A Pretty Girl Who Only Looks Sick
"Ugh..."
Where was I? I remembered picking out a triangle kimbap and a cola at the convenience store and heading for the register, but after that, nothing. Not a scrap of memory.
"Unfamiliar ceiling."
For a second I thought I'd been kidnapped. The needle in my arm, and the IV drip hanging right in front of me, were enough to rule that out.
"This is a hospital. Nothing hurts, I'm perfectly healthy—so why am I here?"
No matter how I turned it over, no answer came. Lying there any longer wasn't going to produce one either, so I started to sit up and call a nurse. A doctor and a cluster of nurses chose that moment to come into the room where I was lying.
"What? Why are you up? Patient, please rest!"
"You can't get up right now!"
"I am resting. Plenty."
I said it. The nurses pushed me flat again anyway. Rest, they told me. From where I was lying, the medical staff were the ones making rest impossible.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry, but why am I here?"
"We received a call that you were dying, so we brought you in as quickly as we could."
"I'm sorry—I was dying?"
Had I felt any pain at the convenience store? No. A throb that passed as quickly as it came, at most. Beyond that, truly nothing.
Could I actually be sick? There was that old saying, wasn't there—tell a person three times that a tiger is coming, and they'll start to believe it.
With the doctor and every nurse insisting I was ill, doubt began to creep over my own body. So I put the question to the god who was probably watching all of this.
Hey. God?
I'm really not sick, right?
God didn't pause to think. The answer came at once.
God had guaranteed me a healthy body. Discharging myself ought to be fine, then. I asked the staff to let me go, and was refused on the spot. The proper tests weren't finished.
"There's a high chance it's a serious illness even we don't recognize. Let's watch your condition for a few more days."
"A high chance. That doesn't mean I actually have a disease."
"What's strange is the idea that it isn't a disease. Stay a few days, and then you can leave."
It was stifling, but there was nothing I could do. God had sworn my body wasn't sick. If I passed that along and insisted I was fine, they'd probably admit me to a psychiatric ward.
"Then let's do it this way. The moment the results prove, beyond any doubt, that there's no illness, I'm discharging myself."
"Understood."
I'd gotten the promise. Honestly, I wanted to leave right then and eat something good, but this was as far as I could push it, so I decided to be satisfied. No—satisfied with everything except one thing.
"Your meal is here~"
"What's for dinner, by any chance?"
"Nutritional porridge for you. We set yours aside separately. If you ate like the other patients, we don't know what might happen."
Right. The one thing I could not be satisfied with was the food. Plain white porridge at lunch, nutritional porridge at night, and not much of either. Eat too much and you'll get a stomachache, they said, and kept the portions small.
"...I'm hungry."
There were more tests than I had imagined—past anything I'd expected. More than half were things I'd never even heard of. They told me the results would be in tomorrow, and I was dragging my worn-out body down the hospital corridor when I noticed a child staring at me in open admiration.
"Whoa, you're really pretty..."
Until two days ago I had been a man, so hearing that left me with a strange, unsettled feeling. Even so, I decided to play along. I smiled and walked over.
"Is this noona that pretty?"
"Yes! You're the prettiest noona I've ever seen! But you look really sick. Are you okay?"
The pure, unguarded worry was rather cute. I stroked the child's hair and answered gently.
"I'm plenty healthy. What about you? What brought you here?"
"Well, I got tired playing soccer and collapsed, and when I woke up I was in the hospital. Mom was crying right next to me."
If the mother had been crying, then this child had something serious. That innocent smile made my chest ache.
"Yeah? What did the doctor say?"
"They said I might get better if I have surgery. But they also said life might be a little hard from now on."
"So you might get better? That's great!"
I hid how bleak I felt and cheered the child on with an even brighter, exaggerated grin. It was the only thing I could do.
"Yeah... but I'm really scared of the surgery. They said it hurts a lot... But seeing you, I feel braver!"
"Yeah? You're pretty tough, huh?"
"Of course! Hehe, you have no idea how tough I am!"
The spirit had come back into the child's voice. Proud of that, I stroked the hair once more and stood. I felt bad about it, but if I kept standing there, the fatigue was going to drop me.
"Do well in the surgery. I hope you live healthy."
"Okay, thank you~"
I said goodbye, and I was on my way back to my room when God spoke.
"It's the first time I've ever heard words like that. Doesn't mean I can't give them to other people."
"If it'll give someone even a little strength, I can say that sort of thing all day. You saw the kid find that spirit again, didn't you?"
"Very funny. But there was something you promised to explain to me, wasn't there?"
All day, even through the tests, my curiosity about the body God had given me had only grown. I wanted that itch scratched.
"Which is why you need to tell me what those Settings actually are."
I wanted the answer right then. God betrayed my curiosity and went on.
Fuck. Tell me and then go.
"Son, you have to have the surgery if you want to get better. It only hurts for a little while, and then it's over."
"N-no... I don't want it to hurt..."
"Keep being stubborn like this and Mom's going to scold you."
"I hate you, Mom!"
I hated the nagging, so I ran off toward the hospital lounge. Why did Mom keep telling me to get a surgery I wanted no part of?
"I don't want it to hurt."
The doctor had said the surgery might hurt. Doctors usually said it wouldn't. If this one admitted it would, how much was it going to hurt?
I was wandering the hospital corridor with nowhere to go when I saw a noona coming toward me, prettier by far than any I had ever seen, and I couldn't look away.
"Whoa, she's really pretty..."
I was just standing there, dazed, when she smiled, came over, and started stroking my hair.
"Is this noona that pretty?"
Up close, though, her face was strange. Pretty, yes, but she looked sick and tired. It was the face of someone enduring pain. She was smiling, and yet it didn't look like a smile at all.
"Yes! You're the prettiest noona I've ever seen! But you look really sick. Are you okay?"
I asked because I was worried, and she only smiled and kept stroking my hair.
"I'm plenty healthy. What about you? What brought you here?"
"Well, I got tired playing soccer and collapsed, and when I woke up I was in the hospital. Mom was crying right next to me."
The memory was still vivid. I'd woken up and called for Mom. She looked at me quietly for a moment, went outside, and broke down sobbing.
"Son, does anywhere hurt?"
"My chest stings a little, but it doesn't hurt that much! Hehe."
"Really...? If it hurts, you have to tell me."
Turning it over again, it still wasn't a good memory. I never wanted to see Mom cry like that.
I must have been shaking my head, and maybe that looked strange to her, because the noona stopped petting me and asked.
"Yeah? What did the doctor say?"
"They said I might get better if I have surgery. But they also said life might be a little hard from now on."
"So you might get better? That's great!"
She smiled wide and encouraged me. She was hurting like that herself, and she could still worry about someone else? She had to be an angel who had come down from heaven for a little while and hidden her wings.
"Yeah... but I'm too scared of the surgery. They said it hurts a lot. But looking at you, I feel brave!"
"Yeah? You're really tough, aren't you?"
"Of course! Hehe, you have no idea how tough I am!"
She smiled softly, stood up, and gave me a light little wave for goodbye.
"Do well in the surgery. Noona hopes you'll live healthy. I'd better go, all right? You have to stay healthy."
"Okay, thank you~"
Maybe what she meant was that her own body couldn't get any better, so at least I ought to be healthy. The moment I heard it, I made up my mind. I would have the surgery.
"Thank you, noona. Because of you, I found the courage."
Then I turned and ran for my room.
"Mom! I've made up my mind! I want the surgery!"
"What? Really?"
When I said I would, Mom startled—and then a tear fell. And another.
"Mom? Don't cry... If you cry, I get sad too..."
"Right. I shouldn't cry. I'm sorry, son."
Maybe just being able to live a long time without being sick was, for some people, something to envy.
When I thought again of the face she had worn saying goodbye, it looked, somehow, unbearably sad.
Once the surgery was over, would I get to see that noona one more time?
Hehe. I hope she shows up in my dreams, at least, looking healthy.