Pieces of Me

by Amber Kizer

  He stopped when he saw George and Samuel out in the hallway. “What’s going on?”

  “Shift change. The doctor is checking her; we need to wait outside.”

  “It’s normal.” Sam’s mom patted Leif’s arm. “Sit down.”

  “I brought food.”

  “Good, the boys are hungry. Here, George, you have to eat.” She immediately took over mothering. George seemed to appreciate the attention.

  The doctor and Nurse Heidi stepped out. I stayed where I was at Misty’s side.

  “We need to find your parents,” Heidi repeated to George.

  “Are you her guardian?” the doctor asked Samuel’s mom.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to reach them.”

  “The number of visitors is usually limited to two at a time. But until we locate the rest of her family—”

  “Thank you,” Samuel answered.

  “Doctor, will you please instruct my son to—”

  “Ma. Not now.” The strength in Sam’s tone sounded anything but childlike and everything adult. “Please.”

  “Yes?” The doctor checked the chart, but paused.

  “—eat his dinner. Tell him to keep his strength up.”

  “What she said.” The doctor pointed at Sam’s mom and gave a small smile. “Once a mom, always a mom.”

  As he walked away, Leif leaned toward Sam and said, “If Vivian shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t either, right? It’s risky for you.”

  “I can’t leave.”

  “Mrs. Sabir, Vivian’s family has prepared a guest room for you that you’re welcome to use,” Leif said. “I can take you over there if you’d like.”

  “That’s so kind, but I don’t know—”

  “Give us a minute, okay?” Sam asked Leif.

  “Sure.” Leif ushered George into Misty’s room.

  “Ma, I have to stay. I need to see this through—”

  “But, Samuel, if you get an infection—”

  “Then I get an infection. Ma, Misty has the same donor as me. We met on the Internet. God brought us together for a reason.”

  “That reason isn’t for you to both die.”

  “Ma,” Samuel said, exasperated. “You wanted me to be well so I could have a life, right? Have a future? Fall in love? Go to Paris? Be a man?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m being a man and doing the right thing, the hardest thing, and being here for my friend when she dies.”

  “I see.”

  “I have to do this on my own.”

  “But—”

  “Go home, Ma. Please. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  The sadness in her face broke Samuel’s heart. He had to break away; he needed to stand on his own and not need her so much. He wasn’t sick anymore.

  He tried to soften the divide. “I really appreciate how much you’ve taken care of me. You’re a wonderful mother. And I’m grateful that you never let me stop hoping that I could survive and get well. But I’m not sick anymore, and I’m seventeen, almost eighteen. I need to stay here. And find out about my donor.”

  “Will you keep your cell phone with you? And you’ll answer when I call or text? You won’t leave me hanging?”

  “I promise.”

  “And you’ll let me know where you’re going and who you’re with and—”

  “I promise, Ma. I’ll crash with Leif, or in Vivian’s guest room. They’re good people. Vivian’s an artist—you’d recognize her work. Leif’s parents are famous athletes. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  “Don’t say that, Samuel. You don’t test God’s patience with jokes like that.”

  “You’re right. But nothing bad is going to happen to me because of my friends.”

  “You will leave the hospital at the first opportunity, and you will be careful and take all your medications and avoid grapefruit, and if you feel the slightest bit ill, you will see a doctor immediately?”

  “I promise. I promise all of that. Now I need to go sit with Misty.”

  “Eat the food.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m going home. I’ll catch a flight in the morning. But I can stay in a hotel and just be here if you need me? You know you always can call your father’s family. They live around here somewhere.”

  “Yes, Ma. I have Aunt Rita’s address.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “I need you, Ma. I’ll always need you, but you don’t need to stay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes, now go.”

  Misty’s closet-size room was crowded with three boys impatiently waiting for something, anything, to happen.

  The stillness got to them all.

  “I’m going to the bathroom. Want a pop?” George asked the others.

  “I’ll come with you.” Leif stretched his legs. “Want anything?”

  Sam shook his head. What he wanted wasn’t in a vending machine.

  I’d love a Diet Coke.

  Samuel and I were left alone with Misty. When she stirred, we both thought we were imagining things. But when she blinked and opened her eyes, we all held our breath.

  “Misty? It’s Sam.” Samuel wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her to sit up, stand, and walk out of there as if the entire thing were just a simple misunderstanding. “Hi.”

  Misty blinked. Her eyelids fluttered closed, then opened again.

  Sam touched her cheek. “Do you hurt anywhere? I can call the nurse.”

  Misty didn’t move, but she wasn’t in pain.

  I felt her surprise that he was there, but even more, I felt the jolt when she recognized me.

  She sees me.

  I felt her hand squeeze mine and I squeezed back.

  She tilted her head back toward Samuel, wanting to tell him I was there too.

  “I prayed you’d wake up to know you’re not alone. George will be back any minute. And they’re trying to find your parents.”

  Misty tried to speak, but the words evaporated long before they made it to her tongue.

  “I’ll stay here as long as I need to. You are going to be okay. No more slow suffering.”

  Misty managed to nod.

  Samuel wanted to reassure her that God was there, that she was going to a better place, but his faith faltered. What if he promised her things that weren’t true?

  I’m here.

  On reflex, I reached out and touched his head, completing the circle with Misty between us.

  His voice strengthened and deepened with assurance and belief. “You’ll be better than okay. You’re not alone.”

  Misty turned to look at me and for a moment I think Sam saw me too, and then we both faded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The best way to describe my reality was to say that I was in multiple places at once. There. Here. Paris. Iowa. The grocery store on Sixth and Lexington. Wherever my living pieces went, I went. But I could also choose to go beyond. Misty moved on. For everyone else, that meant she died. For me, that just meant onward. Some things words never adequately expressed.

  George led the way behind the chessmen and around the tables. No one paid our group any attention. Samuel, Leif, Vivian, George, and me.

  “It’s up those stairs.” George pointed.

  Leif saw the kid’s stony expression. “You’re not coming.”

  George shook his head. It wasn’t as if anyone blamed him. I wouldn’t go either.

  Vivian hugged George’s bony shoulders and then marched up the stairs. “Wow.”

  They saw the crane collection for the first time, like a flock was passing through, stopping to rest overnight. Cranes of all sizes, made out of candy wrappers and garbage, notebook paper and class worksheets, rested on every available inch of space. A librarian followed us up, but Leif’s quiet conversation charmed her into retreat. I wondered how long we had before Misty’s cranes migrated to the Dumpster.

  “I still don’t understand why they’re not burying her and having
a funeral,” Samuel groused.

  “Cremation is their custom, and they want her sent back to their hometown,” Vivian answered. Again.

  “I don’t think they can afford it.” Leif shrugged.

  “She’s American; she belongs here.” Samuel seemed surprised at his own vehemence, and then added, almost silently, “With us.”

  “She’s dead. She belongs anywhere she wants to be,” Vivian gently reminded us all.

  They lapsed into contemplation. There was something magical in that tiny space of birds and souls.

  Leif was the first to see the binder tucked under the computer station and read Samuel’s name on the letter.

  Samuel read the note, tucked the thick stack of bills into his pack. He ran his fingers over the keyboard and sat in Misty’s chair. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They all picked a crane; Vivian took an extra for George.

  “You sure about this?” Leif asked again.

  “We have to,” Samuel answered, with a determined nod from Vivian.

  He’s not going to let us in. No way was Mother home. He might not even open the door. I always fielded visitors. I protected him. Now he has to protect himself.

  “You must be Carlton?” Vivian asked.

  That’s my baby brother.

  The three of them stood on the porch of my mother’s condo. I hadn’t been back since leaving for the party. Lifetimes ago.

  “Who are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “We kinda know your sister.”

  In an almost biblical way, if Leif and Vivian have their way. Thanks, Samuel, for giving me religious knowledge. Too bad I can’t be on a game show.

  Vivian held out a copy of my obituary as if this was all the evidence he should need. I brushed past the open door as far as I could go into the house. I tried to hug Carlton, touch him, reassure him. But he didn’t seem to feel me.

  “Oh, cool.” Carlton’s grip on the door handle loosened, and I heard him give a gentle sigh. I think he misses me as much as I’ve missed him. I watched myriad emotions flit over his face. He wants to let them in. He wants to know about my pieces. He’s not weirded out at all.

  Vivian asked, “We were hoping we can talk to your mom? We’d like to say hello.”

  “Did you get her organs?” Carlton queried.

  Leave it to Carlton to cut right to the heart of it all.

  “Yes, I have her heart and lungs.”

  Samuel offered, “I have her kidneys and pancreas.”

  Carlton turned to Leif. “And you?”

  “Soft tissue and bone to rebuild my leg.”

  “Can I see the scars? Can you talk to her? Is she in heaven?” As if no one had spoken to him since the hospital to answer his questions, the floodgates opened, and Carlton wouldn’t stop talking.

  “Um, s-sure,” Vivian stuttered.

  “Come on in.” He opened the door and invited them all inside. “Mother isn’t here, but she should be home soon. Wanna see Jess’s room?”

  My bedroom?

  The house looked exactly the same. Beige and gray and neutrals on every surface. The light scent of vanilla room freshener lingered. It felt sterile and empty.

  “Please.”

  My bedroom furniture matched, whitewashed wood from my mother’s shabby-chic phase. Nothing had changed except the dirty laundry that was missing from the hamper and the floor.

  They stood there as if being in my bedroom might help them understand me better. Know me even a little bit. I’m not that same girl.

  My life was beige. Not beige in a bad way. But I’d learned that other people roar through the world in fuchsia, or neon orange, or even determined black. But me, I was off-white or ecru. Given another chance, I might sprinkle in spring green or wash in waves of Mediterranean Sea teals. Add the heat of roaring red peppers, or voluptuous violet sensuality. I would work in a little lemon-yellow tart, both sweet and fresh. Jessica Chai was beige, but now? Pieces of me are anything but beige.

  My heart is midnight blue.

  My lungs a mossy green and chocolate brown.

  My eyes a clear, unfettered gray.

  My kidneys rich cranberry and my bones a strong ivory.

  The real me wasn’t in this house, wasn’t in that bland and mediocre world where this teen trio all waited for a clue, a revelation, an answer.

  Carlton disappeared and returned holding Mr. Peepers, a stuffed bunny I slept with every night until sixth grade. “Here.”

  Vivian reached out to take the worn bunny from Carlton’s outstretched hands. “Who’s this?” She assumed correctly that there was a name attached.

  “Her bunny. I kept it.”

  He doesn’t know Mr. Peepers’s name?

  “Nice to meet you, bunny.” Vivian made eye contact with the stuffed animal, then gently handed him back to Carlton.

  “Mother is turning this into a guest room.”

  “So your mom has taken Jessica’s things out of here?” Samuel asked, as if the emptiness of the room could be explained away.

  And I realized then that my bedroom had also changed. My clothes were gone from the closet. The computer on the desk had been replaced by a dried- and silk-flower arrangement.

  Carlton nodded. “I kept this. Don’t tell Mother.”

  “We won’t.”

  “Hello?”

  I heard the click of heels downstairs and my mother’s voice call the question up. That one word crashed the distance, and time, and all of the change, into me. The impact left me as breathless, and broken, as the accident itself. I crumpled to the floor and watched with only half an eye.

  Carlton said, “They have Jessica.”

  Vivian, Samuel, and Leif greeted my mother with deference and respect. “We are recipients.”

  Mother acted as though she’d anticipated their visit and invited them, “Of course. We’ll have tea.” She hesitated. “Downstairs. If you’ll come this way,” she commanded, and closed the bedroom door behind them. I wanted to stay there, but the ribbon connecting us dragged me to the stairs. I missed the beginning of the conversation. I lost time. Perspective.

  They all held teacups and saucers. The plate of bakery cookies and quickly thawed pound cake sat untouched.

  My mother studied Vivian from the corner of her eye, as if trying to catch a glimpse of my face.

  “The hardest part was watching them wheel her away,” my mother muttered in answer to a question I didn’t catch. “Tell me about you.” She turned on the charm and deflected talking about me time and again.

  She never knew me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Samuel crawled off to bed sometime after midnight, leaving Leif and Vivian cuddling in her rec room. None of them, of us, really wanted the day to end.

  “This is it?” Vivian traced her fingers over Leif’s scars. Tiny pink ones (Pantone 7590 and 17-1524) and larger, meatier keloid scars that told her there was a lot of reconstruction along his limb (Pantone 18-1248).

  “Yeah, the rebuilt knee. Parts bionic. Parts Jessica.” Leif stretched as if to prove he still held dominion over the leg.

  Vivian’s fingertips whispered sympathies. “Looks painful.”

  “It was, but it’s better every day.”

  She laughed. “Liar.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, but it will be fine soon.”

  “Hmm.” Vivian laid her cheek against his chest and they reveled in the touch. This was life. Living.

  I felt Leif lick his lips and work up courage. “Vivian, can I see it?”

  “I told you, not until it’s finished,” she mumbled.

  “I meant your scar.”

  Vivian sat up and tilted her head in question. “Why?”

  “I’m curious.”

  In any other case, Vivian knew she’d feel like a circus act, freak-show entertainment, but Leif wasn’t asking in that way.

  She started to pull her shirt up. “You’ll have to help me, or I’ll flash you.”

  “Well …” Leif leaned awa
y. “Maybe I can’t help, then.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It traces under my boobs around the back there.” With her hands securely on her breasts, he gently crinkled up the thermal henley and then her camisole.

  Vivian was used to all sorts of strangers seeing her naked. It wasn’t that she was modest—being a patient at a teaching hospital her whole life forfeited the desire to have clothing covering skin. But Leif’s gaze was different. He wasn’t looking at her like a case, a patient; he was looking at her like a boy studies a girl.

  Golden goose bumps rose on her arms and back (Pantone 100). She shivered.

  Leif froze. “Want me to stop?”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  He nodded and went back to studying her body. Smaller scars from chest tubes and biopsies and procedures crisscrossed her stomach and chest like a topographical map. Her body marked time in scar tissue and sutures.

  I sat with my back to them, needing their closeness, needing to witness, but wanting to provide privacy.

  After a few minutes, the silence tortured Vivian. Did he find her ugly? Broken? Unworthy? “Say something.”

  “It’s not bad.” Leif didn’t glance up, didn’t understand the gravity of her demand.

  Vivian deflated slightly. “Expecting something Frankensteinish?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” He reached out the tip of his finger to trace the line. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not the scar. Not anymore.”

  “What hurts, then?”

  “Making plans.”

  “What?” Leif dropped her shirt and sat up to study her face.

  “You were right. It’s hard to want more, because I should be content with simply still being here.”

  “Because of all the death, you mean?”

  “They’re not here, and a bad day for me would still be more time here for them. It feels wrong to be greedy.”

  “Oh, Viv—”

  “Wait, let me finish. It felt wrong. But that’s changed. I don’t know why—maybe it was finally seeing Jessica’s life and meeting her brother—but if I can’t make plans for me, I have to do it for her.”

  “But we only saw her house, not her life.”

  “Isn’t it the same?” Vivian hunkered into her assumption with a frown.

  Um, no! No, it’s not the same thing.