by Amber Kizer
“Gym,” he whispered, pointing upstairs.
He held her hand and ushered her into his bedroom.
Her curiosity overcame any shyness, but I noticed the stiffness in Leif’s shoulders, as if waiting for her to find fault.
For a moment, after he clicked on the overhead light, Vivian’s brain jumbled. How in the world did he expect her to react? She dropped her bag off her shoulder. “Um …”
Don’t scream and run away, for starters?
Leif sighed. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”
“Do you get lonely?” Vivian asked, gazing at all the life-size wall decals and cardboard cutouts of people. Most of them in some sort of athletic uniform.
“What?” Leif asked.
“All the people.” She waved her hands around. “It’s kinda crowded in here, like a full stadium.”
“Oh damn.” Leif glanced around. “They’re not mine. My parents think that I’ll be inspired to be like Mike, or Derek, or Lance.”
“Or Tom, Dick, and Harry?” Vivian was shorter than all of them, and in the corners they were three-deep, like a true crowd.
“Yeah, it got worse when I got hurt. Used to be I’d just get one for Christmas and birthdays.”
“Did you ask for them? Like one year I wanted My Little Ponies.”
“No, I asked for things like CDs or video games.”
“I don’t see any gaming stuff?”
“I never got what I asked for.” Leif’s shoulders relaxed.
Vivian shook her head. “How do you sleep with all of them watching you?”
Leif shrugged.
He hasn’t thought about it, girlie.
“Do you change in the bathroom?” Vivian pushed.
I giggled.
His eyes widened. “There are more in there.”
“No!”
Leif leaned down toward her. If it were a movie he’d kiss her, but Vivian knew he couldn’t possibly see her that way. She stepped back, ostensibly to check the bathroom.
The shower curtain was a photograph of football players in helmets and uniforms.
“That’s the offensive line of the Raiders.” He laid his hands on her shoulders.
He’s making moves, don’t run away!
“I thought you were kidding.” Vivian felt a shivery blossom of potential that scared her (Pantone 7493). Returning to the bedroom, she grabbed her bag and dug through it, finally pulling out a set of paint pens.
Leif crossed his arms but his smile was amused. “What are you doing?”
“Closing his eyes.” Vivian drew a blindfold over LeBron James’s fierce gaze. “He’s watching.”
Leif held out his hand.
“You want me to stop?” Vivian deflated and started to hand over her pen. “Sorry—”
“No, give me one too.” Leif painted a pair of silver sunglasses over Tedy Bruschi’s eyes. Then added a mustache.
“I like that.”
“He needs a nose ring.” Leif nodded at Lance and smiled when Vivian dotted a bit of gold over one nostril.
Joy (Pantone 12-0727), comfort (Pantone 17-4021), and passion (Pantone 18-2326) arched between them like sparks of current.
I sat on the bed and watched them mutilate the army of athletes on cardboard, plastic, poster, and vinyl cling.
Colors that coordinated, or clashed, with team colors became facial hair, sunglasses, Zorro masks, bandanas, leis, and hats. Within an hour, they’d turned the mass of top athletes, winners by the Leolin standard, from a weird, staring chess set to a traveling concert crowd.
Vivian dumped her bag out, looking for paper scraps to re-mascot the uniforms.
“Do you have the entire art supply store in there?” Leif leaned down. “What are we looking for?”
He reached forward, accidentally drawing a line across her hand.
She gasped. “You did that on purpose.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Mischief bubbled up in Vivian and she giggled through the stern face. She slashed red across his cheekbone. “Oops.”
Leif’s eye bugged; he grabbed a second pen while Vivian scrambled backward. “You don’t know what you started.”
“I didn’t start it, you did!” she squealed, trying to put Larry Bird between them.
Leif caught and held Vivian, but he let her slip away and hide behind RG3 as if the quarterback came with an Invisibility Cloak.
They stumbled up and over the bed, tagging each other with colors until the laughter and the paint blended seamlessly.
My lungs filled and expanded to an insane capacity. As if all the tributaries and branches of my oxygen trees felt the breeze of this exertion for the first time.
“Mercy!” Vivian cried, collapsing into a baseball-shaped bean bag.
With a badly hidden wince, Leif threw himself down next to her. They panted and chuckled. Just the sides of their forearms touched, but it was enough to zing them both with skin-on-skin sensations.
“Oh no.” Vivian gasped.
“What?” Leif shifted to look at her, his hand easily gliding over her waist until his arm draped across her.
She pretended the cuddling was ordinary when it felt anything but. “Don’t tell your parents.”
“Don’t tell them what?”
“They missed a spot. Your ceiling is bare.” She pointed up.
Leif followed her finger. “Oh, damn. You’re right, but then I really would have people staring at me while I slept.”
You have me.
Vivian asked quietly, “God does, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but his face isn’t painted on the ceiling.” Leif smiled.
“We could paint it.” She turned her head slightly toward him.
And I haven’t seen God around here. Or anywhere.
“I’d rather not. It would make it harder to do what I want to do if he was watching.” He leaned up onto his hand and stared down at her.
“What do you want to do?” Vivian’s words whispered across his cheek, but she froze as if afraid to break the moment.
Vivian didn’t break eye contact. My heart thumped. We were going to kiss. For the first time. Love with its vitality and promise bloomed deep within Vivian (Pantone 19-2025).
Leif licked his lips. “I read this thing about CF. Are you really extra salty?”
She nodded, holding her breath.
Leif dipped his head and laid his lips featherlight against hers.
The barest hint of dawn awakening colored that kiss (Pantone 11-4804).
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Misty logged back in.
M: sorry
line @ the bathroom
S: u dont have a computer at home?
M: no
S: i thought maybe id offended u
M: no
why?
S: i dont care what u look like
just wanted to picture u when we talk
M: u might be a perv
S: true
M: u don’t deny?
S: im not
but cant prove it.
M:;)
S: make u a deal?
tell me who u wish u looked like
i wish i was like Krispin Reed.
Misty quick searched for images of Krispin. The actor was ripped, tall, tan, and Hollywood elite. There were images of him with a girl, Calliope Dane. She was exotic, petite, and perky. Everything Misty knew she wasn’t anymore.
M: then i’m Calliope.
S: wow
what a coincidence
M: tell me something people don’t know about u
S: like i have a foot fetish?
M: i don’t even know what that means.
S: jk
M: 4 real
S: im closing in on finding my organ donor
M: 4 real?
S: yep
i have kidneys
& a pancreas I wasnt born with
M: me 2!
S: truth?
M: not kidneys but a liver
i thi
nk i went to school with the girl
S: thats heavy
why?
M: they told my parents that the liver came from
a teenager in perfect health
and i was very lucky
a local girl died the same night
S: and u think u went to school with her?
M: yeah if it’s her
it’s not like we were best friends i mean she probably wishes someone else got her liver
like the homecoming queen
Like a Skirt? Not likely, thanks.
S: i hope that in death we move beyond petty differences
no popularity contests
M: r u sure u r only 17?
S: y
why?
M: sometimes u sound like a x btwn a fortune
cookie
Yoda
and an old man
Samuel stuttered and couldn’t make his fingers move. I chuckled. My thoughts exactly.
M: sam?
M: i’m sorry.
M: i didn’t mean to insult u
M: i just
it’s weird
u know how to talk about this stuff
and never have met u
M: I guess I’m—
S: dont be sorry
u r right
sometimes i feel like a fortune cookie
sometimes i look like Yoda
& sometimes i definitely feel like an old man but yeah
my birth certificate attests to the fact
im only 17
They traded questions and revelations, quotes, and favorite things. It was easy to open up logged in. There was safety. Anonymity. A quick escape route if things got too personal.
S: whats one thing u loved to do
when u were little?
M: swing at recess
Sam looked out his window and spied his neighbors’ tire swing in a big old tree.
S: can u take your comp outside?
r there swings nearby?
Misty didn’t glance around, didn’t move. She was sure there were plenty of swings mentioned in the tomes around her. Photographs and people, real and imagined, who were sitting on swings right this minute.
M: sure
Sam grabbed his tablet and wandered outside in the dark. A flashlight app showed light on tree roots and discarded toys. He sat, digging into the earth with his toes and heels.
S: what do u see?
Misty closed her eyes.
M: stars
moon
S: my moon is waxing
M: then so is mine
right?
S: any shooting stars to wish on?
M: maybe a couple
out there somewhere
S: what would u wish?
M: u first
S: id like to find out who my donor was
who he was
what he did
if he left family behind
why he donated his organs
She. She. She.
M: that’s more than 1 wish
S: laffing
true
M: i wish I could go back in time
S: to medieval England
or dinosaurs
or something?
No, like to the night they saved her life. She wishes they hadn’t. I don’t know how to feel about that at all.
M: do u ever think about what would happen
if u hadn’t had a transplant?
S: id be on dialysis until they couldnt do that
anymore
& then
die
S: misty?
S: what about u?
M: i wasn’t sick
or anything
not like bad enough to see a doctor
She didn’t mention the weight loss, the pain, the headaches, and bloating. She didn’t tell him that she would have never gone to the hospital except for George’s phone call to 911.
S: what happened?
M: my grandmother says i got infested with the demon
S: she sounds
ummm
nice
M: she hates me
S: u cant be too fond of her either
M: not really
at least she’s honest
more than i think my parents r
Misty thought perhaps her parents hated her too. Life was hard enough before that night, before the doctors and the surgery and the bills.
S: r u serious?
M: maybe
S: u had acute liver failure?
M: something like that
S: u know u didnt do anything
to get liver failure
right?
Go on, Sam. She doesn’t know any such thing. Tell her she doesn’t deserve this.
M: maybe
S: im serious
ive spent a ton of my life in hospitals
& around sick kids
liver failure can happen
without anyone doing anything bad
M: sure
S: i dont believe u
i think u actually believe u couldve avoided it
I watched her struggle how to answer. How did she explain that this was all her fault?
You can’t. Because it’s not.
She typed, deleted, typed again and watched the cursor blink at her.
M: maybe
S: u r kidding
did u drink scotch instead of breast-feed
or something?
M: no
S: misty u cant control your organs
i know lots of people who think positive thinking
or negative thinking can affect our lives but this kind of thing isnt about thoughts parts stop working
they can be defective
do u blame yourself if the television
wont turn on?
M: but
maybe
if
S: NO
absolutely NOT
why havent your parents told u this?
what about your doctor?
your social worker?
have you told anyone u feel responsible?
Misty withered. The doctors spent five minutes with her, less if they figured out she was uninsured. The social worker called in the beginning, but who was she anyway? And Misty’s parents? Her parents didn’t talk, they yelled, and were always about blame.
S: misty
talk to me
im sorry
i probably came on too strong
listen to me
plz?
Sam took a deep breath and I nudged him mentally to continue. Misty couldn’t hear me. No matter how loudly I screamed. Maybe she’d hear Samuel if he said the words.
S: there r stupid people
who end up with liver disease
becuz they drank too much
but kids
we get other things that we cant control
at all
ever
M: maybe it is a demon
S: please tell me u r
M: KIDDING
M: ☺
S: Ok
good
M: I have to go
they’re shutting down
S: Promise me youll think about what i said
M: sure
night Samuel
aka Krispin
S: night Foggy Bottoms
Misty hated her family’s rented apartment, but she needed food and to change her clothes. She worried a librarian might start to notice if she left clean laundry and a pillow near her cubbyhole. She wanted someone, anyone, to notice her, like at the hospital. But if they did, then she’d lose her sanctuary.
There wasn’t a good way to be at home with her family. Misty missed the hospital. Not the being sick part. The having people care about whether she was in pain, or feeling nauseous, or sleeping part.
She watched a new mom finish making copies of a college textbook while burping a sleeping baby. A young man came over, gently took the baby, and kissed the mot
her on the lips with an expression full of love.
The hospital was full of families who helped each other, touched, and hugged. The parents she watched sleeping in chairs, in the tiny spaces between walls and beds just to be close, in case the child had a nightmare in the middle of the night. Misty slept alone with the monsters for company instead.
The families who showed up every day with a new treat, with balloons and stuffed animals, and lots of handmade cards from classmates, or siblings. Misty’s parents didn’t spend nights with her because they worked multiple shifts. The only card she got was from her brother. She wasn’t imagining it. They glared instead of hugged. They blamed her for getting sick. They blamed him for calling the hospital. Grandmother blamed them all for bringing her to this godless place. No wonder the demons found a home.
George rolled over when she crept in. “Where have you been?”
“Studying.”
“I saved you chicken. It’s behind the moldy cheese.”
“Thanks.” Her stomach turned. “I ate. You take it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded, then dropped his voice another notch toward silence. “The school called twice and left messages. I deleted them.”
“Did they hear?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Grandmother’s snores whistled, paused, hiccupped, then began again. Misty rubbed her legs, it felt as though a million ants trekked in circles up and down her limbs.
George whispered, “Don’t you have to see the doctor soon for checkups?”
Misty turned away from her brother, relieved that the darkness hid her. He saw more than anyone else, and she didn’t want him to see the lie in her face. “Last week.” She’d canceled. She couldn’t afford the five minutes because she knew they’d want tests and more tests and new drugs. Enough already.
You didn’t go because you don’t feel good and you’re afraid.
“Oh, how’d it go? They have to do a biopsy?” George sat up and scooted over so she had room next to him on the pallet. He’s too little to have to understand words like biopsy.
“Fine. Good. No, next time,” Misty mumbled, and felt his expectation like the weight of a million rotting livers suffocating her. Why did he care so much? Why did he ask?
“You went, right?”
“Of course I went.” Anger flared and made her voice vibrate.
“Sorry!” He held his hands out in surrender, grabbed the blanket, and turned over.
