The Other Side of Tomorrow

by Micalea Smeltzer

  When the sun begins to go down, sparklers are passed around, and I run around like a joyous child, watching the sparks ignite in the air.

  Above us, fireworks go off, lighting up the dark and starry sky with red, white, and blue. The fireworks shimmer over the ocean before melting into the nothingness.

  With a racketing boom, more and more light the sky.

  The three of us stand together, our sparklers extinguished, and watch the show above us.

  I grab Meredith’s hand on one side and Harlow’s on the other.

  I give them each a squeeze, thankful to have these two amazing girls in my life. I don’t think society puts enough emphasis on friendship and how important it is. But I’ll never take having them for granted.

  As the last of the fireworks disappear, I make a wish.

  Maybe it’s not normal to make a wish on fireworks, but I do it anyway.

  A week later I throw the ball down the lane and watch it soar toward the pins, and then at the last second, fly into the gutter.

  July fourteenth marks my eighteenth birthday.

  Legally, I’m an adult, which is weird to think about.

  In many ways, I feel like I’ve been an adult for years, and in others, I feel like a child who still needs her mom and dad.

  “Ugh!” I groan and swing around to face my small gathering of friends—just Meredith, Harlow, and a forlorn Spencer.

  I can tell he’s trying to be a good sport and be as upbeat as he can, but he can’t hide his sadness completely.

  It’s hard being a teen and losing a friend. It reminds us that we’re not invincible. I learned that a long time ago, unfortunately, and had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that death is imminent.

  You can’t avoid it. It’s the one uniting factor in all human beings. No matter your color skin, where you’re born, your gender, we all die.

  I want to say something to him, to try to offer him any comfort I can, but everything I think up sounds too … blah. I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to write off his friend’s death, because that’s not what I’m doing, but I wish I could make him understand death isn’t the worst thing in the world. In fact, it’s the easiest. Living is harder. Feeling emotions. Experiencing pain.

  “Well, I tried,” I mumble, waiting for my shiny purple ball to come back around. I’ll be honest, I picked it more for the color instead of paying attention to the weight, so that might be part of my problem.

  The ball pops back up and I grab it.

  I hold it steady as I walk to the lane. I take a deep breath and let my arm swing.

  The ball releases and slides down the lane. I squish my eyes closed but still manage to peek through. There’s a crash as the ball collides with the pins and I open my eyes fully, jumping for joy when I see only two pins remaining upright. I’ll take that as a definite win.

  I skip back to my seat beside Meredith; Spencer and Harlow sit on the outside of the table.

  On the screen, it’s clear Spencer is kicking all our butts, but today isn’t about winning, it’s about having fun.

  Meredith hops up for her turn.

  Every time she’s stood for her turn I take time to study Spencer.

  Dark circles cling to the skin beneath his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he got the news about T.J. His hair hangs lank, like it doesn’t have the energy to keep its normal bounce. His smile is absent, only a small half one poking out every now and then.

  “You’re kicking our butts,” I tell him, for lack of anything else to say.

  He glances at me, that half-smile appearing for a moment before disappearing altogether. “What can I say? I’m a natural,” he jokes.

  My heart hurts badly for him, having lost his friend, but I can’t help the tightening of anxiety in my chest I feel wondering what he’d think if he knew T.J.’s kidney was in my body.

  I don’t think Spencer even knows I’ve gotten a transplant, I certainly haven’t told him, and I doubt Harlow or Meredith would have either.

  I bite my lip nervously, my heart thudding a symphony in my ears.

  My mouth opens of its own accord and I blurt, “I got a transplant.”

  Spencer’s eyes open wide and his mouth parts. “Really? You’re not joking, are you?”

  I scoff, mildly offended. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

  “Wow.” He shakes his head, gathering himself. “That’s amazing. Congratulations. How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Really good. Amazing, actually,” I admit.

  “When did it happen?” he asks, his brow crinkled with confusion, probably wondering why during all of our texts I never mentioned it.

  I hesitate for a moment before saying, “The end of May.”

  “Ah.” Clarity enters his eyes, and for a moment I worry it’s too much clarity. “Now I know why you didn’t tell me. I wish you would’ve, it would’ve been some good news to counteract the bad.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, that at least for the moment, he hasn’t put two and two together.

  Meredith cheers and we all look up to see she’s managed to get a spare.

  She starts doing a victory dance that includes a lot of booty shaking.

  “Bow down to me, bitches. I am the bowling master,” she chants, causing a couple with their two small children to glare at us.

  “Actually” —I stifle a laugh— “Spencer is still winning.”

  “Logistics,” she argues. “Of course he’s winning, the race is to be number two. None of us have a chance of beating him. This is between the three of us.” She flicks her fingers between herself, Harlow, and me.

  “I’m just here to have fun,” Harlow pipes in.

  Meredith glares at her as she sits down. “This is war and there will be a clear victor.”

  “Which will be Spencer,” I interject.

  Meredith whips her head toward me, her eyes narrowed.

  “You better sleep with your eyes open, Hansen.”

  I shake my head, laughing easily.

  “On that note” —Harlow stands— “it’s my turn.”

  Harlow grabs her lime-green ball and steps up to the lane. She holds the ball up, her tongue sticking out slightly between her lips as she concentrates. She swings her arm back and lets the ball fly.

  Right.

  Down.

  The.

  Middle.

  “Oh, game on,” Meredith yells, when Harlow gets a strike.

  Harlow turns around and faces us, taking a bow.

  She reaches the table and Spencer holds both his hands up to her for a high five. I swear her cheeks flush, but then her hair falls forward, hiding her face, and I can’t be sure.

  We finish the first game, Spencer winning, of course, with Harlow coming in second, and order some food.

  When the order comes up, Spencer carries the two trays over to our table.

  I sip at my Sprite I got from the vending machine as Spencer passes the food around.

  I take a hot dog, squirting ketchup and mustard on it.

  Before the transplant, a hot dog was a big no-no. I mean, hot dogs aren’t good for anyone, but sometimes you just want a damn hot dog. I always had to avoid them, but today’s my birthday, I’m post-transplant, and I’m going to enjoy one as well as crisp bowling alley fries. I’ve always loved their fries here. I don’t know if it’s necessarily that they’re good or they just fill me with a feeling of nostalgia.

  We eat our food happily, talking and laughing. Spencer fits easily into our little group, almost like he’s always been here.

  Sadness stays in his eyes, but he starts to smile more, and I can tell it’s genuine. It makes me feel good that he seems to be enjoying himself somewhat. I know I haven’t been there for him like I should. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but it’s been too hard knowing the kidney I got is more than likely T.J’s. It seems wrong, almost gross, to comfort Spencer right now with that knowledge.

  We finish eating and Spencer gets rid of
our trash before we set up another game.

  This time we divide into teams, Meredith and Harlow versus Spencer and me.

  This ought to be interesting.

  Meredith goes first, slinging her ball like she’s performing shot put, very badly, might I add, for the Olympics.

  “What was that?” I tease her as her ball flies straight into the gutter.

  She shrugs. “Bowling is not my sport.”

  “Nothing is your sport,” I remind her.

  “True,” she concedes, waiting for the ball to come back.

  When it does, she grabs it and cradles it in both hands as she steps up to the lane.

  She spreads her legs and swings the ball in both hands before releasing it. It flies down the lane and knocks down all but two pins. She turns to us and curtseys.

  I shake my head as we all clap.

  It’s my turn next. I take a deep breath before grabbing my ball, concentrating.

  “You got this, Willa,” Spencer cheers behind me.

  I swing my arm back and let the ball fly.

  Squishing my eyes closed, I barely peek and gasp when all the pins are knocked down.

  “Oh, my God,” I scream, and turn around to find Spencer running toward me.

  He opens his arms and I jump into them as he spins me.

  “That was amazing,” he says, setting me down.

  We high five before sitting down to let Harlow take her turn.

  When the game ends, Spencer and I winning—and we perform an epic winning dance just to rub it in their faces further—the four of us pile in my tiny car to head back to my house where Meredith and Spencer met us and where cake now waits for us. I didn’t want to have my cake at the bowling alley since my parents weren’t going there with us.

  I pull my car into the driveway and Spencer tumbles out of the front passenger seat, stretching his legs.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize with a laugh as I get out. “I know it’s a small car.”

  “It’s a clown car,” he declares, wagging a finger at me.

  I shrug. “Yeah, you’re right,” I concede.

  It is small, but I love it.

  I lead the way inside and kick off my shoes.

  “Mom? Dad? We’re back,” I call out.

  “In here,” my mom answers back from the area of the kitchen.

  I smile when I spot them both in the kitchen, my dad’s arms around her. My giant chocolate cake with chocolate icing sits on the island, HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY WILLA in cursive letters on top with yellow and pink flowers. Candles are already stuck in it, waiting to be lit.

  My dad releases my mom and she grabs the lighter. “I assume you’re ready for cake?”

  I’d only eyed the cake all morning. There was a teeny tiny dent in the icing where I snuck a taste. I couldn’t help myself—and it was just as yummy as I’d hoped.

  Harlow slides onto a stool; Meredith and Spencer following suit.

  My mom lights the candles and then Dad turns off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, the only light the flickering candle flames.

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Willa. Happy birthday to yooou.”

  “Make a wish,” my mom whispers.

  I close my eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candles.

  It’s my first birthday in four years where I haven’t wished for a kidney.

  Instead, this time, I wish for a change. Maybe some option other than transplant that would give people a better life. I read once about a bionic kidney that’s being made. There are too many people on dialysis, having their lives ruled by something unnatural. And sadly, if people aren’t in your shoes, they don’t care. They might think they do but they can’t, because it’s easy to ignore how bad it is.

  The lights flick back on and my mom starts cutting the cake, handing me the first corner piece because she knows I’m an icing fiend.

  My friends, sister, and I take our plates outside onto the small deck to sit on the steps and eat.

  “Killer view,” Spencer declares.

  “Where do you live?” I ask him.

  “My mom is a single mom so we live in a condo. It has a decent, though distant view, of the ocean. It’s not the same thing as walking out your back door and having it right there.”

  “Definitely not,” I agree.

  Even though I’ve never been into water sports, and don’t spend much time in the ocean, I’ve always appreciated living right on the beach. It’s like waking up to a special miracle right outside your door every day. It’s not something everyone gets to enjoy on a daily basis, so I’m determined to soak it up.

  “Thanks for coming today, guys,” I say, licking icing off my fork.

  Meredith bumps her shoulder against mine. “You know there’s no place I’d rather be, even if you did want to go bowling of all things,” she teases with a laugh.

  “Yeah, it’s your birthday,” Spencer agrees. “There’s nowhere else we’d be.”

  “And I don’t have a choice, I’m your sister,” Harlow jokes, and I glare at her, both of us dissolving into laughter.

  “I’m glad I have you guys in my life, truly, all of you.”

  There are a lot of people in the world who will get to know you to try to bring you down or undermine you, but I’m lucky to have friends, and a sister, who are the rare kind of friend. The one that’s there no matter what, who you can be at your happiest or your angriest with, who doesn’t care how ugly you can be because they know your heart is made of gold.

  Spencer might be new to my friend group, but he rounds it out perfectly.

  And while I technically don’t have many friends, you only need a few good people in your life. The number of friends you have doesn’t equate to how loved you are. In fact, the more friends you have, the less they know the real you and you with them.

  “Aww, look at you getting all sappy.” Meredith wraps her arms around me and, before I know it, Harlow and Spencer are getting in on the group hug action.

  I smile beneath their embrace and, for the first time in years, I can say I’m truly happy.

  It’s probably dumb, but I honestly thought turning eighteen would make me feel different, more grown up and ready to take on the world.

  But instead, three days later, I feel like the same old Willa.

  I guess that’s a good thing—at least I haven’t fallen off the deep end and started balancing checkbooks and talking about taxes and the stock market.

  “Are you seriously going to sit there and read the whole day?” Meredith asks, applying more sunscreen to her body.

  We’ve come to the beach by the pier. I want to sneak off and go see Julio, to tell him about my transplant, but Harlow and Meredith haven’t left my side and I know if I tell them where I’m going they’ll want to follow. Sometimes, I want to do things by myself.

  When I first got diagnosed with kidney disease everyone around me treated me like a delicate, breakable flower and a lot of that overprotectiveness hasn’t left them.

  They don’t understand I just want my freedom to be a normal person.

  “Yeah, probably,” I answer her.

  “Ugh,” she groans. “You can be so boring. Do you not see how many hot guys are here today? How can you be surrounded by this man meat and care more about your book?”

  “For your information, there’s man meat in my book and he’s my future book husband.”

  “But he’s not real,” she reasons.

  “To you,” I mutter under my breath.

  Non-readers don’t get how real characters become to us bookworms. They have no idea what they’re missing out on.

  She huffs. “You’re weird, but I love you.”

  I crack a smile. “Love you too, Merebitch.”

  She grins at the nickname.

  I peek over the top of my sunglasses at this so-called man meat. The beach is covered in scantily-clad women and men in board shorts. Out in the water there’s the usual grouping of surfers.

/>   My eyes are drawn to them, like usual, and envy runs through my veins.

  Envy at their ease in the water, and how fearless they are when they catch a wave. I’d be afraid I’d crack my skull on the surfboard when I inevitably had an accident.

  My eyes zero in on a guy in a wetsuit. He’s with a group of four other guys, all bobbing on their boards. While the others laugh, his eyes are focused straight ahead on the water, like he sees something they don’t.

  He starts paddling, though I can’t see an approaching wave.

  The other guys stop chatting and watch him too.

  He keeps paddling and paddling.

  And then the wave starts to form.

  He turns his board around and I watch in awe as he catches the large wave, possibly the best one all day, though I haven’t been watching, and rides it out.

  There’s something about him that’s magic on water.

  He rides the wave like he owns it, not like it’s a creation of Mother Nature that could crush him at any moment.

  When he successfully catches the wave and rejoins his friends they exchange clasped hands and fist bumps.

  I return my eyes to the pages of my book but I can’t help but peek up every now and then and find him.

  An hour passes, and Meredith stretches beside me.

  “I’m going to grab a smoothie, you guys coming?”

  She looks at me and Harlow on my other side.

  Harlow puts down her magazine. “Yeah, I’m starving.”

  Meredith stands and brushes the sand off her body. Even with each of us sitting on a towel it’s impossible not to get sand on yourself.

  “I’m good,” I tell them.

  “Are you sure?” Harlow asks. “You don’t want a water? Maybe coffee?”

  “Yeah grab me a water, thank you,” I tell her.

  I watch them disappear into the distance, turning into tiny specks as they head off to get drinks and food.

  My eyes return to the ocean and my throat catches when I see the guy I was watching get out. He sticks his board in the sand and unzips his wetsuit, tugging it harshly off his arms and letting it hang down to expose his chest.

  Tucking his board back under his arm, he starts up the beach.