Pieces of Me

by Amber Kizer

  Yours. Mainly yours.

  Until she saw the signs for prom and a spark of hope flickered. She didn’t care about prom. It represented normal high school. A life she never had.

  She trudged over to the half-finished self-portrait and stared at it.

  “I’m sorry I got all motivational speaker on you.”

  Vivian jumped. “Jesus! I didn’t hear you.”

  My heart thumped and galloped. She’s happy to see him.

  “Sorry,” Leif said. “You were pretty engrossed. You going to finish it?”

  Vivian turned from the canvas and shuffled her sketches together. The last thing she wanted Leif to see were the forty-seven drawings of his eyes, of him in a tux, of him dancing with a girl. She knew better than to believe in fairy tales. “Maybe.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “What are you doing here?” She flinched at the harsh sound of her voice.

  “I wish you weren’t so mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  Leif nodded, but we all knew it was a lie. “I’m sorry. I care about you.”

  Vivian snorted. “If you care about me so much, why are you going to prom with Karly?”

  Leif rocked back on his heels. “Who?”

  “Senior? Built like a lingerie model?”

  “I’m not going to prom.” He shook his head. His expression told Vivian he had no idea where this came from, but she didn’t see it.

  Poor guy, he wonders if he missed an entire conversation.

  “Right.” Jealousy began creeping in (Pantone 12-5204), then strengthened (Pantone 345) and quickly grew dark and ugly (Pantone 18-0119).

  “I’m not. Prom’s dumb.”

  Vivian stomped over and shoved her pens and paper in the bag. “My break is over. I have to get back to work.”

  “Sure.” Leif licked his lips. “But wait, are you mad that I’m not going to prom or that I didn’t ask you?”

  “You said yourself that prom is dumb.”

  “You wanted to go, didn’t you?”

  Before the transplant, it never would have occurred to her to hope for an invitation. But after the transplant, after Leif limped into her life, she wanted more.

  Life divides into BT and AT. Before Transplant. After Transplant.

  “Hi, Leif!” Cassidy barreled into the back room. “Haven’t seen you recently.” She stuttered to a stop. “Um, Vivian, I don’t know how to explain fused etching”—she dropped her voice—“and this customer has to know now.”

  “Sure.” Vivian nodded. “I have to work.” She followed Cassidy into the main store.

  Leif must have let himself out the back, because even though Vivian pretended to be spectacularly busy, she never saw him leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Misty climbed the stairs to her little nook and waited several moments, trying to catch her breath and stop the room from spinning. She felt woozy. She had to tell Samuel. The need to confide overcame the desire to hide. Surrounded by her flock of paper cranes, she logged in to see if he was waiting.

  M: Sam?

  S: im here

  wanna chat?

  Misty inhaled and said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t lose her nerve.

  M: have to tell u something

  S: ok

  S: Misty?

  M: mom hurt her shoulder

  and she won’t go to the doctor

  S: is she afraid of doctors?

  M: no

  we can’t afford it

  S: sucks

  sorry

  M: ALL my fault

  the hospital bills and the surgery stuff

  and the medicines I have to take

  there’s no money

  Misty hurt all over. Her bones felt heavy and her muscles weak. Maybe she had the flu. Maybe she was getting what she deserved. No one deserves this.

  Sam dinged back fast and furiously.

  S: do they tell you its your fault?

  cuz thats bullshit

  total shit

  M: no

  The silence of the blinking cursor tortured Samuel. He needed video. He needed voice. He needed to see her, the real her, and reassure her. There was more. Certainty gripped him.

  S: tell me more

  Misty sipped from a bottle of water she’d refilled in the bathroom sink. She left the top off because it was too hard to screw back on.

  M: i lied to my mom

  S: ok

  about?

  M: told her i got a job and

  paying for my pills

  S: &?

  M: i check the mail and take the bills out it’s not like i want to get away with not paying

  it’s just that they get so stressed and fight

  S: &?

  M: i think maybe something is wrong with me

  S: why?

  M: my stomach hurts

  And your pee is a weird orange-brown color. I wonder what Vivian would Pantone it.

  S: only yr stomach?

  M: no

  i’m really tired

  all the time

  S: isnt school almost over?

  I watched Samuel struggle to find words of comfort or optimism. His own stomach hurt trying to cross the distance. He had no idea what to say.

  Pretty sure she isn’t listening anyway.

  M: soon

  S: so u get the summer off

  right?

  u can rest?

  M: no

  i will be watching a bunch of neighbors’ kids during the day again this summer

  S: what?

  Surrounded by kid germs was the last place she should be. Samuel wanted to throttle her parents for not getting it. I wanted to join him for a long list of grievances.

  M: free child care

  i do it every summer and vacation

  i owe them

  S: who

  M: family

  S: U R not a slave Misty

  M: i no

  S: u need to go talk to your transplant doctor

  or go to the emergency room

  & u have to take your pills

  all of them

  all of the time

  M: it’s a handful

  they make me gag

  they make my stomach do flips and twists

  i hate them

  S: they keep your body from rejecting the liver they r vital

  Vital as in will die without them. The need to stand up overcame Misty, so she cradled another handful of cranes and tucked them into the spines of thick books and into the odd spaces on the shelves between books of varying sizes. Cranes from baby-size to giant adorned every empty surface.

  Samuel waited, staring at the screen. Hoping she hadn’t logged off, that he hadn’t pushed too hard for her to take care of herself.

  S: Misty?

  M: here

  S: do u feel guilty because u got sick?

  M: i know who my donor was

  she went to my school

  S: r u sure?

  M: i saw her a couple days before she died

  and she was so upset

  she’d gotten a bad haircut and I ignored her

  i stayed in the bathroom stall

  and watched her cry

  and didn’t try to help her

  l8r i heard her hair was cut as a joke

  You didn’t want me to see your pain. You were hiding too.

  S: do u know how to cut hair?

  M: no

  but I could have offered to give her

  tissues or something

  told her it wasn’t so bad

  that she’d survive at least

  I hid from her instead

  And you needed someone to say all of those same things to you. You can’t give what you don’t have.

  Samuel knew he had to change the subject. Get her thinking about something other than the crushing guilt and insignificance she seemed to drown in. He said a quick prayer that he might say the right words, find the way to reach Misty, comfort her
from so far away.

  S: have i ever told you about my addiction

  to snail mail?

  M: no

  S: i will send you a postcard

  what’s your mailing addy?

  M: why?

  S: i like real mail

  it stays around when the power goes out

  M: do u wonder what stays here

  when our power goes out?

  S: r u afraid of death?

  M: yes

  Misty couldn’t imagine, but knew she’d be even more alone dead than she was living.

  S: what scares u most?

  M: not no-ing

  S: u cant know until u believe

  M: what?

  S: u have to believe in it

  B 4 u can understand

  u have to believe there will be a net 2 catch

  u before u jump

  M: i don’t know if i can do that

  Samuel’s frustration overcame him. He didn’t have the words. He saw a shrinking window of opportunity with Misty. She was giving up. He felt it. He couldn’t make her hang on but God could. Why was He letting her suffer like this? Believing that her family would be better off if she died. Terrified of death because her present loneliness was all she saw of the beyond.

  “Come on, speak to her. Show her. Make her believe in you,” Samuel called out. He tried to pray, but God wasn’t listening. He felt that too. As if God decided Sam used up all his prayers and miracles on himself. Like that friend who turned his back because too much was asked of the friendship.

  M: i have 2 go

  S: Misty?

  promise me u will log back in tomorrow

  M: sure

  S: no

  really

  promise me

  M: i promise

  Samuel scoured the web for examples of faith in action. He wanted to prove to Misty she had to hold on. He hunted for her donor. His own search went on hold.

  Bingo.

  THE SEATTLE TIMES

  November 3

  Local Teen Jessica Chai Turned Tragedy into the Ultimate Gift

  Her parents said, “She was always talking about how she was going to change the world.” And in the most profound way, she did. It will be months before her family is fully notified how many donors and lives she changed. As of this article, there are four known organ recipients, but cornea and tissue recipients have not yet been reported back.

  The transplant coordinator’s office was very forthcoming about organ and tissue donation, especially for children and teens. “Many of the children waiting for organs need the organs of other children because of their specialized size. Parents don’t often think about the unexpected death of a child, so they’re faced with the decision to donate at the same moment they’re trying to accept a tragedy and say good-bye. It’s heartbreaking.”

  The mother of an infant who donated her baby’s organs, successively saving five other babies, told us, “When a child dies, and parents do not donate, there are multiple tragedies. I would do anything to save other parents from what I’m feeling. Nothing will bring back my baby, but knowing that there are five children growing up who could have died too? There is a peace, in knowing they have futures, I wouldn’t have otherwise. There is peace. I don’t understand why more parents don’t donate.”

  In a world where teenagers are most often talked about as thinking themselves immortal and untouchable, Jessica Chai was an anomaly. By talking to her parents about her desires to be an organ donor, she made this an easy decision. Her mother insisted, “This wasn’t our decision, we’re just following her wishes. She even posted her pledge to her social media accounts.”

  The list of needed donations goes beyond the usual heart, liver, and kidneys. Other lesser-known tissue donations are: skin used for grafts on burn patients, bones used to rebuild joints and jaws of those injured in accidents or facing cancer, as well as veins and arteries that can restore limb function. The list goes on—one donor can outright save the lives of a dozen people and improve the quality of life for fifty more. And yet, every year the list of those who need grows greater. Thousands of people die each year waiting for a lifesaving decision. That’s a staggering loss of life that could be saved.

  Cheerleaders at Jessica’s high school are putting together a memorial case and will hold a pep assembly to educate the student body about her gifts. “We’re all totally supportive of Jessica. It’s really sad. She was in my math class in seventh grade,” offered Tiffany Jones.

  Perhaps Jessica’s decision will spur other families to have conversations and make pledges. Though overcome with grief, Jessica’s father did add, “We hope she’ll be remembered as the giving person she always was. Carlton can be proud of his big sister.”

  Samuel sat back and stared at the screen. I started reading from the top. Again. And again.

  Leif jotted down, erased, crossed off, and ultimately started a new page. He wanted to fix things with Vivian. He was inspired by their early conversations about seeing potential donors doing reckless acts and making ill-conceived choices. He wanted her to know he was listening. He’d paid attention. She mattered to him.

  He strummed a chord and sang, “Oh, no, there goes a donor …”

  He tried again. “Dead-man-walking donor … Stupid-stunt-girl donor …”

  Leif sighed. Songwriting wasn’t as easy as passing the ball. But he was tired of easy. He wanted real. Vivian was the realest part of his life.

  He flipped through his notebook and looked at the title of his first love song. “Vivian.”

  He tapped a beat on the guitar and sang a cappella, “She sees the world in color, in universal colors … who names the colors, feels and sees and breathes the colors.”

  Just sing songs already written. You have a nice voice, but you suck at writing lyrics.

  Leif paused and began working on the next lines. “ ‘Her strength is …’ What rhymes with inspirational?”

  He skipped over verses and tried to match sound and chords to the chorus. YouTube made it look so easy.

  “Confident, sexy, vibrant Vivian …”

  “… Lovely, funny, pretty Vivian …”

  This is painful. Yet of the four of them, at the moment, he’s the least painful.

  Samuel had his head buried in religious texts, trying to find answers for Misty. Misty was curled up in her library den, barely managing to make a couple of cranes an hour. Vivian kept scraping the canvases free of paint and starting over.

  They’re a mess.

  Leif’s message alert dinged and he saw MiracleMan Sam’s ID pop up with a message.

  S: u around? 911

  Leif put the guitar down and typed a quick response.

  PP: what’s up?

  S: i think Misty is bad sick

  im afraid she might do crazy

  She doesn’t have the strength to be crazy.

  PP: do what?

  S: idk

  suicide

  PP: wow

  true?

  S: IDK

  she gave me her address

  i dont have my license but im going to

  hitch up there

  can i crash with u for a night?

  rather the fam not know im in town

  2 many ???s

  PP: don’t hitch

  if u r afraid of time u need 2 fly

  can u catch a flight?

  S: im tapped

  sent all cash to the charities already this month

  or id borrow it

  Leif looked at the sixty bucks in his basketball-shaped bank from elementary school. He didn’t have enough either.

  PP: people get raped and murdered hitching

  S: nah i think u just have to be careful

  i will pick minivans or soccer moms

  PP: im pretty sure they don’t stop

  S: i gotta try man

  i gotta try

  PP: hold tight

  don’t go anywhere

  give me time to see if I can�
�t get u a ticket

  S: im not asking u to cover it

  but im good for it

  PP: im not worried

  i have 2 ask Viv

  so give me an hour to get back to u

  ok?

  S: sure

  gotta finish laundry nywy

  or my ma will know sums up

  Come on, Leif. Leif grabbed the car keys and headed toward Art and Soul. His parents were out running and hopefully he’d be back before they noticed. I didn’t know if saving Misty was possible, but if Samuel and Leif tried, if they noticed her pain, maybe that would save her heart.

  Leif waved at Cassidy when he entered.

  She smiled. “She’s still mad at you. But between you and me, I don’t think it’s mad.” Cassidy lowered her voice as other customers walked in.

  “What is it, then?” Leif asked, genuinely intrigued. He needed the insight.

  “Fear. Of you deciding you prefer blond cheerleader babes over artists. It’s an unwritten rule that the quarterback dates the head cheerleader.”

  He shook his head. “Funny, I didn’t get that rule book.”

  “Like I said, it’s unwritten.” She grinned.

  “She’s not here, is she?”

  “Nope, at home, moping.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He turned to go. At least he knew where she lived. He checked the time as he left.

  “Hey, Leif?” Cassidy called out.

  He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  “Take flowers. She likes sweet peas—they have some at the market today.”

  “Thanks.” Leif mentally detoured. If sweet peas might get her to listen, then he’d get flowers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Vivian missed him. She was used to carrying around grief, but because that friend was dead, not because she chose not to be with him. This was new and she didn’t like it at all. She finished hanging the self-portrait above her bed.

  Before transplant. After transplant.

  She liked it. Vivian left one side of her face blank, with the merest smudges of shadow and feature. Her future was blank and it was her choices that would fill it up, not the cystic fibrosis.

  The other side of her face she’d intricately painted with tiny portraits of those she’d outlived, the bits of experiences and mementos that kept her going even when she wanted to give up. She was two halves in one lifetime.