With This Heart

by R.S. Grey

  I wasn’t going to let that happen.

  It was early morning in the hospital. The nurse had opened my blinds so that I could see the playground outside. There were children running around, sliding down the slide, and chasing one another. Their carefree playing distracted me for a few minutes, but the hospital’s windows blocked out their laughter so that I was left with a silent movie of sorts. When I heard a tap on the door, I quickly closed my journal, shielding it in my two hands on my lap.

  My mother hopped up from her seat and gave me a nod. She knew to stay outside in case I needed any help. She’d told me the night before that it should be Beck’s decision whether he stays or goes, but she respected my choice. I gave her a wistful smile before she opened the door and let Beck inside.

  He smiled wide and strolled into the room, filling my life with his presence.

  “ You’ll be happy to know that I’ve now been a vegetarian for four days!” He turned in a circle as if showing off his makeover.

  I couldn’t bring myself to laugh, but I mustered a smile. “That’s awesome, Beck. Has it been hard?”

  I didn’t see the harm in attempting to have one last normal conversation before my life became post-Beck.

  “ Impossible. But I’m starting to like tofu, so that’s good. And peanut butter has become a staple in most of my meals,” he answered, coming to sit next to me on the bed. He was so warm and full of life, whereas I’d become ten shades paler since coming into the hospital. I wanted to soak up his heat.

  I didn’t trust my vocal cords, so I just nodded and pressed my lips together.

  He was more than happy to lead the conversation. “I brought some books and I thought we could go outside if you’re feeling up for it? The nurse said if I brought your wheelchair it would be okay. You just have to wear a mask and we can’t stay out too long.” He seemed so excited about his plan that I almost agreed. But then I thought about what he’d said. I had to wear a mask. A mask to prevent me from catching anything. My heart couldn’t handle anymore obstacles thrown at it. I was a shell of existence. I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t breathe fresh air. And for that reason, my fingers tightened around the journal and I resolved to stick with the plan.

  “ Um, actually, let’s stay here. I’m feeling tired,” I lied, feeling my hands start to shake around my journal.

  His brow dipped forward in concern, the dimples disappearing as his mouth turned into a frown.

  “ What’s up, Abby?” he asked, scooting back an inch so that he could turn completely toward me. His hazel eyes weren’t going to let me off easy, so I looked down at the journal.

  “ You have to go to Boston,” I whispered.

  I could feel his body stiffen on the bed. His hand clasped into a tight ball. “This again? Seriously, Abby?”

  He was so angry, angrier than I’d seen him at the bar in Marfa. All because I was doing the one thing that needed to be done.

  “ Beck-” I started to push the journal toward him and he bristled away from it.

  “ Don’t do this, Abby,” he argued with his jaw clenched tightly. “I mean it. Don’t do this to us. I’ve told you every day this week that I don’t want to leave you.” His eyes held fire and I was completely helpless against them.

  I shook my head, trying to speak past the emotion lodged in my throat.

  “ I don’t care. It’s already done. I’m not letting you stay. I’m breaking up with you.” My voice held conviction I hadn’t known existed. I sounded stubborn and confident in my decision.

  “ Abby, please,” he begged, and my stomach clenched into a fist of pain and regret.

  “ I don’t want you to stay. I have to focus on my health and you have to go to school,” I answered with a dead tone. It was the truth muddled with lies. I’d been a burden to people my entire life. Beck deserved more.

  “ I could help you get better,” he murmured. His fists clenched on top of the sheet and I wanted so badly to lean forward and comfort him. But who would comfort me?

  I shook my head infinitesimally.

  “ I’ll go if you ask me to, but I’m not coming back,” he threatened. “If this is what you want, then I’ll do it, but we’re over.” I knew he was being harsh so that I’d see reason and change my mind. But still, his words were venom. They cut right to the core of my happiness. But it was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want him tied down to me when he went back to Boston. I loved Beck because he was the epitome of what life should be, and I’d never forgive myself if I took that away from him.

  When I didn’t respond to his ultimatum, he pushed off the bed and stood facing the wall for a moment. His hands cradled the back of his head and I could see his back muscles shifting beneath his shirt.

  “ I’m so sorry,” I whispered, trying to reach out for him and causing my cannula to slip out of my nose. It only took a few seconds before I felt light headed, but I had to push through it.

  “ Please understand. Please,” I begged, needing him to turn toward me. I didn’t want us to end like this. I needed him to tell me it was okay. That he agreed with me.

  When he turned to face me, his chiseled features were sharp as stone.

  “ No, actually I don’t understand,” he snapped, and I cringed back against the bed as if he’d hit me. “Don’t do this, Abby.” A second later, the door knob clicked open and my mom peeked in, most likely to make sure everything was okay. As soon as I saw her face, she moved away to give us privacy. But, the noise of the door snapped Beck out of his death stare. He shook his head and turned to leave.

  “ Wait!” I yelled, grasping the journal and jumping out of my bed. My head spun and I fell forward, catching myself on the nightstand. My body protested and my heart pumped overtime as it tried to send out enough oxygenated blood to keep me standing.

  He didn’t turn around.

  “ Beck! This is for you.” I held the journal out in a desperate plea for him to take it. I didn’t want to move away from the nightstand for fear that I’d face plant into the tile. The heart monitor was beeping wildly behind me and I knew we only had seconds before my nurse rushed in. It didn’t bother me that everyone in the ward could hear me yelling. I just couldn’t let him leave without reading everything in the journal. He had to know how much he meant to me.

  But nothing in life is perfect. I got what I wanted: Beck was going to live his life. It just wasn’t going to be on my terms.

  I tried gulping in breaths of air and slowing my heart, but nothing helped. I needed to sit back down, but I couldn’t yet. He was leaving me. His hand grasped the door knob and my lip quivered as tears streamed down my cheeks.

  He pulled his hand away and was swiveling on his feet back toward me. He was about to turn around, I know he was, but then the nurse and my mom rushed past him to get to me.

  “ You need to leave now, young man!” the nurse barked, her voice much too harsh. “You’ve done enough!”

  “ Beck!” I screamed, trying in vain to get him to turn around and take the journal. But the nurses and doctor blocked his path. I chucked it across the room so that it hit the door with a loud thud. The world spun around me, but I tried to hold onto consciousness. I needed one more glimpse of him to tide me over, but instead I was met with a black ring impinging on my vision as the nurse lifted me back onto the bed.

  I felt my mom’s hand rub my hair back as she leaned down to hold me.

  “ He’s gone. Sweetie, just rest. Just rest.”

  She kept repeating those words as she rocked me against the hospital bed. I clung to her shirt with a vice-like grip, wishing she could erase every cruel moment in my life.

  I’d done the right thing and I knew it, yet the doubt that seeped into my thoughts was enough to cause nightmares anytime I shut my eyes. My brain had a way of finding the most gut-wrenching ideas and replaying them in my mind over and over again.

  Beck at parties. Beck with girls. Beck sle
eping with a new girlfriend. I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself it was for the best. But it wasn’t enough. I reached for the pail next to my bed and threw-up the contents of my stomach until I was left dry-heaving and praying for the pain and sadness to go away.

  …

  Beck called everyday for a month and I didn’t answer once. I had to fight myself about it every single time, but I knew if I heard his voice, I’d cave and beg him to come back. So instead, I’d watch the phone vibrate on the hospital’s night stand, jarring the silence from the room and reminding me of how much I’d been forced to give up in my life.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I sat in Dr. Lucas’ office just as I had twice a month for the past year. Her stylish glasses were sitting on the brim of her nose as she ran through everything on her checklist one last time. My eyes scanned down her burgundy cardigan and I smiled thinking of how different our relationship used to be.

  “ You’ve got your schedule in order. I think it’s wise that you’re taking basics the first year. That way if you change your major, it won’t be a problem,” she chimed in as her finger dragged down the list. We’d already gone through everything ten times, and I knew my session was almost over. I think she was dragging it out because she knew it was the last time I’d be visiting her. My life no longer required a life coach. I smiled at the silly thought and stuffed my papers into my purse.

  “ I don’t think I’ll be changing my major, but I agree,” I said, leaning back and eying her.

  She met my eyes and nodded. We’d finally come to understand one another and I’d truly appreciated her help throughout the last year.

  “ You should be proud of yourself, Abby. You did it. You got into college and you’re leaving tomorrow. Are you nervous?” she asked, her tone shifting into friend-mode.

  Her question was one I’d been asked quite a few times over the past few days. I’d visited Caroline’s parents the day before so I could say goodbye. We had dinner and they asked about college, if I was nervous to move, if I was anxious to start classes. I knew they were truly happy for me. Just as I was leaving, her parents had surprised me with a going away present. They’d put away some money for Caroline to go to school and instead of using it for themselves, they wanted to give me a scholarship. They knew I was paying for college on my own, much to my parent’s disapproval. So they bequeathed upon me a “Caroline College Fund” of sorts. I’d cried when they’d handed me the check, and I’d vowed to make it count for her. Even in death, my friend was always watching out for me.

  That money would help me get through the first year of college along with the savings I’d built over the past year working in a coffee shop. After all the medical expenses that had come about after my most recent stint in the hospital, I couldn’t ask my parents for help with college. Even if they could afford it, it felt like I should do it on my own.

  Dr. Lucas cleared her throat and I shook my head. “I’m just ready to get up there, I think,” I answered, pulling myself out of my reverie.

  She nodded with a tight-lipped smile and I knew she was getting as worked up as I was. Did she realize how much I’d changed in the past year? How much she’d helped me?

  “ It’s funny that the assessment test was accurate,” I mentioned, thinking about the silly options it had provided me with a year earlier: park ranger, writer, accountant, biomedical engineer.

  She smiled wide and wrapped me into a hug. “I’m glad it all worked out. Although, I still think you would have made a good park ranger,” she laughed, pulling away to hold me at arm’s length.

  I rolled my eyes at her playfully.

  “ Make sure I get an acknowledgment in your first novel, okay?” She gripped my shoulders and I mashed my lips together so that I wouldn’t cry.

  “ Of course,” I winked.

  In the past year, I had stuck to a routine: working at the coffee shop during the day and heading home to write non-stop at night. It all started with the journal my mom brought me at the hospital. I’d filled it cover to cover. Then I filled journal after journal, no longer recanting stories from our trip, but writing down stories that had lived in my head for the past nineteen years. When my hands ached from writing with a pen, I switched to creating stories on my laptop. It became my thrill in waking up each morning. I wanted to be a writer and I’d worked hard to make it happen. I’d been accepted to a well-known creative writing program so that I could hone my skills. There was nothing holding me back now.

  “ I hope you like Boston, Abby,” she said, wrapping me in a final hug.

  …

  There are almost sixty colleges in Boston, but only two of them mattered to me: Boston University, where I was enrolled, and MIT. It didn’t take me long to get settled. I was living in a small dorm just off campus with a roommate that hadn’t moved in yet. My dorm was built in the seventies and all of the furniture and appliances looked like they were on the brink of collapse. I picked the side of the room that had the most sunlight, and then I set up my writing space so that my desk faced the window.

  I couldn’t see MIT from my room, but I knew it was there. Boston University and MIT were separated by the Charles River. I could literally walk to MIT in a matter of minutes. That first night in my new dorm, I sat at my desk, staring at my reflection in the glass, and contemplated the fact that I didn’t know a single person in the entire city except for one. And he didn’t know I’d left Dallas.

  The next morning, I rolled out of bed and sifted through the new pieces of my wardrobe. Even in early autumn, it was chilly in Boston. My jean shorts were packed far, far away and I quickly grew to love the art of layering. Once I had my jacket zipped up, I locked my apartment and headed out to explore the city.

  It was starkly different than Dallas. The buildings were older. They had character that came with being built hundreds of years ago. Brownstones spanned city streets and I let them lead me toward the Charles River. I wanted to inspect the MIT campus. I knew the chances of running into Beck were beyond minimal, but that was okay. I wanted to get a feel for where he spent his time; where he’d spent the past year without me.

  I trekked over the Harvard Bridge and paused in the middle to watch a group of rowers pass underneath me. Their synchronized strokes were mesmerizing to watch and I snapped a picture to send to my mom. She hadn’t loved the idea of me traveling to Boston for school, but she couldn’t argue with my reasoning. It had taken a little convincing and quite a few tears at the airport, but I promised to talk to her every day and visit home as often as I could.

  Abby : I’m officially a Bostonian. This picture is on the Harvard Bridge.

  Mom : Don’t fall over! You look like you’re right on the edge…

  I smiled and pocketed my phone. Some things would never change and that was okay. She’d worked hard to keep me alive. She didn’t need the fruits of her labor falling off a bridge by accident. After walking for a few more minutes, I reached the epicenter of the MIT campus. The buildings were stoic. Tall stairs led up to an imposing building that reminded me of the Pantheon in Rome. But that wasn’t what held my attention.

  There was a statue just off the sidewalk that looked at once solid and transparent. It was a stainless steel shell of mathematical symbols in the shape of a giant human form. The plaque at the base titled it “The Alchemist”.

  It stood almost three times my height, and the front of the sculpture, where the man’s legs should have been, was cut out so that you could stand inside of it. I peered in, unsure of how claustrophobic the space would make me feel, but the way they layered the symbols made it feel like you were at once inside and out. The blue sky streamed in through the holes in each symbol and I took my time walking in and out, inspecting it from all sides.

  Students walked around me, shuffling to their dorms or to buildings on campus, but no one bothered me as I stood and inspected the sculpture for the rest of the afternoon. It gave me an idea of how to rea
ch Beck, and I sat there piecing it together in the Boston sunlight until I felt a buzzing in my pocket.

  I looked down at my screen and smiled before pushing back onto my feet.

  “ Hi, Mom,” I answered, waiting for a break in pedestrian traffic so I could start to head back to my dorm. It was early afternoon and I’d skipped lunch. She could probably sense that. Moms are superheroes, I swear.

  She sighed into the phone, almost inaudibly. “I won’t bother you this much all the time. Just cut me slack for the first week, okay?” I could tell she’d been crying and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her just as terribly.

  “ I’m glad you called, Mom,” I told her, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “I miss you, too. Want to talk to me while I walk home?” I offered, sticking my free hand in my coat pocket and heading back to the bridge.

  “ You’re still out walking?” she asked. I could hear her shuffling around the house in the background. Maybe she was preparing dinner for her and Dad.

  I looked back and forth, making sure no one was around to hear me. “I was formulating a plan to reach Beck.”

  “ Oh, I want to hear about it!” she sang into the phone. “But wait, you have his number and everyone’s on Facebook nowadays. Couldn’t you just do it that way?”

  “ Mom. Where’s the romance in that?” I joked.

  “ I’m just saying it might be a little easier. Maybe it could be a backup plan,” she added, and I scrunched my nose. I didn’t want a backup plan. I didn’t want to text or call Beck. He deserved more than that. He deserved a grand gesture.

  That night when I got back to my dorm, I sat at my desk facing the city lights and started on my plan. I had no clue if Beck was still in Boston or at MIT, but I would just have to assume that he was. I tapped away on my keyboard— creating, erasing, and rethinking my ideas until I had it complete. It was almost impossible to condense my feelings into a page. But I did it. One single page with a bold title that would hopefully catch people’s attention. I planned on waking up early and taking it to a printer to get as many copies as I could on my measly budget.