The Other Side of Tomorrow

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “Perry, you silly boy.”

  I rifle through my drawers and find my floral, black and white, one-piece swimsuit. Most girls my age would be wearing bikinis, but my scars aren’t something I like to show off. I’m not ashamed of them, not at all, they show how hard I’ve fought, but the questions are something I can avoid by keeping them covered so I do. I have a couple round scars from my peritoneal catheter and then my scar from transplant surgery is about six inches but crescent shaped. The scars on my chest are impossible to hide. They’re from the catheter in my chest when I first started dialysis, since it was an emergency situation.

  I slip on a pair of jean shorts and a loose sweater. I choose to leave my hair down, knowing it’s going to end up wet.

  Flopping down on my bed beside Perry, the dog turns to me and smears a wet kiss on my cheek.

  “Ew, Perry, that’s gross.” I wipe my face on my sleeve.

  Perry gives me a lopsided smile.

  I grab my book off my night table and read for a little bit. It isn’t long until my phone is buzzing.

  Jasper: Look outside.

  I stand and rush to my bedroom window, a smile immediately lighting up my face when I see Jasper’s yellow Jeep parked out front. He leans against the passenger door, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.

  I raise my hand to the window and the movement causes his head to rise.

  He smiles, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

  Turning back around I slip my feet into a pair of flip-flops and rush downstairs.

  “I’ll be back later!” I call to Harlow, sprinting out the door before I can hear her reply.

  Jasper chuckles as I come to stand in front of him.

  “Eager, are we?”

  I blush. “I’m excited about surfing.”

  I am, but I’m more excited about being with him and he knows it.

  “Mhmm. I’m sure that’s all it is.” His dimple winks from his cheek.

  He opens the passenger door with a sweep of his hand.

  I climb inside, still not used to the height of the Jeep. With my short stature, it’s akin to climbing a damn mountain.

  I flop into the seat and he closes the door, shaking with silent laughter.

  I can’t even feel embarrassed, because I’m sure it was funny.

  When he slides behind the steering wheel, I say, “I figured I’d meet you at the beach. I didn’t expect you to pick me up.”

  He shrugs and looks in his mirrors before pulling out onto the street. “This is more fun. I like being with you.”

  He smiles over at me and my heart grabs onto his words, cradling them close like they’re precious, because they are.

  “Were you able to get some sleep?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, his smile falling. “A little.”

  I frown.

  “What about you?”

  “I slept in.”

  “Is there anything you want to talk about?” I hedge.

  He shakes his head, staring resolutely ahead. We stop at a stoplight and he finally looks at me.

  “His room is right across from mine. It’s still the same, but it’s not. There’s this emptiness there. This lack of life. It’s disturbing, how he’s gone but everything is left the same but not at the same time. Like how can that be? He ceases to exist but there are reminders of him all around. They’re painful to see, but I don’t want them to go away, either. Does that make me weak?”

  I shake my head as the light turns green and he drives forward.

  “No, I think it makes you human,” I reason. “It’s human nature not to want to let go, but that part that’s trying to protect you urges you to hide from it.”

  “Is this ever not going to hurt?” he asks softly, almost pleadingly.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry, but it’s always going to hurt. Just like I’m always going to be affected by my disease. Yeah, it gets better, the pain dulls, some days you don’t even think about it. But it’s always there. It still exists.”

  He works his jaw back and forth. “He was too young to die. It’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair. As cliché as it sounds, it’s true. People die too young, animals get run over, kids get shot, cancer eats people alive, but you have to get up, brush yourself off, and move on. Because where bad exists, so does good, and it’s up to us to remember that—to find it and use it to bring light to others.”

  He parks the Jeep and I look around, realizing we’ve already made it to the beach before I know it.

  “You’re far too wise for your age,” he whispers sadly, looking me over. I’m sure he’s imagining all I’ve been through, I’m sure his ideas of it are bad but I have news for him, whatever he’s thinking, it’s been worse.

  “That’s what happens when life deals you a bad card. But it’s one bad card out of my entire hand. I can still live a happy life. I can still run, and talk, and smile, and live. Living is the greatest gift of all, no matter how it’s done. Each breath is a tiny little miracle.”

  He shakes his head. “You amaze me.”

  “I’m nothing amazing,” I argue. “I’m just being honest.”

  He smiles. It’s a soft, hesitant smile. “I still think you’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met. Now” —he claps his hands— “no more serious talk. It’s time to surf.”

  He hops out of the Jeep and leans the front seat forward, pulling out two wetsuits. “This one should fit you.” He tosses it to me.

  I stare at it like it’s completely foreign to me, because it is. I might’ve grown up at the beach, but I’ve never spent much time in the water so I had no need for a wetsuit.

  Jasper slips his on easily and I climb out, fumbling and nearly tripping.

  “How did you make that look so simple?” I gripe, nearly falling on the ground.

  He chuckles and comes to help me. Like that day at the beach, he has the front hanging down, and his shirt is gone giving me a nice glimpse of his tan, bronzed chest.

  “Lots and lots of practice.” He chuckles. “I’ll help.”

  Even with his help, it takes me ten minutes to get in the wetsuit. By the time we’re done I’m out of breath and questioning my life choices.

  “You okay there?”

  “I’m not sure,” I pant.

  He chuckles. “Think you’re going to live?”

  Again, I answer, “I’m not sure.”

  He grins slowly. “I mean, I could always give you mouth to mouth.”

  My cheeks flood with brilliant color. “I’m good,” I answer in a squeaky voice.

  We haven’t kissed again since that first night on the beach, and while I’ve dreamed of doing it again, I don’t feel quite as bold or as sure of myself as I did then. Maybe it was the cover of night that made me take a risk and kiss him, or maybe it was the magical bubble that seems to cocoon us on those nightly meet-ups, but whatever it is I don’t feel it now. In fact, on the busy public beach, in broad daylight, with hundreds of people around is not where I want to have my second kiss. I can already see that turning into a disaster.

  He laughs at me and goes to remove two surfboards off the top of his Jeep, leaning them both against the back.

  “This one’s mine.” He points to the orange and cerulean blue one with some kind of swirling design. “And you can use this one.” He indicates the other, bright yellow with a floral design. “It’s my mom’s. It should work well for you.”

  I reach out a hesitant hand, touching the shiny board.

  “Think you’re ready?” he asks me, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

  “No,” I answer honestly, and my eyes flick up to meet his steady gaze. “But when are we ever ready for anything? You just have to get out there and do it.”

  He nods and grabs his board. “Then let’s do it.”

  I grab the other board and struggle to carry it, even under my arm.

  “Here, let me get it,” Jasper says, taking mercy on me. />
  We walk side by side, our feet sinking into the sand. The sun shines brightly upon us, my skin already warming. I’m sure by the end of the day my freckles will be darker than normal.

  Jasper sets the surfboards in the sand near the water.

  “Okay, a couple of things to go over.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “First” —he ticks it off on his finger— “you’re going to fall, a lot. You might even get bruised or hurt but get back out there and try again. Don’t let it scare you away. Secondly, you might not catch a wave today but we’re going to keep at this until you do—and not like a baby wave, either, I mean a real wave.” I gulp at the idea. “Third, just have fun. That’s what surfing is all about. Having fun and being a part of the ocean.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “I can do that.”

  He smiles. “Good. Now grab your board and let’s go.”

  I grab it and carry it the short distance to the water. I mimic him, walking until the water is about waist height on me and climbing on top of the board. Then we paddle out and wait.

  He sits up, his legs dangling over the side, and I do the same.

  “Now, we’re going to start with those baby waves first. Don’t chicken out on me, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  “When you see one start to rise, paddle toward it and then quickly turn around so it can carry you. That’s when you stand up. It’ll be hard to get your balance at first, but you just have to get used to the feel.”

  I nod. I’m nervous, of course, but I’ve wanted to do this forever and Jasper seems like the best person to teach me.

  It isn’t long until a small wave forms.

  “Paddle, paddle, paddle,” Jasper chants, and I do just that.

  I turn the board around, already out of breath and my arms shaking.

  I am seriously out of shape.

  I used to run a couple of times a week but haven’t at all since my surgery and I can definitely tell a difference in my strength and energy level.

  Like an awkward baby gazelle, I try to stand on the board, and promptly fall into the water with a small scream.

  Surfacing for air, I push my wet hair out of my eyes, the surfboard bobbing like an obedient puppy waiting for praise and attention.

  Jasper laughs heartily. “Good try.”

  “I didn’t even stand up for one second,” I groan, swinging my body back onto the board. I’m glad now for the wetsuit. Even in July the water is chilly and in only my swimsuit I would’ve frozen to death.

  “Hey, you tried, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He chuckles. “Next one’s mine.” He winks.

  “You’re going to ride a baby wave?” I scoff.

  He shrugs, smiling cockily. “Someone’s got to show you how it’s done.”

  “Maybe I want someone else to show me,” I mock, fighting laughter.

  He raises one dark brow—a talent I’ve never been able to master. “Is that so? I’m sure I could find someone willing to help you.” He waves his hand in the direction of other surfers.

  I pretend to think about it. “Nah, I’ll stick with you.”

  “Good choice. I am the best.”

  “Cocky much?” I joke.

  “Hey, I know what I’m good at and I own it. I don’t think that makes me cocky.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Okay, maybe a little bit cocky,” he relents.

  A few minutes later, another small wave comes along and he talks me through everything he does as I watch.

  He makes it seem easy, completely effortless. He rides the wave until it ends and then jumps into the water and back on his board.

  We spend several hours in the water and I only manage to ride a small wave once, and only for about five seconds. Jasper swears it’s longer, but I know he’s only trying to make me feel better.

  We drag the boards out of the water and collapse onto the sand with them.

  “I’m tired,” I declare, removing the clasp around my ankle.

  He chuckles. “Your body will get used to it.”

  “Used to it?”

  “I told you, we’re not quitting until you ride a real wave.”

  I crinkle my nose and mutter, “Slave driver.”

  “I heard that.” He sits down beside me, draping his arms over his knees.

  “I meant for you to.” I laugh.

  “We’ll take a break tomorrow,” he says, squinting from the bright sun. “Give your body a chance to recover.” I doubt my body will recover in one day, but I’m not about to argue or I know he’ll make me do it again tomorrow. “There’s somewhere I’d like to take you tomorrow night.”

  “Where?” I ask, trying to breathe normally and not like I’ve just run twenty miles.

  “It’s a club,” he hedges, waiting for my reaction.

  “Uh …”

  “It’s not at all like you’re thinking,” he says. “It’s for dancing, but like real dancing, not that grinding stuff.”

  “Don’t act like you’ve never grinded on a chick before.” I bump his shoulder.

  “Maybe once or twice.” His eyes sparkle with laughter.

  “Mhmm.” I press my lips together and look at him like a scolding mother.

  He laughs and rubs his stubbled jaw like he’s embarrassed. “Will you go with me?”

  “Sure. I’ll make a fool of myself, but why not.” I shrug, reminding myself of my vow to get out of my comfort zone.

  He smiles, his white teeth sparkling in the sunlight. “You’re going to love it.”

  “If you say so. Now” —I stand up and brush as much sand off the wetsuit as I can— “can we please get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Sure. I’ll go grab my wallet from the Jeep and put these away.” He indicates the surfboards. “Why don’t you go get in line somewhere and I’ll catch up with you?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I head off in search of the food stands while he leaves in the direction the Jeep is parked.

  My stomach rumbles as I walk. I worked up an appetite while I was out there.

  There are several stands to choose from but I end up going with the sandwich one, since I usually always get a hamburger when I’m at the beach.

  Several people are ahead of me, by the time it’s my turn to order Jasper has appeared.

  I order a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and avocado. Jasper gets the one with practically everything on it. I’m not even surprised. And then he also orders a cup of fries for us to share and two waters.

  After we have our food we sit down at a table to eat. I’d love to sit in the sand and eat but without towels, there’s about a hundred percent chance sand would end up in our food and I don’t want a literal sandwich.

  Jasper unscrews the cap on his water bottle and downs about half of it in one gulp.

  I give him a skeptical look and he laughs, wiping the dampness off his lips with the back of his hand.

  “I was thirsty,” he reasons.

  Unwrapping my sandwich, my stomach grumbles yet again in desperation for food. I take a bite and it settles, somewhat.

  Jasper chews a bit of fry and clears his throat. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me what it was like … in the beginning … when you were first diagnosed.”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply, and wipe my hands on a napkin, wondering where I should begin. “For starters, I was naïve. We all were. We didn’t understand what my diagnosis meant and just assumed transplant would happen easily and quickly. It didn’t. It’s a long, hard process. I was only fourteen at the time, but I had to grow up quick and deal with my reality. The first couple of months after I was diagnosed were the hardest. I spent a lot of time in the hospital then, having to go back for one thing or the other. I had to have a catheter in my chest and that sucked balls. It hurt and itched like crazy, but with it being an open hole to my heart I couldn’t scratch it. Do you have any idea what it’s like to itch twenty-four seven? I started to feel
like I was losing my mind.” I pause and shake my head as I catch my breath. “Then I had to have a fistula put in my arm, since I was on hemo-dialysis to start.” I hold out my left arm and point to the inch-and-a-half long scar on my wrist. “Here, feel my arm.”

  He places his hand on my arm and his eyes grow wide with shock.

  “Whoa, what the fuck is that thing?”

  “They attached an artery to a vein—the artery pushes extra blood into the vein, making it grow bigger so it can withstand the pushing and pulling of blood so quickly during dialysis. That’s why it feels like it’s buzzing—it’s all the extra blood. I can hear it at night,” I admit. “It’s like my body is humming.”

  “That’s some weird shit.”

  “The weirdest,” I agree. “I call it my Hulk vein.” I laugh. “See the difference in the size of my arms?” I hold them both out together. “It looks like it’s swollen, but it’s not, it’s because the vein is big.”

  “That boggles my mind,” he whispers, reaching out tentatively to rub my arm. I hold myself still as he touches me. My arm isn’t nearly as sensitive as it used to be, but sometimes it still bothers me when someone touches it. “Is this okay?” he asks, either picking up on my stiffness, or maybe he’s just that in tune with me.

  “It’s okay.” I nod for him to continue.

  He moves his hand lower, to where the thrill is stronger.

  He holds it there, feeling it, feeling not only the flow of blood but how it beats in time with my heart. I’m sure, with as strong as it is, he can feel it speed up as my body reacts to his touch.

  “And this never goes away?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “They can tie it off, but they usually leave it if it’s working. Transplant doesn’t last forever—and the peritoneal dialysis doesn’t work long term, either. That’s what I ended up doing after about the first year. My mom did it for me in the beginning and then I ended up taking over. That one was done through a tube in my stomach. I’m just glad my arm doesn’t look too crazy. That was one of my biggest worries.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Well,” I begin to explain, “the longer you use the vein for dialysis the bigger it gets until it literally surfaces and looks like a snake living under your skin.” He stares at me. “I’m not kidding. Do you have your phone? I left mine in your Jeep.”