“I’m not telling,” she smiled then hop until she sat on the pavement, “How ’bout you?”
I walk towards her and sit beside her, I mimic her, “I’m not telling.”
She glares at me, “Copydog.”
“Cat.” I corrected.
“Dog,” nevertheless, she insisted.
I just sigh to her almost irritating persistence, “Fine. Dog, puppy or whatever.”
“Pffft. Tell me! Tell me!” she said.
“Your sickness!” she answered.
“You won’t tell me yours so why would I?”
“Argh.” she bits her lower lip, “I’m a constant liar. I tell mix truth and lies so it will be up to you if you wanna believe it. So you still want to ask me the same question?”
So, she’s a liar?
“Sure, why not.” so what if she’s liar? Atleast she warned me, so I won’t have any reasons to believe in her words.
“You said so,” she put her arms in her knees and lie her head there, then she turns at me. “I have asthma, been staying here for a month and some weeks.”
“Asthma,” I nod, “That bad?”
“Nah…” she answered.
“Then why that long?”
“Dunno. Time after time, bad attacks come. But nothing deadly or suffocating.” She said.
“So what about you? Ah, yeah, I haven’t ask your name yet.” she ask me.
“It’s Allen. I’m actually dying.” she was shock and raised her head when she heard me said that.
“You’re dying?!” she ask.
“Sort of.” confusion is clearly written in her face. “I’ve got heart problems, heard about those attacks that in one blow might kill you?”
She nods and I continue, “I’m one of those lucky bastards who has that. Everyday my body worsen. I’m staying in the hospital ‘coz in 3days I’ll be having my operation.”
“Then you do have a transplant! So why are you saying that you’re dying?! Ain’t a transplant a sign of living and not dying?” She said.
“Yeah, big deal.” I laugh in sarcasm, “Not when chances are not even the half of a hundred.”
“What kind of heck accusation should that be?!” I said in a slightly annoy-surprise tone.
“In life, percentage is just a number! Transplant is always a transplant! Why are you such a pessimist?!” She said.
“What sense there is in a 20% chance of success?!” why am I debating about my life in this weird creepy girl? It’s annoying me.
“And what sense there is to waste the heart that is about to be given to you?! Atleast believe! Atleast have a 100% faith? 20 plus 100 makes 120% surpassing the hundred!” she scolds me.
“Don’t teach me math! I know better!” I answered her.
“I’m not teaching you math,” she began to calm, “I’m teaching you to believe more than beyond.”
“Shut up.” it gets depressing whenever I hear such conversation.
“You don’t know the feeling of being dead when you’re alive.” I cover my hand in my face and started to feel depress.
“You mean being between life and death?” she said.
“Yeah! Exactly! That feeling of not knowing if it’s life or death for you, that feeling of being in the middle of two skyscraper. That feeling… That..” I am now stammering, trembling. I don’t what words to say, I can’t explain it. I don’t know what to say, “That feeling of being in between, that middle that I don’t even know how to call it..”
“Middle..” she mumbles to herself.
I remove my hand from my face and face her in agony, “Tell me Shekinah, what’s in between life and death? Where am I?? If you can tell me what’s inbetween them.. Then maybe that’s where I am right now.”
She gazes at me but not too long she stands up and stretches her hand to me, “Let me tell you Allen that between life and death is hope. That’s where you are now. Let’s go?”
“W-where?” confused and surprised, I managed to ask.
“Come, take my hand.” and with no doubt, I take her hand and she leads me to every roads of hope.
She never said anything wise, she never said anything helpful, she never said anything inspiring or convincing but…
She told me something that has captivated a part of me.. My soon-to-go-away heart.
TL: What do you think is Shekinah’s real illness? Who can guess? And guess who she really is..