My Life as a Human Hairball

by Bill Myers

  Opera continued reading. “It says there are five types of white blood cells: Lymphocytes, Antigen-presenting Cells, T Cells—”

  “Not now,” I shouted. “Just tell me what’s going on. Why’s this thing attacking Wall Street?”

  “Maybe you’ve made it mad!”

  “We haven’t done a thing,” I shouted. “We’re doing exactly what we’ve done since we got in here.”

  “Except . . .” Wall Street coughed, fighting for air. “Except we’re growing.”

  Of course, she was right. We were growing. In fact, the only reason the cell hadn’t completely swallowed her was she was growing faster than it could keep up.

  “I’ve got it!” Opera shouted.

  “What?” I cried.

  “The thing is attacking her because it thinks she’s an intruder. That’s what white blood cells do—they seek and destroy bacteria, viruses, and other junk that attack the body.”

  “But we’re not attacking your body!” I yelled.

  “I know it and you know it . . . but that white blood cell doesn’t. Right now, it thinks she’s the enemy, and it’s trying to eat her.”

  “Eat me!” Wall Street screamed.

  “That’s what they do.”

  “But why now?” I shouted. “Why’s it attacking now?”

  “Because I’m bigger,” Wall Street repeated as she gasped for breath. “Before, it thought I was a nutrient . . . but now I’m big enough for it to see me as a threat.”

  “But why you?” I demanded.

  “It’s not just me.”

  “What?”

  “Look at your leg.”

  I glanced down to see another white blood cell arrive. It grabbed my leg, but before I could peel it off, another one grabbed my arm! And then my other arm. Suddenly it had turned into a major party.

  And by the looks of things, Wall Street and I were the only refreshments.

  Chapter 7

  Swim!!!

  The good news was we were growing faster than the white blood cells could swallow us. The bad news was they were sending in more recruits.

  “Look!” Wall Street cried. “Over there!”

  I twirled around to see another dozen of their buddies barreling down the blood vessel directly at us. “What do we do?” I shouted.

  “Go back to Plan A!”

  “Plan A? I’m sorry, I forgot what—”

  “Swim!” she yelled. “Swim like you never swam before.”

  I suppose we could have discussed the other options, but I didn’t particularly want to stay around and talk. I mean it’s one thing to have a few cells that we were outgrowing hang onto us. It was quite another to be smothered to death by a whole herd of them.

  We pushed off and began swimming for all we were worth. Even though we made pretty good progress, the fresh recruits racing toward us quickly closed in.

  “Opera!” I shouted. “Help us! Tell us what we can do!”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “What??”

  “Those white cells are built to kill intruders. They’re impossible to stop.”

  “Opera!”

  “I’m serious. Without special drugs or treatment from the outside, there’s no way you can stop them!” “This is great,” I cried, “just great.”

  “Actually it is great, I mean when you stop to think about it. They’re really pretty cool inventions.” I’m sure he had a point, but at the moment I had a few other things on my mind—like surviving. I looked back over my shoulder. The cells were definitely gaining on us. I turned to Wall Street who was swimming beside me.

  “You mentioned Plan A,” I gasped between swim strokes. (Don’t worry, I gasp when I do anything physical, particularly if it resembles exercise. It’s not that I’m out of shape. In fact, I’m planning to try out for the Olympics—just as soon as they have an event for Channel Surfing.) “What about Plan B!” I cried. “Or Plan C?”

  “There is no Plan C,” she said.

  “Then what about Plan B?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “No, you don’t!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. They’d almost reached us. “What is Plan B?” I cried. “Tell me about Plan B!”

  “Plan B is to quit swimming and be eaten.”

  I swam harder.

  “Guys!” It was Opera again. “My chart shows you’re coming up to another large blood vessel on the right.”

  I looked ahead and spotted another vessel emptying into ours. “I see it!” I shouted.

  “Good. Maybe you can duck in there and lose them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I cried.

  “No,” Wall Street said. “He might have a point. If we can squeeze in there, and if we can somehow block off the opening, they might not be able to get to us.”

  “What about the other side?” I argued. “New ones will come at us from the other side.”

  “We can block it off, too,” she said.

  It sounded pretty lame, but I suppose it was better than the plan I’d dreamed up (which involved breaking into tears and crying for my mommy). “Okay,” I shouted. “Let’s do it!”

  We swam toward the other vessel. As we approached the opening, we reached out and grabbed it. The thing was slipperier than slug slime, but we hung on.

  Wall Street was the first to begin pulling herself inside. It was obvious that we were still growing, and even as she climbed into the opening it seemed to be getting smaller and smaller.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Hurry,” I shouted. “They’re practically here!”

  At last she was inside.

  Now it was my turn. I grabbed the wall and tried to pull myself in. I might have made it if I wasn’t lacking this thing called “coordination.” (Okay, I lied about the Olympics—the truth is I sprain my thumb just pressing those channel selector buttons.) Anyway, it was becoming obvious I was going to fail in a major, I-think-I’m-going-to-die kind of way, so I resorted to the only other thing I knew:

  “HELP ME!” I begged. “HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!”

  I was grateful to see Wall Street reaching out to me. I wasn’t grateful to see the white cell gang arrive and start wrapping themselves around my legs. Nor was I thrilled when they started pulling me away. I was losing my grip, unable to hang on, about to be swept off to some white cell dinner with me as the main course. Then, at the last second, Wall Street lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.

  Now, before you get any ideas, let me just say that normally I’m not crazy about holding a girl’s hand. But since I have this thing about living, I decided to make an exception. I hung on to her as she dug her feet into her vessel’s wall and began pulling me in.

  There wasn’t much I could do to help. The growing mass of cells around my legs made it nearly impossible to move. But Wall Street would not give up. She groaned and tugged and pulled. And when she got tired of that, she pulled and tugged and groaned . . . until finally my head was up and inside the other vessel. Next came my chest, then my stomach . . . until everything but my legs were inside. I turned around and quickly drew them in, managing to scrape off most of my uninvited dinner guests.

  But the fun and games weren’t quite over. The current rushing inside our new vessel was pretty strong. We had to wedge ourselves in tightly against its walls. Then there were all those frustrated white cells who were trying to slip in through the opening after me.

  “Here!” Wall Street shouted. She was removing her swim fins. “Take my flippers and shove them into that opening to block them.”

  We (and all of our gear) were growing large enough to where that just might work. I grabbed one of her fins and turned toward the opening. A few cells were nearly inside. But, using the fin, I shoved and pushed the jellylike things until I squished them back out.

  Wall Street was already handing me her other fin. I grabbed it and quickly wedged both of them into the opening until I created a type of flipper wall. Of cours
e the white cells kept trying to push in, but between the outgoing current and my flipper roadblock they didn’t have a chance.

  Unfortunately, there was the other side.

  “Say, Wally . . .”

  I turned to see a brand new batch of cells racing toward us from the other end of the vessel.

  “Here.” I ripped off my fins and passed them to Wall Street. She took them and quickly built another flipper wall on her side.

  At last we were sealed in nice and safe. A little snug, but definitely safe. And it was great to finally catch our breath.

  Unfortunately, there was one little problem.

  “Guys . . .” It was Opera again. “Guys, what are you doing? Guys, something’s wrong.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’re okay, we’re just resting.”

  “It’s not you,” he answered. “It’s me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m getting . . . it’s like I’m getting all dizzy and . . . and part of my body is getting numb.”

  Wall Street and I exchanged looks.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Sure I’m sure. My right hand and arm . . . even part of my right leg is losing feeling.”

  “Opera!” Wall Street sounded pretty concerned. “Opera, can you get back to the control station and see what that readout says?”

  “I’mm thitting thar . . . noowww . . .”

  She frowned. “Say again?”

  “I thad I’mm awready thitting . . .” he coughed. She spun back to me. “His speech . . . something’s happening to his speech!”

  “Opera?”

  “Thomming ith tarriply wong. I think I’m gooing to . . . Guyths, I think I’m gooing to pathh ouuu . . .” He never finished the sentence. Instead, he let out a quiet groan followed by a tremendous crash that Wall Street and I felt from inside.

  “Opera?” I shouted. “Opera, can you hear me?!”

  There was no answer.

  “Opera!” Wall Street cried. “Opera, are you there? Opera!”

  “It’s no good,” I said. “He must have passed out.”

  “That’s what he was trying to say,” Wall Street agreed. “He was dizzy and starting to pass out.”

  I frowned. “But why? What did we do? Could it be all the excitement?”

  She shook her head. “That wouldn’t explain why part of his body went numb.”

  “Wait a minute!” I cried. “Last year! My grandpa had a stroke!”

  “So?”

  “So those same sort of things happened to him. He lost feeling in part of his body, he got all dizzy, and then he passed out.”

  “What about his speech?”

  “Yes,” I nodded, getting more and more concerned. “It was the same thing. In fact, he’s still trying to learn to talk again.”

  Wall Street shook her head. “That can’t be right. Strokes are for old people. That’s when their blood vessels get all clogged up with fat and junk and—”

  “—and miniaturized friends stopping them up with swimming gear?”

  She came to a stop. “You don’t think we’re . . .”

  We looked over to our flippers. It was true. As far as stopping up the blood vessel, we’d done a pretty impressive job. And as far as giving our friend a stroke, we were probably doing that, too!

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “We’ve got to unplug this blood vessel!”

  “What about our buddies?” I motioned toward the white blood cells that had crowded against both ends of our little hideaway. “If we step out of here, they’ll get us for sure.”

  “What other choice do we have?” she asked.

  Of course, she was right.

  “If we leave now, if we unclog this vessel he’ll recover. But if we stay here too long . . .”

  I finished the sentence for her. “Opera may never recover.”

  “Or he may die.”

  Everything grew very quiet. Neither one of us spoke. We knew that if we went back out into that other vessel, we’d be eaten by those white blood cells. But if we stayed here and continued to grow, we’d wind up paralyzing or even killing our friend. Then all three of us would be dead.

  I couldn’t help thinking back on all our adventures together. How we first met at Camp Whacko . . . how we formed Dork-oids Anonymous . . . how we’d done everything from flying balloons to starring in movies, dodging secret agents, attacking fleas, charging bulls, and every other dangerous thing hazardous to your health.

  And now, suddenly, I could be ending his life?

  “So which is it?” Wall Street asked. “If we stay here, he’ll probably die.”

  “And if we step out there . . .”

  She finished my sentence, “We’ll die.”

  I looked back down to the white blood cells hungrily pushing against the fins trying to get us. Finally, I spoke. “I say we make a run for it.”

  Wall Street stared at the bulging fins. “Our chances are pretty slim.”

  “At least we’d have some, which is more than Opera would have if we stay.”

  “But where will we go?” Wall Street asked. “There’s got to be some way out.”

  We both sat a moment, thinking.

  “Wally?”

  I turned to her.

  “Remember that red blood cell we followed around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Opera said it was going back to the lungs, right?” “I think so. Why?”

  “What if we were to do that?” she asked. “What if we were to make a run for it and try to get to the lungs before these cells get us?”

  “What good would that do?”

  “Maybe we could work our way out of the blood vessel. You know, like the oxygen and carbon dioxide do.”

  “And then what?” I asked.

  “And then . . . maybe we could somehow crawl out of the lungs. You know, up his windpipe or something like that.”

  “Sounds way too risky,” I said.

  She agreed. “You’re right, but . . .”

  I turned back to her, knowing her thoughts. “But it’s Opera’s only chance.”

  She nodded. So did I.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  Without a word she reached for her swim fins. I did the same with mine.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  I nodded. “On my count. One . . .”

  I tightened my grip, getting ready to yank out the flippers and swim like crazy.

  “Two . . .”

  My entire body tightened, getting ready to spring.

  “THREE!”

  Chapter 8

  Just Like Old Slimes

  I yanked the flippers out of the opening, and the white cells came pouring in. I ducked my head and began pushing my way through the slimy things. It was majorly gross and gooey (unless you like swimming in jelly—which I’m not crazy about, but, hey, everyone has a favorite pastime).

  Fortunately, I was still wearing my mask, which kept the little critters off my face and hair. Unfortunately, I was still the same coordina-tionally challenged person. This meant I didn’t completely push off in the direction I wanted to go. . . .

  Which meant I didn’t completely go the direction I wanted to go. . . .

  Which meant I kinda tripped, stumbled, and went in no direction at all.

  “Wally, quit fooling around!”

  I glanced up and saw Wall Street following in my footsteps (except for the part where she did everything right). Like me, she had broken through the wall of gooey cells and entered the vessel. But, unlike me, she shot down that vessel straight as an arrow. She was already in the current and quickly disappearing out of sight.

  “Hurry!” she cried, just before vanishing. “Hurry!” I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take her advice (especially since all the white blood cells had decided I was the site for their next convention). I pushed off again, this time going straighter and stronger.

  The good news was I caught the main current and
started racing through the blood vessel. The bad news was all my white blood cell buds tried to hitch a free ride. They would have succeeded, too, if it wasn’t for one little

  K-BAMB!

  problem. I’d slammed into the vessel wall. I glanced around trying to figure out what was going on. I mean I was heading straight and everything, but

  K-BAMB!

  the vessel wasn’t. In fact it had more twists and kinks than Mom’s hair after Aunt Zelda tried to give her a home perm.

  K-BAMB!

  Let’s face it, it was hard enough for me to swim— and now I was expected to swim and steer? (The fact that I was getting bigger and the walls were getting closer didn’t make the job any easier.) Luckily though,

  K-BAMB!

  with every collision, I knocked off a couple of hundred of those white cell critters. At this rate,

  K-BAMB!

  they’d soon be forgotten memories. Which, if I wasn’t careful,

  K-BAMB!

  so would I.

  But, just as I was getting tired of the same boring sound effect (not to mention the same bruised and broken body parts) another sound began.

  THUD-THUD

  Actually it wasn’t all that new. I recognized it immediately and shouted through the headset, “Wall Street! Wall Street, can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” she answered.

  THUD-THUD

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  “If you’re thinking it’s the heart, you’re thinking right.”

  “We’ve got to go through that again?”

  “It’s the only way back to the lungs. But don’t worry,” she shouted. “I just went through it. Now that we’re bigger, it’s a lot easier.”

  Of course, Wall Street’s version of a lot easier wasn’t exactly the same as mine. I was about to point this out to her when—

  THUD-THUD

  I saw it. Up ahead. A small porthole that opened and closed with each

  THUD-THUD

  I knew it was one of those valve thingies—like the ones we’d slipped through earlier.

  THUD-THUD

  Only, now that I was bigger, I wasn’t so sure that “slipping through” would be all that simple. True, I still had more than enough room, but