Women's Intuition

Destroyed by rust at the poorly made joints and with a body cracked by cheap paints applied over time, tram number one threw its wheels on the heated tracks. It ran noisily, crossing the city of the seven hills daily. It creaked. It rattled. It puffed like an old misanthropic man chewing food with a dental prosthesis incorrectly fixed in his mandible and rocking weakly from side to side.

Before sunrise, it started from the end of the industrial zone, full of old, dilapidated factories with plaster made of shards and chips, among which new, greasy factories were hidden here and there, all spread over tens of hectares of land where there used to be only an endless wasteland. It pierced the winding city, crossed the center and climbed with a wheezing sound like asthmatic wheezing towards Main Avenue.

The route was sprinkled with old shops, new cafes built in places where long ago medieval cellars were, student buildings crammed with young people who drew smoke from cancer-causing contraband cigarettes into their lungs, and tens, perhaps hundreds of people in a hurry who stepped heavily on the pavement, guided by their own shadows.

Long ago, in the early years of marriage, Ana, my wife, jokingly, according to her own words, told me that I had a sinister side and a penchant for occult subjects. It seemed like nonsense at the time, but for the sake of art, I continued the conversation and was amazed to find out that besides suffering for loving me, she claimed to be sure that I….well my soul would not step beyond, and that I would continue to visit her. This was due to the high level of perversion I possess. I started laughing, copiously, as if I were at a stand-up show, and I just told her that, continuing the joke.

“Then, when I won't be here anymore” that was my answer. “I will definitely wait for you to join me.”

Twenty-three years have passed since then, and now my stomach is gurgling noisily, like boiling rice porridge. Abdominal cramps don't let me sleep, even though I took three sleeping pills, and a thought weighs on my cerebellum - to take another one, and I imagine it's a Tic Tac. Said and done. I gulp down a valerian pill, over which I pour three large glasses of cold water from the fridge.

“How stupid can I be?” - now my throat hurts.

“Congratulations!”

 Surely, every time I swallow saliva, it will feel like I'm gobbling razor blades. The real reason for my insomnia is tomorrow is that I will have stomach surgery, where a small tumor, only eight centimeters in size, is splashing around in my gastric juice. Actually, if I think about it, I can't wait to get into the operating room because I will be under general anesthesia, and then I can finally get some sleep and sort out my ideas.

"Laurentiu, come to the room, it's late," Ana tells me, shuffling from the bedroom to the bathroom, blinded by the light in the kitchen.

"Right away, my dear.  I just took another pill, maybe I can manage to sleep for two or three hours."

I continue the conversation with my wife, despite the hilarious situation we are in, she being on the toilet and me in the kitchen with my glasses of cold water. My joints crackle, and I feel my muscles relax slowly. I turn off the light and the door behind me, go into the bedroom, and have another surprise - my place is occupied by the cat. She purrs and is stretched out as long as she is over the pillow.

Her body, together with the caresses of my wife, manages to put me to sleep. All I think to myself is: "Goodnight, Laurentiu, and good luck with tomorrow's operation."

…..

The big day is here. I am sitting in a wheelchair in the waiting room of the operating block, while Ana patrols the area in her slippers and gown. She is more impatient than I am, even though I am "the main event". Despite the painkillers and sedatives administered, I am still on my feet. The watch on my wrist is behaving oddly, ticking a second forward and two seconds back, ticking forward and back again, so I can confidently say that time is mocking me. If I could, I would take this rock and crush it under my foot as if it were just a grain of sand.

"Oh my God, why is it taking so long?" Ana says. "Why isn't the doctor here yet?"

"Calm down, Ana. You know how doctors nowadays are...coffee and small talk first, then the rest. Come sit next to me, let me hold you." I replied to her while I was also a a bucket of gun powder ready to burn.

Ana doesn't even acknowledge me and continues pacing up and down the hallway. She looks at the clock, then at me, then at the ceiling, then at the floor, and sighs continuously, sounding like a hurricane.

Suddenly her phone rings and she answers it immediately:

"Hello, Mom!"

"Phew, great, please give her my regards," I say to Ana sarcastically but again she just ignored me. She just answering to her in a deep voice

"No doctor has come to say anything, and it's already past two in the afternoon, since this morning is this everlasting waiting.

…

After another hour, the door opens, and the doctor approaches us slowly, like an ant on a lawn. I stand up from the chair and say,

"Doctor, is it really that hard for you to move?" But he doesn't even look at me...how rude. Moreover, he's staring at Ana from head to toe, like a creep. The moron doesn't say a word, just stands there and stares….and stares. Eventually, he speaks:

"Mrs. Harold," he addresses Ana while she was looking at the clock

"Yes doctor” she answered like in a whisper.

“Unfortunately, your husband did not survive. We did everything we could, but unfortunately, the tumor was too large, and when we tried to partially remove it, he suffered massive bleeding."

I looked at him with all the frustration that I gane waiting here and starting to yell.

"What??? Who are you talking about, you bastard..."

And then I lunge at him, but my arms pass through him like light through a window, and then I realize...Ana was the only one here in the waiting room, and I was inside.

I died on the operating table, and I didn't even bother to cross over.

Damn, women's intuition...