A romance....
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by TJ Johnston I look into Komiko’s almond-colored eyes, searching for the same smile they had when I first saw them in Vancouver. They’re now forlorn and searching for departure times at the SFO International Terminal. "Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is," she says. I turn to the departure board and notice I don’t have much time. Komiko would soon be waiting to be screened for two hours and after that, sitting on the next JAL flight. "If you get on that plane," I tell her, "you'll regret it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life. Is there anything I can do to keep you from boarding that plane?" My eyes are tearing. I think it's emotions, but more because of the elderly lady who just passed me wore too much Chanel and Ben Gay. "You know I love you," says Komiko, "but I need something you could never provide." I know where this is going: we’ve had this conversation before. "But I have Medi-Cal," I plead. "It’s not enough. Japan’s Employee and National Health Insurance Systems can cover my hospital expenses when I become infirm and can no longer take care of myself." My memory takes me back to our first meeting about five years ago. Before the pharmaceutical lobby squashed it, Hillary Clinton’s Health Care Bill of Rights still had a chance. Those were carefree days. Damn it, if I was a Canuck, I’d have single payer and we wouldn’t be playing this scene. "You don't have to leave this continent," I beg. "We could go to Mexico or Canada to get our cheaper meds." I'm not sure what else to say. Many of our doctors, out of frustration and diminishing profit margins, don’t see Medi-Cal clients any more. And don’t get me started on HMO’s. "Besides, we’re still young. If we can risk the hazards of the human heart, we could do the same with those of Highway 101 and super-sized fast food." "That’s the difference between you and I," she rejoins. "You are reckless and live for the moment regardless of type-2 diabetes. I’m lactose-intolerant. You’re too much man for me." "Baby, if you stay, I could always continue the fight for health care reform or else, get a real job." Komiko stands there for a moment. The highlights in her jet-black hair shine. That British Columbia glimmer appears once more. Then it vanishes. "Neither one is possible," she says. I guess we'll always have Canada. Her flight number is called on the PA. She kisses me off, one last time and queues in that final line before the metal detector. I remember it’s lunchtime and I have just enough for a super-sized combo-meal. |