Act 3

Waking up the second time was disastrous, because that's when the hellish routine began. Going into the chamber, sleeping, waking up weak and seeing that everything had changed. It was hard to get used to the pace of things.

My parents, as they had told me, came to visit me whenever the doctor allowed. And every time I saw them, they were getting older, my father was not as healthy as he used to be. It didn't take long until one day only my mother showed up. Of course, I was curious and asked if Daddy was busy or couldn't make it. She looked at me sadly, unable to lie to me.

My father had died.

From then on, my life became one big cemetery filled with people who were important to me. My mother was next, after I entered the chamber twice. It was the doctors who told me the news.

I became lonely; no one else came to visit me.

And the hospital kept growing, new patients kept arriving, many with bracelets of different colors, but only a few with a red one. I met some nice people. My biggest problem was that as soon as I went to sleep I knew that when I woke up I would get the news of their death, because it had become common.

I tried to see the good in it all. The main thing was that the treatment was working and I could walk again. I needed physiotherapy every time I was 'awake' to get used to it, but I could walk.

Being able to walk gave me more freedom. I spent less time in the machine and time went faster. Christopher was too busy to take care of me, so he left a nurse in his place. Her name was Rose, and she was young and beautiful, just like Camille. She liked the theater as much as I did, and we quickly became friends.

I learned most of what happened in the outside world from the stories she told me. Everything had changed. The age of technology. Color televisions, headphones, cell phones, things I never thought could exist.

All of this was extraordinary, but nothing compared to her teaching me to dance.

One day we were outside the hospital, near a tree. The weather was nice.

"Emilia, do you know Giselle?"

"Who is she?" I asked curiously.

She laughed and said, "It's not a person; it's a very famous ballet. You know ballet, don't you?"

"Yes, it was one of the styles that Camille danced in her plays."

Rose stood up; she had a radio in her hands, started playing classical music, got into a funny pose, stretched her foot, and began to move slowly as the music played.

It was wonderful. She was as graceful as Camille. I would love to see the two of them perform together. She executed the movements with such precision that even though I had never seen the piece in person, I knew it was top notch.

I was so enchanted that I didn't notice when the music ended.

"So, did you like it?"

"Yes, it was perfect. You really look like a pro."

She thanked me with a laugh and said excitedly, "I can teach you if you want."

"Teach me? Do you think I can dance like that?" I asked sincerely and in disbelief.

"Yes, if I can learn, I'm sure you can too."

I couldn't believe it. My dream of dancing might come true.

Over the next few days, Rose taught me step by step. We danced together whenever we could. She was like an older sister that I never had. With each passing day, I felt like I was getting better, like I was recovering.

After what seemed like months, I finally learned to dance perfectly. What I didn't realize was that Rose was very different from when we started this journey. She looked as old as my mother the last time I saw her.

Under the same tree where she had taught me the dance, I worked up the courage to ask one of the things that had been bothering me all along.

"Rose, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear," she replied with a smile.

I was nervous, but I had to ask. I wanted to know.

"What do I have?"

No patient I spoke to in the hospital knew what they had. Obviously, the question was taboo, and Rose was forbidden to answer. But as the conversation progressed, I knew that my illness was something serious, which is why no one told me what it was. Suddenly it all made sense.

Rose hesitated for a moment, remained silent, looked at me for a few seconds, then looked around to see if anyone was nearby and said, "It's a genetic disease. I can try to explain, but the medical terms are so advanced that you probably wouldn't understand.

I thought, and she was right; I had tried to eavesdrop on the doctors while they talked about my tests, and I never understood a word. But I still hadn't solved my biggest fear. Other patients with the same bracelet as mine were always the next to appear dead when I woke up.

"Am I in danger of dying?"

Rose looked around again, this time more worried than before.

"Yes."

"Is that why this bracelet is red?"

Rose looked at me with a sad and distant look, smiled and said, "You're a smart girl, Emilia."

What Rose thought at that moment was one of the questions I asked myself the most after years.

A nurse appeared, interrupted and said, "Rose, can you go to Ward Nine? Please, they need you."

"All right, I'll go," she replied to the nurse.

Rose looked at me, ran her hand through my hair and said, "It looks like they need me, we'll talk later. Try not to think about unnecessary things; you'll get better; you're a special girl.

Rose was very busy that day and we didn't talk again. I didn't want to go into the chamber; I wanted to spend some time with her first. But the doctors wouldn't allow it. I was forced to go in.

When I woke up, another nurse was in charge of my physiotherapy. I was lost, with a shiver down my spine that something might have happened.

Then, after physical therapy, Christopher himself came to talk to me and gave me the sad news that Rose had died. Just like my mom and dad.

Christopher, who was the same age as the doctor when he was an assistant, gave me special permission to attend the funeral, something I didn't know was necessary before; I used to be free to leave whenever I wanted. I heard that people from the hospital had a complicated health problem when it came to leaving, and that was why it had changed.

Christopher took me by car; I hadn't seen one before. The city was full of them, along with buildings and lots of noisy things. I don't remember anything except crying all the way to the cemetery.

Rose was smiling. Her eyes were closed. She looked beautiful in the coffin. I could not believe she was dead. They buried her and I couldn't stop crying.

I missed her so much. I didn't want to lose her.

When I went back to the hospital, I was not the same.

I lost hope.