smooth as hell. That alone earned them honorary status in my team with M.K.
Louise got her shoes on fast. She looked modern as hell — tight skinny jeans that probably doubled as compression gear, a white blouse that belonged more to a Renaissance fencing duel, and purple sneakers for that bonus street-flair weirdness.
Her bob haircut framed her face with a long side fringe covering half of it. A tiny gold ring sat in her nose. Add to that her toned, athletic figure, and yeah… I kinda hated her a little.
You're not real! You're just some low-budget character written by a guy who writes ad copy for air fresheners! — That was her grand No twitching, no spitting — just casual slander, like she was reading a parking fine. I hate to disappoint you, but I am And there's someone who needs bringing back to this reality.
You're good at steering the Who's the poor soul?
Your
Oh, so now you're trying to force some boy on me? A boy I've never even met — even though I invited him to Japan more times than I can count?
I faltered.
Well… he wanted to
You're lying, girl! — She cut me off like a — He never mentioned me because he thinks I'm -too harsh. - He's just a little bee who wants to sprinkle nectar all over the world.
Basically — he's a fool. A sweet fool, but still.
Don't talk about him like that! — I flared up, claws Okay, figuratively. For now. — You're
nothing compared to him.
She just snorted, dramatically tilted her head back, and stared at the ceiling like it was an oracle. Then something changed. Her whole vibe went soft, her movements loose. She dropped the sass and put on this theatrical sad-face, whispering with a rasp:
You're not her… and you don't even look like her. But where is she? I… I forget her How do I remember her slipping face? How do I bring her back?
I'm not gonna lie and say I suddenly felt tenderness for this poor, broken woman. She'd just pissed me off, and I wasn't about to turn into some kindhearted nun. But we did have something in common — both of us were trying to bring someone we loved back.
I asked if she wanted to go outside. And out we went, onto a busy street. I scanned the area for something that might catch Erich's eye.
I needed to see through his eyes. He'd definitely want a snack first. Then, fueled up, off to chase adventure. That settled it — first stop: his favorite café for peanut ice cream. Then the rest.
Louise, how about some ice cream?
I'm on free-range mode these days. Just don't shove that damn camera in my face — I'm not some pop tart.
You're really — I mumbled, glaring at her.
So, our little trio — not the dream team I'd hoped for — headed out for something sweet, in what might've been the worst reunion in recorded history.
The café was just a few blocks away. One of those rare gems — quiet, peaceful, no screaming kids or over-loud laughter. Perfect for couples in love… or women who've lost theirs.
Not exactly romantic, but at least it was calm.
Nothing had changed since the last time I was here with Erich. Same silent waiters, same fast service. Same vintage curtains dancing in the breeze — probably stolen from Louise's old bedroom. And smack in the center of the place: a giant decorative cupcake, hard as stone. Probably also from her bedroom.
Didn't matter if it was a weekday or weekend — this place was always open. And no, this ain't an ad.
Louise looked at the dessert with disdain, poked at it with her spoon like it was a dead animal, then pushed the glass away.
I don't eat that crap. If you ever tried the crispy taiyaki I got at this tiny stall in Sapporo, you'd never touch this so-called -fast food- again.
I sighed and didn't argue. No use picking a fight with a well-traveled woman who's clearly seen some shit. I dug into my -crap- with delight — it was delicious, and in the heat of May, it was exactly what I needed. June was coming — Erich's favorite month… No. Focus. Focus on the mission. No time to mope.
One hand still on the phone, I kept filming. Then I looked straight into the camera again — talking to the black screen like it was him.
See this? Told you, it's not just snowflakes that can hold a face. I can see you even here.
Hey there, Big Er! It's me Get ready to be annoyed a lot today. Hope you don't mind
having me around. I can't really ask your permission, can I? Don't even know if you want to see me with all my… clingy concern. — I shook my head, catching the eye-roll from Laura, and realized I was veering way off-track, so I cut the chirpy act and:
Sorry for sounding like some giddy fool. You've always loved me for who I really am, and this fake tone — it's just not Not even a little. Look — here's your favorite ice cream. See it? I used to make faces at the peanuts, but lately I've grown to like them. They're actually good. When you're back, we'll buy a whole sack and eat it in one sitting. But right now…
Right now we need to hit a concert or I've been cooped up long enough. Haven't been to the States in a while, and I wanna shake off the dust.
I almost whacked her on the forehead with my spoon for cutting into my monologue to Erich like that — and in such a caricature tone. But then it hit me:
You know what? That's actually a solid idea. Don't you think, love? Maybe we should listen to your grandma and go to a concert?