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The few drenched cars in the parking lot made the urban landscape seem even more sorrowful. The dim light could confuse the sense of time, as the clock read 8 a.m. during a storm that swallowed every trace of the sun. Outside the supermarket, the torrential rain darkened the gray sky and the hearts of those brave enough to face the weather. The climate seemed to numb people's courage, so many preferred the comfort of their homes, finding excuses to tell their bosses while staying under warm blankets with a cup of coffee and a good movie.
But that wasn’t the case for Armand. Like the other customers pushing their metal carts, he was inspecting the many oranges in front of him, looking for the sweetest ones. The monotony was shattered when he heard someone nearby gasping loudly, as if in search of air. His heels turned, and he saw an old man falling backward with a thud on the smooth, shiny floor. The man's arms and legs tensed violently against the floor, arching his back. It looked as if the man was trying to perform a bridge pose in yoga—but without the flexibility. Armand’s eyes widened at such a sudden event. The man’s pants began to get wet in the groin area, and his twisted hands clenched his fingers in a strange way. His eyeballs rolled upward, making him appear possessed.
Armand shouted, “Help! Help! Someone!” as he looked for assistance around him. His breathing grew faster with each second. He remembered to call an ambulance and did so, explaining the situation and location while kneeling beside the convulsing man. The young man searched the elderly man’s pockets for a wallet or phone but found nothing. People around whispered and judged his actions (“Is he trying to take money? Opportunist…”), not stepping forward but merely watching the scene as if it were a free show. No one there announced that they were a relative or an acquaintance.
The old man’s body gradually relaxed before beginning to tremble in every muscle fiber. From head to toe, it looked as if he was being shocked by an invisible electric current. Saliva dripped from the corners of his thin lips.
Then Armand improvised by using a cereal box as a pillow to support the man’s neck. Without a second thought, he also worked to turn the body onto its side. After what felt like hours, the man’s body finally became still. The elderly man’s eyes were closed, and his face clearly showed that he was unconscious. The onlookers began to disperse, leaving only Armand behind. Outside, sirens could be heard as two paramedics entered. Armand breathed a sigh of relief at their arrival. They asked who had left the man in that position while carefully placing him on a stretcher after checking his pulse.
Armand was very worried about the situation of someone he did not know at all. He couldn’t help but notice the wedding ring on the man’s finger. He was married—someone’s father or grandfather in this situation. Armand explained to the paramedics that he had seen the attack begin and, for some unknown reason, he knew what to do. The poor man had wet himself, was alone, and had no identification. Armand agreed to go to the hospital with him. It was simply the right thing to do. He could always finish his shopping after lunch.
At the hospital, Armand thought it might be difficult to get past reception since there was no way to identify the man. However, one of the receptionists said she already knew Mr. Molloy—he loved to gossip with her, and his visits had been recent. She also mentioned that the man did not have any relatives on his contact list in the new system. Although the rain had lessened, Armand preferred to keep his coat on.
So, Daniel was the name of the man resting in a comfortable room in the hospital building.
Armand had kept the glasses that had survived the fall in the pocket of his coat. He would wait for Daniel to wake up so he could say goodbye, and then the elderly man would go for an X-ray to make sure there were no fractures in his hip. And the day would go back to being like any other.
Armand
Huh? The name escaped like a sigh from the drowsy lips. How could this man know his name? Was he some kind of weird, perverted stalker who pretended to have a seizure? Calm down. The attack was real—at least, that much he was sure of. But why would a stranger call him exactly by his name? Perhaps he had misunderstood, and what he heard was just an old man mumbling.
Oh… Armand
Now there were no doubts. Was this some kind of joke? When was a host going to appear from somewhere to congratulate him or something? Would he appear on television as a good guy? Daniel’s relaxed eyelids finally lifted to see the young man’s face staring at him. A genuinely worried expression, with large almond-shaped brown eyes like a watchful owl, hungry for answers. Armand fixed his gaze on those pale green eyes—a serene, crystal-clear lake.
Now he would get some answers. His cell phone began to ring. Eagerly, his hands reached into his coat pocket, pulling out not only his phone but also a leather wallet that fell to the floor spread out. The documents scattered across the white floor. The ringing wasn’t really a phone call—it was the very specific alarm for that time every day, the reminder to take his medication. But Armand found it very funny, since he didn’t remember having to take any medicine and certainly hadn’t brought any pill pack in his pocket. What was happening?
Then, before turning his attention back to the man, he picked up the papers from the floor. His breathing stopped for a moment. He couldn’t believe what he had just read.
It was the full name of the elderly man—Daniel Molloy. Date of birth, blood type, everything. But how was that possible? He was sure he hadn’t found any wallet in Daniel’s pockets. Now, the man in the bed was sitting up, watching the situation patiently. Not at all intrigued—the complete opposite of the young man.
Two nurses passed by the room and overheard the two exchanging words.
“Looks like Mr. Molloy had another attack.”
“Was that his son? I liked his type.”
“You better keep your eyes off him, because he’s already taken. They’re married.”
“Wow… They’re actually kind of cute.”
“Yeah, and I doubt you wouldn’t get tired of the boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has a problem. Poor guy. So young. It must be hard for Mr. Molloy to deal with that every day. Imagine waking up next to someone you love, and that person doesn’t recognize you. Memory is a monster.”