The Irony of Fate

I’m almost running to the door after seeing the USPS drone passing by my window. My hopes are fulfilled – the package is there. I start tearing frantically the padded envelope while I’m still in the driveway.

It’s her birthday two days from now. I wanted to buy her something really fancy, but my financial resources are critically low – the long legal battle for the past two years drained my bank account.

Inside there is a golden heart-shaped locket with Swarovski crystals. It has the word “Love” with handwritten letters engraved over a golden band stretching from one side to another. It looks really nice, even better than I expected from the pictures I saw in the Marketplace ad when I bought it.

I don’t like the chain, though. It is a fairly common one, with many oxidation stains. The lock, however is really cool – it is a small arrow that enters a tiny heart. Oh, she’ll love it, I’m sure.

I remember there was a thin gold chain that might go well with the locket in my grandmother’s jewelry box. It doesn’t take me long to find it. Now I have to remove the arrow-and-heart lock from the original chain and mount it on the gold one. I try to loosen the link that holds the arrow, but it doesn’t work. The magnifying glass helps me to figure out what the problem is. It has a socket holding it and I must pull it out. I go in the garage and grab from my father’s toolbox the smallest pliers he has. I manage to remove the arrow from the socket, eventually, but I’ve stung my finger with its tip when it suddenly got loose. I didn’t even notice that the arrow’s tip pierced my skin until I saw a drop of blood on the mat I was working on.

I was on my way to clean it and put some band-aide, when the phone rung. It was my lawyer.

“We won! You, you won! Do you hear what I’m saying? Oh, man... I just got the court decision, like two minutes ago!”

The time froze. My mouth went dry and I could feel my heart pounding in my temples.

"Gus? You there?” I can hear his voice, but I can’t hear mine, saying – or at least trying to – "You sure? I mean, it’s over? And I won?”

"Gus, my boy, it’s written here. I read it from one end to the other. The only thing the court ruled out is the retroactive payments for the medical insurance of the prior years. But, the Medical Authority must reimburse you all the money withheld from your paycheck or seized from your account since you’ve filed the complaint, and also pay your legal bills related to the case. I’ll send it you in a bit.”

Minutes later, I am slowly reading the document. I take a deep breath, eyes closed. I feel the sharp, but faint pain in the finger, but I don’t care. I defeated them! I open my social media account and I write a brief post: "Dear friends, my lawyer just informed me that the Court has ruled in my favor. The dictatorship of the Medical Authority has come to an end!”. Within seconds, the first comment to congratulate me. Several dozen 'likes' in less than five minutes. My post is immediately shared by several followers – I have more than 250,000. People like me and you, who can’t stand anymore having the shopping cart checked in the supermarket and items removed by the AI cashier only because, according to the Medical Authority records, they’re dangerous to your health. Or forcing you to stop what you’re doing at work and exercise for thirty minutes in their designated cubicles equipped with all kind of machinery and monitors and so on. I did not comply and I lost my job. When I was leaving, they looked at me like I was a kind of a freak, not their best developer.

"Dude, U R great! Does this ruling apply nationwide?" How should I know? "Ask a lawyer. I can recommend you mine" I replied to the first of the comments.

I lost the track of time, answering to countless questions. If it wasn’t for the hunger I feel, I wouldn’t have noticed how late it was. I DON’T CARE!!! I am the first one to be legally allowed to voluntarily opt out from the constraints of the Medical Authority. Yes, I don’t need them, I can freely decide on my own about my health. I can eat as many hamburgers I like. Or drink beer. Or lay on the couch all day. I can go out in summertime without sunscreen and in the wintertime in shorts and flip-flops. And yes, I take full responsibility if I become ill. I haven’t been sick in over a decade. I can’t even remember when was that. And they’re ripping me off with insurance premiums insanely high, even if I’ve never bought a single painkiller pill. Why pay all that money? And all their stupid rules about what you can and you can’t do? Ha! Their argument "The plaintiff has a stellar state of health due to the thorough measures of maintaining it enforced by the Medical Authority and he’s a great example of the efficiency of such measures" was nothing but a pathetic fallacy. They couldn’t outwit the judge. The proof? The paper my lawyer got earlier today.

The phone rings. It’s her.

"I was waiting for you to call me." Her tone is bitter and my enthusiasm vanishes. "Am I supposed to find out from internet that you’ve won? This unimportant am I for you?"

I don’t know what to say. I should have called her, indeed, but somehow it didn’t cross my mind.

"I’m sorry, hon. Come on. Don’t be upset."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, congratulations. And now that it’s over, what are you going to do next?"

"Honestly? I don’t know. I’ll...." I don’t have the chance to finish my thought.

"How come you don’t know? Aren’t you going to kiss me?" and I hear the doorbell ringing.

Oh, damn. I grab the locket from the desk and drag it in a drawer. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. I have enough time tomorrow to finish what I started. It’s been only a few hours, but it seems like so long ago. I go to the front door and open it wide. It’s her, indeed. And a small crowd, including a news crew.

"I didn’t bring them, you know. They were here already." We both fell awkward. I pull her in.

"I don’t have anything to say yet, please come tomorrow morning."

"Sir, sir!" a reporter jumps next to me. "Just a few words for tonight’s news. Please?"

I concede and give a brief statement, closing the door behind me just when the van of a second news crew comes around the corner.

"What a day, what a day....my God".

She goes straight into the kitchen, coming with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"To my beloved outlaw!" We both laugh. Yes, I am literally an outlaw now. They can’t control my life anymore. And I’ll stay out of the medical system for the rest of my life. I guess this is how a drop of oil on the surface of a lake feels like.

"How was your day?" she asks.

"Before or after the lawyer called?" I reply smiling.

"After."

"Before or after you came?"

"After." She smiles back, leaning her head sideway and biting her lower lip.

I don’t answer. I gently grab her neck and kiss her passionately. Her black hair is like velvet, smelling fresh. She cuddles in my arms, dragging me along her on the couch. I take off my shirt and when I’m unzipping my jeans I feel again the pain in my finger. It is more intense than earlier, but I choose to ignore it because I have something else, more appealing, to do.

I wake up first the next day. I go in the kitchen and make coffee. The pain in the finger is now pulsating and the finger is swollen. I can’t bend it. I remember there was some ointment for minor scratches in the bathroom upstairs.

„I guess coffee is illegal, but you don’t care, right? And now you want to poison me? What if they detect the caffeine in my bloodstream and I lose my job?”

I can’t say if she really means it or if she’s just kidding. I take the second option, and I bring her a cup. She gets close to the window and gasps looking in the driveway.

"Oh, jeez.. I think they’ve all come."

What happens next is surrealistic. The phone keeps ringing. I have over two thousand emails and about fifteen thousand comments and posts on my social media account. She turns the TV on and I’m on the news. I spend the rest of the day between different news stations, being the man of the day. It is very late when I get back home, but I’m too tired to even think about finishing the work for the locket. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow – it can’t take me more than twenty minutes. Thirty, at most.

The next morning I wake up with a swollen hand. That little scratch got infected somehow. I can’t even grab the toothbrush! I feel a mild shiver and I decide it is actually the time to do something about this. I have a friend whose older sister is a doctor. So I call her. She answers, but when she realizes it is me, she hangs up. Whatta.... I know her since we were kids, for God’s sake. I call again. This time she speaks to me, but briefly. I can barely hear her whispering in the microphone.

"I can’t talk to you. If I give you any medical assistance, they’ll revoke my license. I’m sorry to hear about your hand. Put some ice and hold the hand upwards, that’s all I can say. Don’t you ever call me again, OK?"

I follow her advice, and I go in the bedroom with a bag of ice around my hand. The pain is now alleviated and I’m not in the mood of doing anything. I browse the news feed for a while, and before falling asleep I think I’m not the man of the day anymore. That was... yesterday, right? I wake up eventually a little later and I drag myself downstairs. It takes me almost two painstaking hours to fix the locket. It is already 6 p.m. and the party must have already started.

It seems like the folks there gathered to celebrate me, not Rebecca. I try my best to keep a low profile. Eventually, they leave, and it is just me and her now. I take out the small box from my pocket and give it to her. She opens it, visibly surprised.

"Oh, I love it. Here, help me with it." She turns her back to me, so I can put the necklace around her. I can’t close the lock though. My hand is so swollen, I can’t bend my fingers.

"Man, you should do something about that!" she says, visibly concerned.

"Yeah, I will. Tomorrow. For now, do you have some ice?"

The next morning feel her shaking me vigorously.

"Gus, wake up, wake up! Oh, God. Oh, my God!"

Like speaking from an outer world, I hear her talking on the phone.

"Hello! 911? I have a medical emergency! The name of the patient? Why do you need it? You cannot... what? Are you for real? This man is dying here..."

I open my eyes for a few seconds, only to see her one more time. The locket is hanging on her neck, swinging back and forth. I’m happy she liked it.