by Maguire, Ily
Sun Rose
By Ily Maguire
SUN ROSE TEXT © 2014 ILY MAGUIRE
Cover Design © 2014 Saffie Design & Illustration
All Rights Reserved
For Everett and Langdon and Alex
Nature
By Ralph Waldo Emerson
(1803-1882)
A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes,
And speaks all languages the rose;
And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form.
1
“No,” Jenny persists. “Don’t say, ‘I don’t know.’ You must have some idea in that head of yours.” She taps my forehead and I wince. “You just need to work it through.”
That head of mine. Lately I can’t get these classics through this head of mine. The essays, the poetry. My mind isn’t interested and it might have something to do with this chronic pain squeezing my head. The dull throb of blood vessels around my brain reminds me that I’m not only human, but kind of a baby.
“It hurts too much to think, Jenny,” I say. It’s true.
“I’m not buying that, Rose. You have read almost every writer, philosopher, even clergyman that ever wrote anything. You know more about Greek mythology and scientific learning than anyone my age. I want to know your thoughts on, say, the American Transcendentalists compared to the English Romantics. Let’s discuss that.”
“Can’t we save it for tomorrow’s lesson?” I whine as I glance over at the sun dial. It is quarter to three and dinner will be served soon. Ever since my parents produced my little sister, Evie, they’ve deferred to her needs and wants so we are all up early in the morning and eat supper early in the evening. Luckily, this time of year, it’s light out all the time. White nights.
“Of course we can,” Jenny smiles. My migraine disappears as quickly as it appeared. Jenny’s face is ethereal. Sunlight almost soaks into her skin, casting a warm, golden glow around her. We are in the conservatory, one of my favorite places in the house. My father used to chase my sisters and me around here pretending he was a wild jungle animal after Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories. We were much younger then. So was he. But it’s also always bright in here even when it isn’t light.
I get up from the isoprene bench to leave.
“But first recite Keats’s Lamia,” Jenny doesn’t look up from our study book.
“The whole thing?” I cringe at the thought. Passionate love versus life of reason in three hundred and ninety seven lines. Jenny laughs. She’s joking. I breathe.
“We’ll meet here tomorrow at the usual time and pick up where we left off. We’re not starting another topic, okay Rose?”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” I answer. I guess it will have to do. The throbbing of my head returns and I would just about agree to anything she proposed. Except for reciting lengthy narrative poems.
“And I don’t want you going up to your room and spending your time in those other books,” Jenny points a finger at me. I can’t help but chuckle. Almost seventeen, she’s a few months older than me and already at University. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t read the books I’m into: mysteries, horror, science fiction, and fantasy.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I almost can’t get the words out. She knows I would if I could because we talk all the time and I’m rarely shy of words. I just can’t see straight.
Jenny nods and gets to planning tomorrow’s lesson. She primarily teaches me my subjects through the approved arts and letters. I wish she would teach me something more useful, like how to be with other people if ever given the chance. Maybe when I get older. I leave the conservatory in the direction of my room. I stumble, but recover. Must be one of Evie’s toys. I don’t look down or back, afraid I might lose my balance again for good. I hurry down the hall and up the stairs to my room. My feet move me faster as my head pounds harder.
What the heck is happening to me?
2
“Rosamund, stop pushing the peas around your plate.” My mother interrupts dinner conversation to speak at me.
“Eat them.” My father looks across the table at my mother. His voice echoes in the large room. The hanging tapestries don’t do much to quell the reverberating sound.
“I am,” I say. I’m trying, I don’t say. My older sister, Dory, just looks at me while Evie, giggles. My stomach is full even though I haven’t taken a bite. I’m never hungry.
Dory pushes her plate toward mine ever so slightly and I pass two carrots and a piece of chicken over to hers.
She knows something isn’t right. I put my fork up to my mouth, chew, and swallow a carrot. It tastes rancid. Without as much as a pause, “I can’t believe what they are asking you to do, Elvin,” my mother continues, addressing my father. Dory, Evie, and I sit in silence as usual, waiting for permission to be excused. I can’t choke any more down.
“People are always in it for the money. For profit, my dear.” My father reacts to my mother’s comment, though it doesn’t make sense to me.
So far so good. It shouldn’t be much longer. My mother and father will need to relax after dinner with the usual glass of red wine and vodka tonic. My father drinks temperanillo.
“Jenny, please clear the plates. We will have coffee in the sitting room,” my mother says as my father pushes his chair back. Jenny moves toward the table from the sideboard. She has two more years of University and then she won’t have to work for our family anymore. When she leaves I’ll lose my tutor and one of my only friends, even if she only stays for tuition.
“You girls may be excused.” My mother’s quiet voice doesn’t require a response before she gets up and follows my father. Evie is the first to hop out of her seat and dart after our parents. Sofie, our teacup cockapoo scrambles behind. Her nails clip on the hardwood.
“Are you feeling okay?” Dory asks as we leave the dining room and walk toward the back staircase. “You hardly ate anything. This is the second night this week.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I respond, not looking up. “Do you think they noticed?”
“I don’t think they’ll ever notice, Rose. I think you’ve got more to worry about if Evie picks up on it. She’s liable to make some five-year-old observation and that would be worse. Then everyone would know about it.” She doesn’t laugh. I do.
“Yeah,” I agree, though I’m only thinking about the cold hardwood beneath my bare feet. “How come the floor heat isn’t on?”
Dory stops ahead of me. Her foot slides out of a slipper and she taps it on the floor.
“It is on. Can you not feel it?”
“Uh no. I can. It just– it could just be warmer. I mean, it’s really cold out.”
Dory glares at me. It’s the middle of winter and the temperature’s been in the 60’s all week. When my parents were younger, the weather used to drop into the teens. Or so I’ve been told.
“Do you want me to come in your room with you?”
“No. No thanks, Dor. I’m okay. Really.”
“Well, I don’t think I believe you, but I’m here if you need me. Just call, ’kay?”
I shrug my shoulders and open the door to my room. Dory crosses the hall and enters her own. I shouldn’t see her for the rest of the night. She’ll have too much work and I just don’t feel up for a whole lot of anything.
The door swooshes shut behind me and clicks. The dim light turns on as soon as I step into the room, an entire suite. I have living space, study space, and sleeping space that I don’t have to share. I’ve decorated it in my favorite color blue, and it looks like the ocean, though I
’ve never been. It’s peaceful and quiet and solitary. I don’t have to see or be with anyone unless it suits me.
I walk across the room to my bed and throw back the comforter. I lie down and pull up a quilt. The bed automatically adjusts to my weight and body mass. I nuzzle into my pillow, breathing in the smell and instantly feel better before falling into a deep sleep.
3
The blinds glide open on their rails and I am bathed in morning light. It warms my face and I realize I didn’t put on any sunscreen before going to bed. A few minutes shouldn’t hurt. My eyes stay shut.
A knock at my outer door makes me groan. My neck is sore.
“Come in,” I call, but my voice is weak in my throat. My eyes squint open.
“Rose, you need to get– oh God, Rose!” Dory rushes to my bedside. Her quick movement makes me dizzy.
“What is it?” My mouth is dry like cotton and the room is a bit hazy. I open my eyes fully, but Dory’s face isn’t in focus.
“Rose, you’re yellow! Something’s wrong!” Dory takes her hand away from my forehead. She wipes the sweat on my sheets and I can’t tell if it’s her sweat or mine. I look down at my hands. They look swollen, like something from a medical reference e-book. I become queasy.
“We have to get Mom.” I hear someone say. Was it me? Before I even know that she’s left, Dory comes back with a doctor. I can smell the ultra-clean disinfectant of the hospital.
“What time is it?” I try to glance over at the clock, but can’t move. “Dory? Dory!” Panic overtakes me and I hyperventilate.
I feel closed in, tied down. Am I restrained, or unable? I can’t see. I’m alone. Where is everyone? I’m scared. I’ve never had to be scared before.
“Dr. Rush, what’s happening?” My frantic mother sounds lost and distant. I can barely hear her. What’s going on? I don’t feel anything anymore. I’ve gone numb.
“Her body is going into shutdown, Mrs. Campbell. She’s rejecting one of her organs.”
Before passing out, we board our personal car on the Excellus train. I’ll be transported to the hospital from our station underground. Every family of means has an access point within their house to anywhere of necessity in the city. We’ve never had to use ours in an emergency before.
Within minutes, Dr. Rush will have me checked into a hospital room and stabilized. I want to sleep.
I wake up, and can see Dory beside my bed. She is clear. My vision is clear. I hear my parents talking outside to Dr. Rush. I can see them through the window that spans the length of my room. My mother’s private room. With her tenth artificial replacement, it was purchased as a gift from my father. Sconces on the walls and swag curtains over the windows, it was decorated to mirror her rooms at home. My eyes shift over the side of the bed. Even the Turkish rug on the floor is the same. I close my eyes and inhale. There is an incessant beeping somewhere in the room and it smells like citrus.
“Rose, you’re awake! How’re you feeling?” Dory takes my hand. As usual her hand is warm. At least my own looks like mine. The swelling has gone down.
“What d – how long have I been here?”
“Shh, Rose. Relax.” Dory squeezes my hand and I try to reciprocate. I don’t have much strength. I want to squeeze back.
“What happened, Dory?” I still can’t move. I notice the paracord restraints around my wrists. I squirm and then try to struggle free. They get tighter.
“Don’t. It’s no use.” Dory’s hands are on my arms as she leans forward over me. “You have a long recovery ahead of you. It’s really for the best.” She pats my wrists and sits back down. She corrects the frown that has crossed her lips.
“It’s your liver,” she begins and the frown is back. “Your body’s shutting down organ by organ. Soon they’ll all go.”
“Dory, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to,” she whispers, shaking her head and gently rubbing my arm.
“How can all of this happen? My liver’s not old.” But it’s not new either. I try to wrap my brain around this. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with me. Not yet.
The door opens and Dr. Rush enters, followed by my parents. I return to my sister.
“Where’s Evie?” I ask.
“She’s at home with Jenny. She’s really worried about you.” Dory touches my hand again, sending her warmth back through my body.
“Good morning, Rosamund.” As Dory gets up and steps away, Dr. Rush moves close to the bed. Their transition is seamless.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks. He doesn’t carry anything, but I can tell the electronic pad in his front pocket is on. The light blinks through the material of his shirt, a faint purple that matches the monitors I am hooked up to. Mine don’t blink. They stay on.
I try to sit upright, but can’t move my arms.
“Are those really necessary? Elvin?” My mother asks her quiet question while pointing to my wrists. My father steps ever so slightly away.
“Shush,” he says. Dory moves closer and wraps her arms around my mother’s shoulders.
“Wh-what happened?” I already know, but ask anyway. Just to be sure I’m not dreaming or having a nightmare.
“Well, Rosamund, it’s pretty complicated, but as you know our bodies were only designed to last so long–”
“A hundred and fifty years,” I say.
Dr. Rush chuckles. I fall silent like the rest of my family. No one else laughs.
“Not everyone can be so lucky to live so long. In fact, our bodies naturally start the deceasing process around one hundred, but as you know it can start earlier, last longer.”
I look to my parents. At almost ninety, they look young. Their skin and organs were made of the highest grade plastics, carbon polymers, and featherweight composite materials. My mother’s hair, transplanted every twelve years, is long and lustrous. Genetically modified with spider silk; it’s younger than my own. So soft, you’d never know it was fake. My father’s eyes, once a crystal-clear blue, are now brown because they see better. They’ve spent a fortune. They’re like new.
“And as you know, Rose, organ replacement or artificial replacement–”
“ARs,” I interrupt him.
“Yes, ARs usually begin around sixty.”
“But I’m only sixteen! I haven’t had any replacements. Why now?” Why me?
“It’s for your own good, Rosamund,” my father decides. “Stop asking such ridiculous questions.” Despite the gruff tone, my father looks downright frightened. It’s too early to start trading real parts for fake ones. He knows it, too.
Dr. Rush takes my hand.
“Scans show that for the most part, internally you are healthy. But your liver seems to be problematic–”
“Cancer?” My mother squeaks. Despite numerous replacements, her father died before we even had a chance to know him. A tumor on his liver that wouldn’t stop growing even after it was removed. By then it was too late.
“We don’t exactly call them cancers anymore. Disease could be more what we’re dealing with. We’d have to do some tests to find out.” Dr. Rush doesn’t take his eyes away from mine. “With the rise of infectious diseases like small pox, plagues, and measles, cancer research hasn’t been nearly as important.”
I had heard diseases were far more difficult to deal with because if one organ is sick, it could contaminate all the other organs. Cancers can be contained.
Dr. Rush continues, “luckily all major cancers have been found to be operable with artificial replacement. Just remove the cancerous organ and replace it with one that is healthy.”
“Let’s hope it’s a cancer.” It sounds like a joke, but I’m completely serious.
“If it is not diseased, it could become so. Rose’s body is rejecting what looks to be a completely healthy liver. We’re just sustaining it right now. If we don’t replace it, it could cause some serious complications.”
“Could it kill me?”
Dr. Rush pauses before answering.
“It could.” He looks at my father. Dory gasps this time. She wipes her eyes and covers her mouth. She regains composure. My mother weeps, her sobs are quiet.
“This isn’t right,” I say. I know in every healthy fiber of my body that this is not okay. The beeping gets faster, not louder. It mimics my racing heart. “Can’t you do more tests? Just to be sure?”
“No.” Dr. Rush shakes his head. “No, tests are not recommended at this stage.”
“What stage is that? What’s going to happen to me?” Why does this have to happen to me? I don’t feel sick at all.
“So when do we replace the liver, Doctor?” My father, no stranger to this procedure, doesn’t allow the doctor to answer my question. Most of his organs are artificial. He sees Dr. Rush every six months for what the doctor calls a ‘tune-up.’
“We can do it as soon as tomorrow.” Dr. Rush gets up like this is the decision.
Because I’m still under twenty-one, it’s my parent’s decision, so I guess it’s decided.
“But wait! What if I’m not ready! I need to think about all of this.” My head swirls and the beeping slows. The smell of clean is so strong and overpowering I become sick to my stomach.
“There is nothing to think about, Rosamund. Schedule it for first thing tomorrow morning, Dr. Rush.” The doctor nods and my father escorts him out, followed by my mother. I pause, looking for any support.
“Dory–” I plead, my mouth is dry.
“You heard the doctor!” Dory is firm and her voice gets louder in anger. “You’ll die if you don’t! You have to go through with it! We all will.”
“In like thirty or forty years. Dory, you know what it does. The more ARs, the less of a person you are. I don’t want to lose myself!” The beeping speeds up and I want to swat my arm at it. Dory turns the dial down, but I still hear it. If only she could take the smell away instead.
“No, Rose, you won’t lose yourself. You will still be a person–”