by J. D. Netto
My dad’s profession gave our family some local fame. Everyone in the area had seen him on TV and knew the Cardall family. The problem was I didn’t know the majority of them. I wondered if the kids were staring because they knew me, knew my dad, or because they wanted to know why I looked dead.
Concentrating on the teachers was a hard task when my mind was busy being self-conscious. A few kids chattered while others passed notes when the teacher wasn’t looking. Did they talk about me? Did they know me?
I walked out into the hall after third period, looking for room 305. Sawyer skipped a beat, sending a chill down my body, when I realized I had to walk to the other end of the school.
I grabbed the straps of my backpack, suddenly aware of how heavy my books were. But I was determined to make it without fainting, determined not to be distracted by how easy it was for other kids, and determined not to suffer thinking about it anymore. I walked down the hall with even breaths, proud of my progress. But my sudden rush of courage was drowned out by a sign on the wall with the numbers 300-325 and an arrow pointing up a flight of stairs.
I stood at the foot of the stairs, breathing already a struggle. I glanced at the hall crowded with students and back at what seemed to be a mountain before me. I held on to the rail and took the first couple of steps. The other kids rushed past me, talking and chattering.
My back pressed against the wall halfway through the first flight, my lungs clawing for breath. I slammed my eyes shut and whispered, “You got this.”
I carried on and took in a long breath after I hit the last step on the half-way landing. On the wall was another sign with those same numbers and an arrow pointing up—a reminder my struggle wasn’t over.
Everything started spinning. My grasp tightened around the rail, knuckles white. I tried to even out my breaths in an attempt to not faint. At least someone was bound to help me if I passed out and rolled down the steps. The other kids kept on rushing past me; I guess I was doing a good job hiding my struggle since none offered to help.
I decided to look at the situation like my mile swim. Even if others were going much faster than me, I could still make it to the end. The late bell rang. I just wouldn’t be on time.
It didn’t matter that I was late; I was determined to beat the giant. Step by step, breath by breath, I reached the end. Relief filled me when I spotted the door right by the stairs with my new favorite number: 305.
My lungs took in another breath. I walked inside the classroom, clearly interrupting the teacher’s introduction to the lesson. I headed to the back, hoping to find a seat, but the only one available was near the front.
All eyes were on me.
“Are you alright?” asked the teacher as soon as I sat down.
“Um, hey,” I replied, palms sweaty.
“Paul, right?” She narrowed her dark brown eyes, standing in front of me. She wore a plaid dress that went down to her knees, its pattern in red, green, and blue. Her dark curls fell over her shoulder, guiding my eyes to a brooch on her chest shaped like a butterfly.
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
A knot formed in my throat. I tried to contain it, but it came undone.
Great, just great, I thought.
Her face blurred behind a few stubborn tears forming in my eyes. I took in a sharp breath, hoping the action could stop them from breaking free. Everyone’s eyes were on me, piercing my skin. After this episode, I was going to sit alone during lunch for the rest of the year for sure.
“Come with me,” she said, before turning to the class. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please act like adults, or I’ll see you all in detention.”
Mumbles erupted.
Every single kid watched as she led me out of the room.
“I can’t go far,” I said once we stepped into the hall.
“We’re not going too far.” She pointed to a door a few feet ahead, next to the library. “We’re going in there.”
“What’s your name?” I wiped my eyes with a wrist.
“Mrs. Dominguez,” she replied, leading me into the room. “Welcome to the teacher’s lounge. Most kids will never get to see it, but you’re special, from what I’ve heard.”
A purple carpet stretched across the floor. There was a vending machine in the corner, a soda machine next to it, and a table with eight chairs at the center. Against one of the walls was a couch covered in white and blue stripes, in front of it a wooden coffee table.
I took a seat as she went to the vending machines. She came back with a bag of potato chips and a can of soda.
“You looked like you needed a pick-me-up.” She sat in front of me, opening the can and handing me the bag of chips. For a second, I dwelled on the contradiction of a health teacher giving junk food to her sick student, but I kept my mouth shut and chose to look at it as my reward for surviving those murderous steps.
“Thank you.”
“I may be new here, but I know your story,” she said.
“I’m glad you know it. It’ll save us a conversation.” I munched on the chips.
“You’re definitely in the spotlight right now.”
“Nothing I can do about it,” I said with a frown.
“Of course there is. Be proud of whatever it is you’re struggling with. Give everyone a chance to see beyond appearance and curiosity. You might be surprised at how much you inspire them.”
I took a sip. “The way I see it, those that do know about me are scared to ask questions. Those who don’t, stare like I’m an animal on the brink of extinction. I don’t ever get a chance to explain.”
“But I do.” I frowned at her in confusion. “Take control of your story. Tell it in your own words. The world will never be able to rip it away after you do.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” I said, wondering how much easier it was to say such things than to act upon them.
“We have to go back to class. I’m afraid I have to rush you a bit.”
“No problem,” I said with a mouthful of chips, quickly finishing up.
“By the way.” She stood up when I was done eating. “Don’t tell them I gave you snacks. They won’t get this treatment from me.”
“Okay,” I said.
We returned to class. Everyone stared like I was Dumbo at the circus. I walked back to my seat, hands in my pockets.
“Before we continue,” she started as I was about to sit. “I want to invite Paul up here.”
My stomach dropped. I scanned the room, confusion evident in everyone’s eyes.
“He has something he’d like to share with all of you,” she said, beckoning me to her side with a wave.
I joined her, holding on to my silence as if it could spare me from this moment. But it couldn’t. Their faces burned with curiosity.
I told them everything. Though my voice trembled and failed every once in a while, I managed to share my story—to give them the Paul version. From being born with half a heart to my surgery in the summer. Every single one of their faces was taken by surprise as my words carried around the room.
Mrs. Dominguez kept her hand on my shoulder the whole time. Without that, I would have been alone, unconnected, just by myself up there, but that light hand on my shoulder turned me into the bionic hero Jonahs said I was.
Class resumed. Some of the students glanced over their shoulders to stare at the boy with half a heart. A few of the girls waved and smiled. Several of them followed me out after the bell rang.
To my relief, fourth period was on the same floor.
As I walked down the hall, one of them joined me—a beautiful girl with blonde hair and eyes a bright blue. Freckles covered her cheeks, nose, and part of her lips. Her denim jacket had pink hearts embroidered on the right shoulder.
“Hey, Paul.” Her smile was contagious, her voice soft and sweet.
> “Um…hey.” I dragged the hey out way more than I needed to. “Hey there.”
A few of the students in the hall stared at us.
She laughed and said, “My name’s Michelle. Need help with your backpack?”
“I’m alright,” I mumbled, struggling to be coherent. “Ask me again if we come across some stairs.”
She laughed. “You’re funny. Listen, my friends and I have a question for you.”
“Your friends?”
She pointed at three girls standing a few feet away. They were all adorable and I seemed to be their main interest.
“Yeah?” I prompted.
“Mind if we call you Purple Plum? A sweet nickname for someone special.”
“Ooohhh,” erupted in unison from a couple of the kids behind me.
“I mean…” I cleared my throat, blinking repeatedly. “You can call me whatever your healthy heart desires.”
She laughed, cheeks flushed.
A few of the students entered the classroom with me, Michelle being one of them. Luckily, she sat in the chair beside mine.
If Sawyer had a face, he’d definitely be sporting a smug smile.
Hope
FEBRUARY 2006
I decided to take a shot at cooking dinner to celebrate Olivia’s first day back at work. The menu: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. I wasn’t much of a chef, but I could find my way around the kitchen.
The past few months had been joy and chaos. Olivia never brought up our disagreement over the Christmas concerts again. She picked me up from the airport like nothing had happened. Maybe she was just relieved to have me back so I could help out with Neil. Jonahs also dropped the news that he and Hannah were planning to have a baby. They had delayed their move to Arizona until the end of next year but seemed to be happier than ever. He was also stable, from what he told me.
In our house, diapers piled like pungent mountains, which resulted in about four daily trips to the trash in the freezing weather.
Olivia came down dressed in her blue scrubs.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I said as she took a seat.
“This is your favorite dish.” She smirked. “You cooked it for you.”
“You’ll be surprised at how good this is.”
I fixed us both a plate and set them on the table.
“It does look good,” she said, fork and knife in hand.
I sat across from her, noticing her vacant stare and her apparent lack of interest in conversation as we ate.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“I’m okay.” She shook her head. “It’s just leaving Neil for the first time.”
I grabbed her hand. “It’ll be fine. You need to do something for you as well.”
“I guess.” She continued eating. I’m not sure if she tried to conceal the worried expression on her face. If so, she didn’t do a good job.
“I could always stop doing music.” Guilt clutched Sawyer under my chest. “I know your job is important because we need health insurance, but I could drop everything and find that nine-to-five job. I know you’ve—”
“No,” she admonished. “It’s fine. Every parent has to deal with leaving their child at some point.” Her brows arched upward. “Some sooner than others, but hey, that’s life, and this is what we wanted. We wanted kids. You wanted to make music. I wanted to be with you. It’s all part of the package.”
“I guess,” I mumbled.
“Going to keep working on the new album this evening?” she asked.
“Yes. Going to try to write something. Wish me luck.” I smiled.
“Heard from Dr. Kupo yet?”
“Not yet,” I said, my smile fading. “I might give him a ring later.”
“It’s been, what, three weeks since your check-up?” she asked. “Shouldn’t they have called by now?”
“I’m sure we would’ve heard something if my heart was ready to give out. No news is good news.”
She was always tense the days after a check-up. I remained grounded—or at least pretended to be so as not to add to her burden. I’d always tell myself that everything was going to be alright. That was a lie I enjoyed believing so I could feel alive.
She picked up her empty plate and placed it by the sink. I followed her into the living room and watched her grab her coat and purse from the coat hanger in the corner.
“Hey.” She turned at the sound of my voice. “Neil’s proud of you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
Neil’s high-pitched screams bellowed as soon as Olivia left. He fussed in his crib, dressed in a blue romper with a dinosaur stamped on his chest.
I took him downstairs, fed him, and put him in the rocker by the piano in the living room. I was working out a few arrangements for a new song when the explosive new ringtone of my flip phone startled me. Neil shuffled in his rocker as I rushed to the kitchen to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Dr. Kupo. Is this Paul?”
“Hey, Doc.” My gaze flitted around the room.
“How are things? How’s Neil?” I sensed a concealed apprehension in his voice.
“Everything is great, but I’m assuming there’s more to this call than life updates?”
A nervous chuckle. “I have a few concerns regarding your tests.”
Sawyer skipped a beat. “Oh, I thought everything was okay since I didn’t hear back for a while.”
“It’s too early to tell, but I wanted to schedule a few blood tests.”
“How soon?” I asked.
“Can you come tomorrow at one?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “I’ll be there.”
I returned to the piano, my fingers meeting the keys and playing a lower G over and over. That’s how I felt with all these tests and follow-ups, like I was a nail and life was the hammer hitting me on the head. The melody eventually progressed into a lullaby in a higher octave. Neil slept beside me as the notes found each other. After about an hour, the song had structure. It told a story. I wanted to live. I wanted to be around for the people I loved. I wanted to hope for a better future.
“Hope,” I whispered. “Hope. That’s what I’m naming you.”
I also needed someone who could help me keep on hoping.
“Hello?”
“Jonahs,” I said.
“Paul.” There was an edge to his voice. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Listen, can you meet me at the clinic tomorrow at one? Dr. Kupo called, and they want to do a few last-minute blood tests. I don’t want to tell Olivia. Not yet, anyway.”
Silence.
“I’d just like to have someone there with me,” I added.
I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my coat as soon as Olivia walked through the door. Neil was in his rocker, playing with his Apatosaurus teething toy.
“Good shift?” I asked, car keys in hand.
“Another pregnant mom on meth lost her baby.” She frowned. “Heading out already?”
“I have some errands to run. I’ll be back soon. Promise. Call me if you want to talk about it.”
Johnny Cash was the soundtrack of the drive.
“It’s going to be alright,” I repeated out loud. “It’s going to be alright.”
Jonahs waited in the lobby, dressed in a puffy black jacket, gray beanie, tattered blue jeans, and boots. A real heartthrob. He hugged me the moment I was inside.
“Thank you for coming,” I said.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Happy to babysit you whenever you need.”
The receptionist led me to see Dr. Kupo. Jonahs couldn’t go in with me, but just having him around helped me believe things were going to be alright.
Dr. Kupo’s hair was perfectly combed to the side. He had a scru
ff of a beard on his dark face and a scar under his nose from being born with a cleft lip. He attempted to make small talk. I tried hard to read his eyes, hoping the situation wasn’t as dire as my mind painted it to be. He sent in a phlebotomist who prepped my arm for more lab work. I still dreaded needles even though I’d seen a million of them. I honestly thought this particular phlebotomist was going to bleed me dry. Six full vials. Maybe she was Dracula.
“I’ll call you once I have news,” Dr. Kupo said in a flat voice, dismissing me with a handshake.
“How bad?” I said, his hand still in my grasp.
“You know how these things go.” He shrugged. “I can’t say much until I’m sure.”
I had to wait two days for the call to come. Dr. Kupo was blunt. Sawyer had grown into the size of an NFL football and decided to crush my lungs. My medication dosage was going to be increased to extend Sawyer’s lifespan. Dr. Kupo said I still had some time and didn’t need to be listed as a transplant candidate yet. But that was it. Sawyer had started to fail.
Good News
APRIL 2007
I rushed out to St. Thomas Women’s Center when Olivia got home from work to watch Neil—since Neil had started walking, he needed our attention more than ever. I stopped by the store and bought some flowers and a pink helium balloon shaped like a pacifier with the word Congratulations across the front. Jonahs and Hannah were about to become parents.
It had been over a year since Dr. Kupo told me Sawyer was beginning to fail. I was still around. Still kicking.
I entered the hospital and asked to see Mrs. Hannah Cardall, going through all the formalities before being led to her room.
Jonahs threw his arms around me as soon as I put the flowers on the table. The bags under his eyes and the wide smile on his face fully showed a man entering fatherhood. Hannah smiled from her bed, their new baby girl in her arms, wrapped in a white blanket, head covered in a pink beanie.
