“Back when we were still changin’ for the better, wanting was enough.”

https://open.spotify.com/track/3hUxzQpSfdDqwM3ZTFQY0K?si=AXK0E0c8SiiBEkdoBpr8tQ

tw / mention of blood, sickness, and death.

Jakarta, RSPI.

You could visit the most expensive hospitals anywhere in the world and told Atlas that it did not reek of despair, and he would not believe you. It always did, even when the building was built with white Carrara marble imported straight from Tuscany. Even when it was decorated in the most sophisticated ambiance lighting that only world-class interior designer could think of. Even when a night in its VIP room would cost you a fortune.

It was a place where prayers were most recited, where hope glowed brighter than the one inside Pandora box—but it was also the place where it came into ashes. You could never glamorize a place filled with cries of loss, where birth was declared alongside deaths on daily basis. Atlas hated this place more than anywhere else in the world; for it was a reminder of the biggest loss in his life. And yet there he was, two to three times a week, to accompany a life who depended so dearly and faintly to a machine made by men.

“Atlas, she's done and she's asking for you.”

Five hours went by with so much notice that his mind started to feel heavy, as it was trying to compartmentalize each of his thoughts into different boxes. He sighed, and as he stood up, a smile greeted him from inside the room.

Look at her. She was smiling as if life treated her well. She was laughing with the nurses as if she did not just receive a 5-hours treatment of hemodialysis because both of her kidneys already lost its function, and she was not eligible to receive kidneys transplantation.

“Tired?” He asked as he brushed her arm, and she shook her head as answer. “Nggak, malah bisa tidur. Kalau di rumah malah tidurnya ngga senyenyak disini.”

Atlas chuckled, and as he helped her to get away from the bed, he noticed purple bruises underneath her skin.

Her sickness started to take a toll on her, and yet she was doomed to do this for the rest of her life. He was willing to switch places with her, but life did not work that way. Maybe life hated him even more so it made him watch her wither away slowly, and he had no power to stop it.

“Mau langsung pulang, apa makan sop iga kesukaan Mama dulu?”

“Sop iga aja, mau foto pamer ke Kai.”

Atlas smiled. “Your wish is my command.”

—

The rib soup restaurant she mentioned was a small stall hidden in between high buildings, and parking was a tough task so Atlas decided to leave his car in the hospital and took a taxi there. It was her favorite soup stall, and also Kai's, and for years it had become his. It was owned by a widow who more often than not loved to chat with her until the soup went cold and she had to come back to the kitchen to heat it up. Atlas did not quite understand most of the topics of their discussion, but he could see that both of them were bonded by fate.