by Amber Kizer
Big risk for a stranger.
Speaking from across the lobby, the nurse approached with a frown. “If you’re not sick, you can’t be here. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”
Vivian smiled. “Nice to see you too.”
“No hugs—who the hell knows what’s on these scrubs.” It took a special person to wear teddy-bear scrubs and daisy antennae on a headband and scold with a grin on her face.
So this is Nurse Heidi of the Friday-night kettle corn, chocolate chip cookies, and ghost stories at two a.m.
“Extenuating circumstances,” Vivian offered.
“They always are. What’s going on?”
Down to business, Heidi listened to Vivian and George explain.
“I know it’s against policy, but …?” Vivian let her voice carry the rest of her question.
Privacy rules, patient confidentiality, perhaps the fact Misty never regained consciousness … We waited with held breath.
“If she’s here, I’ll find her,” Heidi promised. “But you have to wait here, or better yet, outside, and then go home. And don’t touch anything. You can’t see her, Vivian. It’s way too dangerous for you to be up on the floors.”
“I know, but you can take George to her.” Vivian gestured.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re thirteen, right?” Heidi asked Misty’s brother. And I’m alive and you can see me. No one will believe that.
Vivian answered for him. “Of course he is, no visitors can be younger than that.”
George stayed silent.
Smart kid.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I sat with Misty while they gently bathed her, bundled her in blankets, rehydrated her, and waited for test results.
Bodies are complicated. They sounded so simple in biology class. The systems were straightforward: circulatory, respiratory, digestive, and reproductive. There were more, but I didn’t memorize them. With Vivian and Samuel part of my life, I knew about the endocrine and the lymph and metabolic. They, and so I, knew more than most med students hoped to cram inside their brains.
And yet there is nothing to do but sit with Misty.
How did all of those physical safeguards and redundant systems and parts fail? Because there are a million ways the same piece can break.
Samuel focused on cell memory and soul printing, though I knew his newfound love of sauerkraut had nothing to do with me and instead was merely the process of living life. Exploring. Tasting. Trying. Loving. Failing.
Epic failing.
Misty’s skin was bloated and rashy, tinged with gray and yellow, like an old bruise.
I felt her snipping the threads connecting her soul to her body.
She’s getting ready to fly. Why can’t I fly?
I felt Samuel’s anxiety and questions pounding closer to the hospital.
There are a thousand million little miracles that when done right make a human being live. And yet none of these turn a living body into a life worthwhile. Lives are lived beyond the numbers. In the space between the miracles.
I didn’t fly away because I was waiting. Waiting for something I couldn’t name, something I’d know when I saw it, and only then.
When Nurse Heidi escorted George to Misty’s hospital bed, Vivian did as promised and left the hospital. She headed for the studio.
She needed her paints. Her colors. The soothing of vibrants, not pastels. The splashes of fuchsia and violets of sunrises. The vast expanse of endless nights with full blue moons.
She needed the smell of wood frames and treated canvas and fresh paint.
The feel of color sliding over itself and mixing.
Some people needed chocolate or macaroni and cheese to soothe; Viv needed color.
Misty wasn’t going to live. Vivian knew enough that not even a single cell in her held out hope for a miracle or a redo. Misty had been lucky to get a second chance; she wouldn’t get a third.
How many times had Vivian faced this hopeless feeling? She wanted control; she wanted predictability. She wanted the impossible. She wanted life served up on a canvas with straight edges and perfect corners, the mess elegant and defined, beauty evident in at least a square inch of the space.
There was nothing beautiful about dying. Misty’s body shutting down was ugly.
Dying is ugly.
Vivian mixed blues and reds for the deep purples, but they kept going brown.
She scraped and started again.
Brown.
Ugly.
Dying.
Out of control.
Out of her control.
Vivian scraped the canvas again. Each stroke angrier, rougher, more impatient.
With each exhale she shoved paint around the canvas and another face flashed in her mind’s eye.
Sally.
Blob the paint onto the canvas.
Brian.
Blow it north.
Wallace.
Brush it south.
Crystal.
Another splash of blue from the west.
Billy.
Blow it southeast.
Misty.
Me.
Blue and red bled into each other until brown became black at the center.
Vivian collapsed with her head in her hands and cried.
When Leif and he arrived at the hospital, Samuel tucked the worry dolls and prayer beads into his cargo pants pocket. They asked for Nurse Heidi as Vivian instructed.
“Where’s Vivian?” Leif glanced around, expecting to see her waiting.
“Dude, she can’t be here. It’s too dangerous,” Samuel answered in a loud and surprised voice.
“How do you know that?” Nurse Heidi asked as she approached.
“I know about transplants.” Sam didn’t offer his own experience as evidence, and when Leif opened his mouth, Sam’s icy glare shut him up. Yeah, you shouldn’t be here either, genius.
George shook Samuel’s hand with an adultlike expression that belied his eleven years. He was almost the same height and outweighed Sam by a good thirty pounds. “You’re her friend, right? Who she talks to online?”
“Yeah.” Samuel didn’t notice that he was the smallest person there.
“Thanks. You helped her.”
“How?” Sam’s expression was full of total bewilderment. They were standing in a hospital, for heaven’s sake. How helpful was he?
George shrugged. “She seemed happier talking to you.”
“He followed her to the library a lot, keeping an eye on her,” the nurse said, and introduced herself.
“She told me she was taking the medicine. That she went to her doctor. She lied,” George whispered.
“Hey. This is not your fault,” Samuel reassured George.
“Then whose is it?” George asked no one in particular.
“George, we need to call your parents.” The nurse stopped them at the door to the room.
“How bad is it?” Leif asked the question no one else seemed willing to voice.
“We’re waiting for test results, and I can only tell her parents what the results of those are.”
He knew that. He wasn’t sure why he bothered to ask.
She paused and seemed to understand they needed more than that. “She is not in pain. She’s comfortable.”
Samuel nodded.
“But if you have anything you want to say, you should say it sooner rather than later.” She held George’s shoulders in a motherly hug and led him toward the main counter. The boy cried silently, tears rolling straight down his cheeks, as if there were permanent tracks for them to follow. They all knew what she meant.
That was it. That was all Sam needed to hear.
Leif put his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. Briefly. Gently.
“You should go find Vivian,” Samuel said without turning around.
“I can go in with you, if you want—” Leif crossed his arms.
“No, man, I’m gonna stay till they kick me out.”
“Sure, but take your time.”
Sam mentally recited the thirteenth Psalm as he turned the knob and pushed open the oversize door. A chorus of beeps and blips and hisses were shrouded in darkness.
He swallowed hard, then dragged a chair next to Misty’s bedside.
Her eyes were closed, almost swollen shut, her face round and peaceful. Her belly puffed up the covers oddly. Sam knew that was the organ failure; her liver wasn’t doing its job anymore. He picked up her hand and cradled it gently. Her fingers were smudged with black, as if she’d been handling a lot of newsprint, or copies with mucked-up ink.
Samuel closed his eyes, rested his forehead on her hand, and began to speak.
“Dear Lord, Yahweh, Jehovah, Messiah, the unnamed power of the universe. Your people call you many names, they praise you in many languages, they ask you for many gifts. You have granted me many miracles and have been present in my life in many ways. Misty needs you now. Please be with her. Hold her hand and keep her safe. Aid her sleep, bring her peace, and if it’s time, please take her home. Let her live or make her die, but no more slow suffering. It’s too much to bear.”
Across the bed, I held Misty’s other hand. And when Sam said “Amen,” I echoed him and we waited.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Leif lifted a couple of fingers when Vivian glanced toward the window. He loved watching her work. The expression on her face seemed as though she saw beyond this world into another, more beautiful, more expressive world.
She opened the door and stepped back. “So?”
“The nurse pretty much told us she’s dying. I came to see if you’re okay.”
“Of course I’m okay.”
“You took a big risk going to the hospital, didn’t you?”
Vivian shrugged. “I should have stayed.”
“Uh, no.” Leif’s breath caught, thinking about Vivian being in that bed, dying instead.
“She shouldn’t have been alone.”
“According to Sam, we’re never alone.”
“God? You believe that?”
“Maybe. I don’t disbelieve.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry for fighting with you.”
“Me too. I don’t even know what I did.”
“It’s not important.” She shook her head. “You’ve been a good friend.”
Leif blanched and felt a pulse of shock hit his heart. “Just friends?”
Vivian turned away and began tidying up.
She’s nervous. Lying. Does he know her well enough to see it?
“Of course we’re friends,” she answered, not making eye contact.
“That’s all I am to you?”
“What else is there for us?”
“What else?” Leif growled. “You get me. You fill empty spaces inside I didn’t know I had. I love you.”
The shock on Vivian’s face quickly dissipated behind disbelief and fear. If she believed him, if she went there, there was no going back. “I have a mustache.” She narrowed her eyes with the admission as if waiting for him to run.
He shrugged. “I can’t grow one.”
She crossed her arms. “My gums are swallowing my teeth.”
“They’ll cut them off before you’re toothless.” He stepped forward.
“My face is the shape of an undercooked pancake. I have no cheekbones.”
He stepped forward until he was almost within touching distance. “Oh, come on, you make yourself sound like Quasimodo.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded as if he finally understood her. “Exactly. Are you sure they didn’t hit your head?”
He reached for her. “Puhleez. You’re being dramatic. My grandmother has a mustache.”
“I’m like your grandmother?” Vivian blanched.
“Yes. Well, I love her, but I don’t want to have sex with her, so no. You’re not. Maybe. Dammit, Vivian, I don’t even know what’s going on here.” He shoved forward until they almost touched.
She huffed.
“Viv, look at me.” He lifted his hands to cup her shoulders and then dropped them without following through.
No, touch her! Touch her!
“Don’t make fun of me.” She sniffled, near tears.
“I’m not. I’m really not. I just don’t know what to say. You don’t believe me.”
“What?” She flipped around as if that was the last thing she expected him to say.
“I tell you I think you’re beautiful and you don’t believe me. What else can I say? You may have a new heart and lungs, but you need glasses.”
“Oh, now I need glasses?”
“Look. I get it. I’m supposed to be in love with the head cheerleader with her perfect hair and that face of makeup and her fake ’n’ bake tan. But she eats saltines and drinks water at lunch. You eat a triple cheeseburger with smothered fries and wash it down with a chocolate shake. You laugh at my jokes and tell me I have a good singing voice. You talk about real life, not reality-television princesses.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You do have a good voice—”
“I’m not going on tour anytime soon and we both know it, but you look at me and you don’t see a future gold medal or a hundred-million-dollar contract offer.”
“If you wanted those, I would support you—”
“I know you would. I really know it in my gut. That’s why I love you. Tell me this, why do you have a mustache and a round face and lots of gums?”
“Because of the meds,” she answered, dropping her eyes.
Leif knelt to keep eye contact, and when he winced, she pushed him into a chair. “And without the meds?”
“I would reject the organs and the CF would take over other stuff.”
He clasped her hands. “And without a heart or lungs? With the CF winning?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you didn’t have a working heart, or a set of lungs that moved air, what would happen to you?”
She frowned and squinted at him like he’d lost his mind, but I saw where he was headed and I liked it. Go, Leif! Never in a million years did I think I’d ever cheer on a baller.
“I’d be dead,” she finally answered in a tiny voice.
“Uh-huh. So …” Leif’s voice boomed like he’d won the game.
“So?”
“So you’re here. With me. Living. That’s beautiful to me. You make me want to do more than go through the motions.”
She nodded.
“Besides, I can teach you to shave.”
They cracked up and she snorted snot through her tears.
“You’re alive, Viv. That’s sexy to me. That’s a gift.” He hugged her.
She laid her head on his shoulder and melted into his strength. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Samuel, George, and I kept vigil into the night. The nurses were having a hard time finding Misty’s parents, but they kept trying.
“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” George asked Sam.
Samuel hadn’t stopped praying, but he felt sure there were no miracles left to be had. “I think so.”
George nodded.
“Please, God, let her see my face before she leaves. Let her look upon someone who loves her. Let her see her brother here with her.” Samuel kept repeating this plea over and over in his head. He screamed it so loudly, internally, I was sure everyone, not just me, heard it.
At some point, the younger boy fell asleep with his head on the bed. Sam covered him with a blanket and sat back down.
Quietly, and with tenderness, Samuel’s ma touched his shoulder. “Samuel, she’s not going to wake up, honey. But she doesn’t hurt anymore either.”
Samuel grabbed his ma’s hand. He held on so tightly I worried her bones might snap. Her expression told me she’d do anything to take this pain from her son. How horrible must it be for parents to say good-bye, or
to watch their children suffer?
How are my own parents, my brother, handling my death?
Samuel wiped his nose and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Mrs. Sabir waited in silence, then with a deep breath said, “Honey, it’s not safe for you to be in the hospital. What about infection?”
Leave him alone.
“Sam, she’s not going to wake up. We need to get you away from the germs.”
He shook off his ma’s touch. “Leave if you want. I am staying.”
I witnessed the confusion on her face, the fear that he was defying her again. To need her comfort so desperately one second and shake her off the next was life in the microcosm. She didn’t know how to handle this swift change. She looked so lost, and so ambushed by his adulthood, I almost felt sorry for her. With a nod, she slunk out into the hall without saying anything.
Samuel didn’t notice. His hands cradled Misty’s and he returned to his prayerful plea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Leif grabbed three kinds of burgers, enough fries to feed a defensive line, and sodas.
“You’re not coming in. You promised,” he demanded.
“I promise, but you’ll text me. If anything happens. Anything changes.”
“Of course.”
“But don’t let anyone see your phone. Technically, they’re supposed to be off, but we all sneak them.”
“Okay.”
“And ask Heidi who’s on shift after her and I’ll tell you who to talk to.”
“Okay.”
“And—”
Leif interrupted. “Vivian, the food is getting icy.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll be with Sam and I will bring him to your house if he’ll let me.”
“And if his mom is here—”
“She can come too. I heard your mom say she’d get the guest rooms ready.”
Vivian kissed him quickly, almost embarrassed by the new intimacy. “Thank you.”
Leif tossed his jacket over the food and hurried down the hallway toward Misty’s room.
