*26*
Large snowflakes flurried from the sky, sticking to the sidewalk. Nathan pushed vigorously against his son’s wheelchair to get it up the ramp. Snow compacted in front of the wheels, halting their rotation so that the wheelchair slid more than rolled on the pavement.
The six-year-old watched in awe as the cold, white puffs disappeared on his warm skin.
“We wouldn’t have this problem if I had a glider-chair like the Major,” he said.
“That’s true, X,” Nathan admitted. “Maybe I can make you one with the spare parts in the shop.” He gave the wheelchair an extra push, forcing it onto the landing of the sidewalk.
His son was quiet.
Henry’s nickname, “X,” had originated a few months ago in honor of the boy’s favorite superhero, Major Xtra, the telekinetic, paraplegic leader of a group of highly sensitive extraterrestrials called The New World League. Nathan’s son had been obsessed with comics since he was old enough to hold a book. Though he couldn’t read all the words yet, X enjoyed making up his own stories from the pictures. He was rarely found without at least one comic book detailing the adventures of his beloved psychokinetic heroes. In more ways than one, X and his idol shared similar aspects of their being, beyond just their physical capabilities.
It wasn’t entirely clear to Nathan if his son had chosen to emulate this character out of admiration of his leadership or if the similarities were of a more innate nature and had merely served to fuel the obsession. Whichever it was, X was an intriguing young boy, and the unusual name suited him.
Because of his condition, people were often unsure how to behave around X. Adults tried to coddle him both physically and mentally, only to find themselves out of their depths with his quick wit and prophetic wisdom – that is, if a six-year-old could be considered wise. Children laughed at his slow, pedantic speech, and poked fun at his sensitivities. Perhaps because of these reactions, X rarely spoke in public, opting instead to observe and analyze the events around him, and spent much of his energy constructing an elaborate, strange world inside his head.
Once inside the building, they were greeted by a rush of warm, chlorinated air, which melted any residual snow that attempted to enter with them. Their faces flushed in the heat, and they quickly shed their heavy winter coats inside the door. The pool was relatively empty on this blustery afternoon, with the exception of a few private lessons spaced out around the swimming area.
Nathan wheeled his son hurriedly into the locker room to change.
On the swim deck, X’s therapist, Angie, eagerly strolled over to greet them. She was a lean, young woman with broad shoulders and a tight knot of blond hair spooled on the top of her head. Her powerful legs and damp skin gave her the appearance of a dolphin, ready to shed her human form and return to the sea at any given moment. Naturally, this meant she moved on land with considerably more thought and awkwardness, as if unaccustomed to the full forces of gravity.
Nathan wondered at the curious similarities between this creature and his son, who both seemed destined for a life in the water, somewhere where their movements could be free.
Angie smiled in greeting. “Hi, X, Mr. Newman. Glad you both could make it with this weather.” She glanced toward the tiny skylights that bordered the ceiling, but nothing was visible beyond the blanket of white.
X waved happily in return. Parking his wheelchair along the wall, X locked the brakes, and stood slowly from the seat. With Nathan’s support, he walked cautiously over the wet, tiled floor to the edge of the pool before sitting on the perimeter.
Angie sat down beside him, while Nathan took a seat on his other side. “How are you today, X?”
“Ready to walk,” X replied seriously.
As if on cue, Nathan jumped into the shallow water, followed by Angie and then X, who wore a special belt around his waist for added buoyancy. While Angie remained near the wall, Nathan and X pushed themselves slowly out into the shallows.
Supported by his belt, X’s feet began to lift slightly off the ground as he walked toward the deep end. Right before the point of floating away completely, X stopped and turned to his dad. Together, they worked through an assortment of movements designed to stretch and exercise the contracted muscles in his little body. The buoyancy of the water relieved the weight from his joints, easing his pain as he moved while simultaneously supplying constant, surrounding pressure to help keep his balance.
Angie watched from the sidelines. Her role was largely supervisory by this point, generally only smiling and offering encouragement when needed. Rarely did she have to correct or actually instruct the boys in their routine as Nathan had long ago learned the prescribed exercises at length. Nathan precisely facilitated the movements with X during his sessions and often in between appointments if time allowed. Angie leaned against the wall in the shallows.
For the next hour, the two boys paced back and forth through the shallow pool. X flashed a timid grin at Angie every so often, and she offered an encouraging high-five whenever he passed. Slowly, X’s serious expression softened, fading into contentedness, and eventually happiness. Though he rarely showed his emotions to the world, the water offered a safety and comfort that slowly worked to melt the little boy’s resolve.
By the end of the session, Nathan was flushed and his son was enthralled. Nathan paused to lean against the wall next to Angie during the final lap. He watched as X splashed away gleefully into the shallows, attempting to keep himself afloat on his back in a new starfish position that Angie had taught him last week. Nathan allowed himself a smile.
With her eyes still on the boy, Angie said, “He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”
Nathan nodded faintly. “You think so?”
“I really do. He’s a special kid, but I’m sure you know that. He’s worked so hard.” Angie turned to Nathan, placing her hand gently on his arm. “And he couldn’t have done it without you.” She dropped her arm and returned to her student.
Nathan went numb. As well-meaning as she intended those words to be, Nathan struggled to accept such a statement. He knew his son was spectacular, and everything X had achieved had been earned through hard work, as Nathan was the first to know. Somewhere inside, he also knew that it was his fault, that everything was harder for his son because of him. Learning to walk, learning to feed himself, making friends, being accepted at school – all of it was challenging for X because he was different, because he didn’t develop like other kids. His son had been different since the moment he came into this world on the side of the highway. Nathan knew the accident played a role in his son’s development, though no doctor had ever been bold enough to tell him so directly.
The cost of each of his son’s successes was a penny of guilt for Nathan’s role in X’s hardships in the first place. He was the one driving the truck after all, even if the final crash wasn’t entirely his fault. He should have gotten them out of the way quicker. Angie’s comment, though intended as a compliment, felt more like being served an exorbitant bill for a service he had never intended to use. Since the day he woke up in that hospital bed, Nathan had resigned himself to pay whatever debt the universe deemed fit to charge, no matter the price. His greatest regret, then, came from knowing that his son would also pay for his mistakes, no matter how hard Nathan tried to prevent it.
Standing in the warm, shallow pool, Nathan allowed his guilt to surface for a moment longer before he buried it back down inside. He forced a smile across his lips. Turning to Angie, he politely thanked her before drifting off to collect his son from the water.
X hesitantly moved to meet his father at the stairs. Slowly, X managed to take the first three steps out of the water on his own, supported only by the metal railing at his side. By the fourth step, however, the forces of the world began to pull heavily on his body, causing his movements to slow and stiffen. Nathan moved up onto the step behind X and supported him the rest of the way onto the swim deck. Wrapping him in a towel, Nathan carried his son into the locker room
to change.
Once showered and dressed, Nathan and X tiredly wheeled out into the lobby.
From behind the reception desk, Angie bid them both farewell. “Same time next week?” she asked cheerfully.
“Same as every week,” Nathan replied, forcing himself to smile.
X’s arm emerged from the pile of puffy clothes in the chair and waved a happy goodbye at Angie. Nathan secured X’s hat over his wet hair before pushing through the doors, out into the cold.
*27*
Sanjay and Namita Pula did not understand their daughter’s persistent interest in the dying. As a girl, Amara had been naturally curious, always questioning the world around her. She had a scholarly mind and they had nurtured her intellect as much as possible, preparing her for a higher education that wasn't available to many girls in India, except for those who could afford it. Here in the United States, both their daughters had many opportunities that Sanjay and Namita couldn’t even imagine.
From a young age, Amara wanted to be a researcher, a neuroscientist, and her parents had supported these aspirations at every turn. They enrolled her in honors classes and drove her to after-school science clubs. They even spent one particularly rainy afternoon driving her to five different bookstores to find an original edition of Awakenings, a scientific tale of the most intriguing cases of true premonition, written by her favorite author and famous neuroscientist, Oliver Sacks. She was a clever girl. But then she’d met Henry, and immediately she became nothing more than a woman in love. All her hard work, all her dreams, pushed to the wayside.
Her parents tried to be understanding after Henry’s death, tried to be supportive, tried to talk to her and comfort her. They gave her scripture to read in the hopes that she would find peace in knowing Henry had moved on to his next life. But after six long years, they felt it was time for their daughter to move on with her own life as well. Instead, she spent her days taking care of sick and dying people. With each new case, she packed more grief into an already open wound. It was noble work, and somebody had to do it, but not their daughter. She was meant for bigger things.
Amara was never one to argue with her parents, even when they not-so-subtly voiced their concerns. Over the years, she listened quietly to their repeated lectures, but never once did she change her course. Her parents were infuriated by her seemingly passive indifference. They just wanted what was best for her. Couldn’t she see that?
Amara’s friends, on the other hand, concerned themselves more with her love life. She had maintained a loose friendship with Kianna throughout school, but they had drifted apart from mutual neglect after graduation. A few years later, they rekindled their connection after both of them found themselves living in Seattle, struggling to make rent on their own in the city. Together, they settled into an old apartment in Seattle's Magnolia neighborhood. The bedrooms were tiny, and the carpet was practically vintage, but the apartment held an expansive view of the Cascade Mountains from their east-facing balcony. The compact unit suited both of them well enough, especially since Amara tended to be absent for long periods of time due to the unpredictability of her work.
Last month, however, Kianna reluctantly gave notice that she would soon be moving out after finally being persuaded to move in with her boyfriend. Against the odds, her college boyfriend Charlie had managed to keep Kianna’s interest all these years, though not without his own trials and tribulations. Kianna fought against her feelings and need for stability, dumping Charlie on multiple occasions in various humiliating, and often public, spectacles. But Charlie was patient – almost to a fault, Amara thought – and Kianna gravitated back to him every time.
Kianna pressed repeatedly and incorrigibly for Amara to start dating. When out at a bar, or even at the grocery store, Kianna tried to talk up her friend to random guys that she met. More often than not, this resulted in unsolicited proposals to Kianna while Amara watched wryly from the produce aisle.
Last month, Kianna even went so far as to create an online dating profile in Amara’s name, which she managed for more than a week without Amara's knowledge until she boldly presented Amara with an extensive list of potential suitors, in ranking order. Despite Kianna's best efforts, Amara usually ignored these childish ventures which, unfortunately, only served to push her friend to even more exhaustive and unescapable efforts.
“I just want you to be as happy as Charlie and I are,” Kianna boasted pointedly one cold, drizzly afternoon in February as they sat together in a coffee shop.
Amara watched the rain dripping off the gutter outside as they sipped their warm tea. Through the reflection in the window, she viewed the steady stream of people flowing around the counter.
“I’m fine as is, and I like doing things on my own,” Amara argued.
Kianna persisted. “I’m just worried about you. I’m moving out next week, and you’re going to be all alone. I know you, you won’t leave the apartment unless someone drags you out of it or someone is dying. This may be my last chance to help you find someone.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic? It’s not like you’re moving to another country. Charlie’s place is only ten minutes away, and I meet plenty of people.”
“What about that guy from online? The one with the cute dog and the beard. He was hot.”
“They all have dogs,” Amara chided. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Oh, stop being so critical. You know who I’m talking about. What was his name? John?”
“Joe,” Amara corrected. “He’s nice, we met up for drinks last night.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Kianna exclaimed. “ How did it go?”
“It was good. We just had a few drinks and shot a game of pool at the game hall,” Amara said casually. She pretended to fiddle with the teabag in her mug, avoiding Kianna’s piercing gaze.
In reality it was one of the best first dates she’d ever had, not that there had been many in the last four years, not since Henry. Joe was funny, personable, and manly, the outdoorsy type. He worked for the Coast Guard doing search and rescue. He had a natural gift for storytelling, and Amara had thoroughly enjoyed listening to him recount his perilous, and sometimes humorous, exploits on the water. He was polite to the waiter and didn’t balk when she insisted on splitting the tab. Amara even let him walk her to her car, where they shared a soft goodnight kiss.
She couldn’t divulge these details to Kianna, however, because she wasn’t going to see him again, and she couldn’t bring herself to explain why. Kianna wouldn’t understand.
After her date last night, Amara had crawled under her covers ready for sleep. She was genuinely happy about the evening’s events and even sent Joe a quick text before tucking herself into bed. Kianna probably would have told her to wait another day before messaging him, but Amara allowed her excitement to lead her recklessly beyond the idiosyncratic rules of dating. Sleep took her, slowly.
In her dreams, Amara was back in the seaside cave. Sunlight swirled across the stone walls. A soft symphony of sounds reverberated through the tunnel, played by the waves crashing against the rock. It was just as it had been. She sensed Henry around her. He traced her jaw with his fingers, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, and leaned in to kiss her neck. She felt the mound of his shoulder, following the ridge downward as it dipped into a valley around his collarbone. The weight of his body pressed her down onto the rock, his skin gliding over hers. Her bare back made contact with the cold stone floor, sending a shiver coursing through her core. White light blinded her. She closed her eyes tighter as sunlight flooded the cave, desperately clinging to her dream. With the light of day, Henry dissolved back into the sea.
When Amara awoke, she was overwhelmed with sadness and guilt. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. A light on her phone blinked with a message from Joe. “I really hope to see you again soon,” it read affectionately.
She stared sleepily at the screen, rereading the words again and again. Images of Henry replayed
in her mind, blurring slowly as the sleep faded from her body, like a film that was tattered and stained with exposure. Episodes from her date with Joe began to infuse themselves between the frames of her dream. Confused, she put her phone face down on the nightstand without replying.
Now, hours later, her wounds were still fresh from this morning. She couldn’t find the words to explain to Kianna what she was feeling, and she knew her friend probably wouldn’t understand anyway. She decided it was better just to suffer in silence; the pain of someone misunderstanding her turmoil would be even worse.
Amara shifted uncomfortably in her seat a few times, waiting for words to formulate in any reasonable order in her mouth. She settled against the back of the chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Kianna’s gaze was fixed on her, expectant and unrelenting. Amara forced her eyes upward to meet Kianna’s, but lost her nerve upon making contact. She settled her gaze on the wall just over the top of her friend’s head.
“We just didn’t really hit it off,” Amara finally said dismissively. “I don’t think it’s worth a second date.” Attempting to change the subject, she added quickly, “Do you need any help with packing?”
Thankfully, Kianna allowed the conversation to settle back on herself. She set aside her former interrogations and began reciting a long list of all the things she still needed to do before moving.
Absently listening to her friend, Amara unlocked her phone on the table and reread the message again. She moved her fingers to the screen, but couldn’t bring herself to reply.
Kianna continued to ramble across the table, oblivious to her friend’s internal conflictions.
Amara typed, “Sorry,” and immediately deleted it. Sorry for what? She puzzled. I’m sorry, I can’t date you because I still dream about my dead boyfriend. Flustered, Amara turned her phone off and shoved it into her pocket under the table.
Life After Death: A Story of Love, Loss, and Living Page 12
