What Remains

by Helene Dunbar

  We order pizza and as we’re eating, I tell her about my visit to Lizzie’s mom.

  “At least you did what you felt was right,” Ally says.

  I eat the pepperoni off an extra slice. The grease might just be the best thing I’ve tasted since the accident. “Yeah, but Spencer warned me it would be a bust. I don’t know why I thought Lizzie’s mom would have changed.”

  Ally picks at the salad we got as a side to at least fool ourselves into believing we were eating something healthy.

  “I still think you’re brave to have gone over there. And what happened would have changed most people, I think. When I was little, after my mom died, my dad and I moved in with my grandmother. One day I came home and found her in the garden with a potted petunia in her hand. She’d died. Just like that. In the garden.”

  The empty look on her face makes me shiver. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That must have been hard.”

  Ally nods and puts her fork down. “We’d had a fight that morning. Well, I guess I was just being a brat. I was eight.”

  I begin to tell her that I’m sorry again, but something in her expression stops me.

  “My dad told me that my grandmother had a heart condition and that she’d lived a good life and all. But it was hard. She had a twin sister I was very close to. My aunt Tilly. I kept wanting to say something, but I couldn’t even look at her after that. I’m sure she thought I hated her.”

  “How come you couldn’t talk to her?” I ask.

  Ally looks up as if she’s surprised by my question. “I just couldn’t go through that again. I mean, what if Aunt Tilly died too? I felt like it was all my fault. All these people I loved dying. It felt easier just not to let myself be close to anyone.”

  Aside from Lizzie, no one close to me has ever died. Given how big a piece of me she took with her, I can’t imagine how someone could survive losing so many people.

  “Well, everyone dies eventually, right?” I choke out and instantly regret.

  “Yeah, I just … ” Finally Ally stops, as if she’s suddenly realized who she’s talking to. “Sorry. You probably think that’s horrible of me. Let’s just talk about something else.”

  I don’t know if I think it’s horrible, but I’m all for talking about something else. Thinking of Ally as some magnet for death doesn’t exactly comfort me. She doesn’t have to ask twice.

  “Did you want to come upstairs to see the new telescope my parents got me? It’s awesome. I can hook a camera up to it and you can see the planets. Even Pluto. I mean, I know that Pluto isn’t really a planet anymore, but I think it should be and … ”

  My nervous rambling works to change the subject, but it’s her smile that shuts me up.

  “Cal Ryan, are you inviting me up to your room?”

  Lizzie laughs as I sputter, “Um. Yeah, but not like that, I mean … ”

  Ally’s smile brightens up her entire face. “Yes.”

  The morning sun shines through the slats of the shade, sending lines all around the room that look like the just-mowed outfield grass on opening day.

  I roll over and wallow in the vanilla smell on my pillow. Ally. Ally was here. Lying on my bed because we never quite made it to the window. Ally staring at the stick-on stars overhead while I pointed out constellations, explained retrograde, kissed her. Kissed her over and over and over again until I couldn’t catch my breath and until it felt like we were melting together into some new kind of creature. Kissed her until the world went away.

  I get out of bed with a smile on my face that not even the realization that I forgot to take my meds last night can change. I know enough not to double my morning dose and figure I’ll call the doctor to see if I can pop by for a quick test this afternoon without my parents finding out. I’ve been perfect up until now, so I’m pretty sure missing that one dose isn’t going to do anything major.

  I head to school and between thinking about last night and having Monday lunch with Ally to look forward to, I’m parading from class to class with a rare stupid grin on my face. That is, until I see something that almost brings me to my knees.

  I lean against a row of lockers to keep from collapsing. The blood rushes through my ears like the roar of a crowd. It’s deafening and Lizzie is crying and wailing like I’ve never heard her before, not even when things with her mom were at their worst.

  My hands are frozen into fists, the only fact keeping me from acting as I watch two of the janitorial crew repainting the inside of Lizzie’s locker. Had I thought about it, I’d have known that they couldn’t possibly leave her locker as it was. But at the same time, I can’t bear to watch three years of her work, probably her best work, being scrubbed away.

  Lizzie’s paintings were usually dark and you could tell, from looking at what she was working on, how things were going at home. But this one painting, the one she kept locked behind a metal door where only she could see it, was inspiring and hopeful. Every time she added something to it, it seemed to take her one step closer to being happy in real life.

  And now they’re destroying it.

  It feels like nothing more or less than them ripping Lizzie’s heart out of my chest.

  Stop them, Cal. Stop them.

  Lizzie is screaming in my head and I seriously want to pull these workmen off of her locker and shove the paintbrushes they’re holding down their throats. There’s only a tiny kernel in the back of my brain that realizes they’re just doing their job and I try to hold tight onto that little rational cell. But my ears are ringing from Lizzie’s cries and I want to open my mouth and let her scream come out.

  It feels like she’s kicking her steel-toed boots against the sides of my head and it’s all I can do to keep from doubling over in pain. I don’t know what to do. Kids are streaming past me on their way to lunch or class. Everyone is pushing and shoving and laughing, but I don’t move. I make them maneuver around me as I stand there like a statue, paying testament to Lizzie’s every last brush stroke.

  You can’t let them do this. You can’t …

  Only when these guys are done, when they’ve made Lizzie’s locker the same dull gray-brown as the other 1,402 in the school, and they’ve cleaned their brushes, and picked up their drop cloths, only then does it feel like it’s possible for me to move my legs again.

  Without thinking about anything except getting as far away as possible from the scene of this destruction, I head outside. The air feels cool on my face and only then do I realize that my face is wet with tears. Before I know it, I’m at the one place at the school that has always made me feel at home: the baseball field.

  The ground is wet from the rain so I crawl into the dugout like a kid hiding under the covers in the middle of a nightmare. I know I’m alone, that no one has any reason to be coming to the diamond, so I let it out, all the emotion and pain I’m feeling. I let all of Lizzie’s anger wash over me and fling a stack of bats, one by one, out into the field until my arm is so sore that I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to lift it tomorrow.

  My chest is starting to feel twisted, like someone is putting a vise around the muscles and turning it back and forth.

  Cal. Cal. Cal.

  My name rings through my head. It reminds me of that time that I got hit by a line drive and ended up with a concussion.

  I try to slow my breathing, but fail. I always thought I had a high tolerance for pain, but I never had to worry about muscle strain killing me. This pain is freaking me out.

  “Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” It’s strange to be talking to her out loud, but my chest is really starting to hurt. “Stop. Please. They were just doing their job.”

  It was the only thing I had. The only thing I was good at. And you let them take it.

  I sink down to the concrete floor and rub at my chest. My hands run across the raised edges of my scar. “I never wanted to hurt you, Lizzie. You know tha
t. You fucking know that. I did everything I could.”

  I’m not sure I believe my own words. And when Lizzie whispers, Well, it wasn’t enough, I realize what’s happening. She and her heart are rejecting me.

  Twenty-Four

  They put me in one of those little rooms in the ER that are meant for people who aren’t staying overnight. I was here for a broken wrist once. And to get a tetanus shot after I stepped on a rusty rake that Justin Dillard “accidently” left outside my locker in sixth grade.

  This time, Ben Evans found me in the dugout when he came to retrieve a batting glove he’d left behind. I told him to dial 911, but Coach was right behind him and said he’d drive me to the hospital. I ranted the whole way in the car. “Lizzie hates me. Her heart is rejecting me. I forgot my meds.”

  Coach sounded like he did when he came out to the mound to talk to our pitchers. “Breathe. You’ve got this. Focus.” But I knew a pep talk wasn’t going to help me.

  I tuned him out and concentrated on keeping Lizzie’s heart working, even though I could feel her fighting against me. It’s funny how you can take breathing for granted: in, out, in, out. All day, without thinking. Now I had to work for every molecule of air. Now I had to fight Lizzie.

  Coach left when my dad got there. Mom was in court and someone was sending her a message. I wonder if Spencer knew. Or if anyone had told Ally. I hope she didn’t think I’d stood her up even though I did.

  At some point between getting out of Coach Byrne’s car and lying on the bed with oxygen going into my nose and a ridiculous hospital gown on and my father hovering over me, I realized that as much as I miss Lizzie, as horrible as I feel for what happened, I don’t want to die too. For some reason, that comes as more of a surprise than I would have imagined. But now I know what I have to do.

  “I need my phone,” I say to Dad.

  He rubs his temples like I’m asking to run a marathon. “You need to just relax, Cal. I’m sure someone will be here soon.”

  Lab techs come in and draw blood while nurses take my pressure and listen to my chest. The physical pain eased up after they gave me some shot, but the real pain of what I saw being done to Lizzie’s locker is right in front of my eyes. And in my head.

  “Can you get me some water?” My dad looks at me with a raised eyebrow, waiting for me to explain why really I just want him out of the room. “With ice.”

  “Cal, I think I should just stay here until the doctor comes.”

  I glare at him until he nods and leaves. I guess he figures I’m not going to die in the next five minutes and I hope it will take him longer than that to figure out where to go for a cup and then the water and ice. And a few minutes is just what I need.

  “Lizzie. Come on. We have to talk about this.” I close my eyes because I feel stupid looking at the wall and talking to an empty room.

  At first there’s just silence. A trickle of sweat down my forehead. The hiss of the oxygen being pumped into the tube in my nose.

  I have nothing to say.

  I smile through the pain. Just like Lizzie to break her silence to tell me she doesn’t want to talk to me.

  “Listen,” I whisper. “I get it. I really do. I know what that painting meant to you.”

  Really? You think you do? Because Cal Ryan baseball star certainly had more than one thing in his life he was proud of.

  I wince and don’t remind her that I’ll never play baseball again. “You had other things to be proud of.” I realize as soon as the words are out of my mouth that they’re going to set her off.

  Yeah, I was barely hanging on in school. My mother hated me. And, oh yeah, I’m in love with my gay best friend. That’s a lot to be proud of.

  I don’t call her out on her choice of present tense because her heart is beating all out of time inside me. Instead I take a deep breath and say, “You were a good person, Lizzie. A good friend. No one could ever make me laugh the way you did. The way you do. Still.”

  She’s silent so I continue. “You’re the only one I know who cared enough to sign up for the donor registry. You saved my life.”

  There’s silence. So much silence. The type that seeps around corners and fills up empty spaces. For a minute I think that this is it. Lizzie’s heart is going to stop beating. Then, in a small voice I’ve never heard her use, she says, Don’t fucking waste it.

  Before I can protest, my dad comes back into the room followed by the doctor and I brace myself for the bad news.

  Spencer rustles up the stairs and into my bedroom, hidden under a bunch of bags.

  I glance at him from the bed, where I’m propped up against a stack of pillows. “I’m surprised my parents let you up here. And what is all that?”

  One by one he unloads his haul. “I brought you the stuff my mom used to give me when I was home sick from school.” His stack of Archie comics and Mad Libs makes me laugh. I used to get them too. When I was eight. “And your homework from Mr. Brooks,” he adds.

  He acts like I’m home with a sore throat instead of the real reason, so I decide to cut to the chase. “I’m not dying, apparently.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I read that panic attacks are common among transplant recipients.”

  “Screwing up my meds last night probably didn’t help either,” I admit.

  “Your dad told me about that. You never forget anything. What were you doing?” I don’t have time to answer before the realization hits. “Shit. Ally was here last night, right?”

  Last night, Ally, the stars, the way her hair looked against my pillow, they all flash back in a glorious instant. “Yeah, but … I mean, we didn’t … ”

  “Have you talked to her today?” he asks, cutting me off.

  “No. I was on my way to meet her, but … did you see what they did to Lizzie’s locker?”

  I wait for Lizzie to say something, but my head is quiet. “It really meant something to her,” I continue. “And now it’s gone.”

  Spencer nods. He knew what it meant as well as I did.

  I hope he’ll offer up some plan, some way to make things right. Instead he moves the comics over and sits down on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to dive in, okay?” As usual, Spencer doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not going to pretend to know how you feel. I mean, a part of her is literally inside you. But she wouldn’t want you making yourself miserable all the time.”

  I must still be under the effects of some of the meds because I burst out laughing. If Spencer only knew. I think, in some way, my feeling miserable is exactly what Lizzie wants.

  But then maybe he does know, because he says, “You have to be alive to feel guilty. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. We’re lucky to still be here. We’re lucky to be here to feel anything.”

  “I know. I do. But … ”

  Spencer reaches over and puts his hand on my arm. This time I resist pulling away. “Cal, we’re lucky. It doesn’t always feel like it without Lizzie. But we are.”

  Suddenly, I’m very, very tired. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

  He sighs. I guess he thinks I’m just trying to play along, but I really am interested in what Spencer would do if he were me. “Go be happy with Ally. Study clouds and weather. Don’t let yourself get stuck.”

  “Stuck” is actually a good word for me at the moment. Maybe Spencer is right about moving forward, but that doesn’t mean I know how to do it or how not to waste the chance, like Lizzie said. “Thanks for the comic books.” I hope he’ll read the rest of my meaning into those words.

  “Any time,” he says as he squeezes my arm and gets up. “Just one thing. Everyone at school is kind of fixated on you right now. First with … ” Spencer stops, knowing that I don’t want to hear the name. “With the driver dying. And now with you being carted off to the hosp
ital. Just wanted you to be prepared for tomorrow.”

  Prepared. That one makes me laugh again.

  Twenty-Five

  I left three messages and sent an email to Ally last night and never heard back, so my first goal at school is to find her. Spencer’s pep talk, if that’s what it was, has me a little energized. He’s right in a way. I’m sad as hell about losing Lizzie, but when I was in so much pain yesterday and convinced that I was dying, I knew that I wanted to live. Really live.

  I’m not sure what that looks like without baseball, but for the first time I at least want to figure it out.

  I catch a glimpse of Ally in the hall, but so many people stop to ask me how I’m feeling that by the time I’m free, I’ve lost her.

  When she never shows up to lunch, I know there’s something wrong.

  After school, I race through the halls hoping to make it to the auditorium before she gets there for rehearsal. My heart leaps when I see her, even though I expect her to either yell at me for standing her up yesterday or maybe even, if I’m letting myself dream, throw her arms around me and say how glad she is that I’m okay, but she doesn’t do either of those. She just stops outside the door.

  “Sorry about missing lunch.” I try to say it like I’d just gotten held up in class, not like I’d had a total breakdown and thought I was dying.

  “That’s … fine,” she says, looking down at the floor. “I’m late for rehearsal. Can we talk later? I can pick you up after dinner.”

  I start to ask her what’s going on, but she’s already walking into the auditorium. “Yeah. Later,” I say. But I’m not even sure she hears me.

  The house is empty when I get home. Mom and Dad are both working late. I turn on so many lights that you can probably see the house from the moon. Aliens might just land in the back yard.

  The longer I wait, the more nervous I get about Ally giving me the cold shoulder.