by John Cariani
Glory shone her flashlight on East and was about to ask him to help her find what she was looking for when she gasped, “Oh! You have it!”
“Huh?”
Glory was pointing at something East was holding. “In that bag, it’s in that bag!”
East looked to where Glory was pointing and saw that he was holding the brown paper sack in the crook of his arm—again. And wondered how on earth it had gotten there. He didn’t know that when he hugged Glory, it had become lodged between their bodies again, and another imperceptible transfer had occurred.
“Please give it back. Please, I need it!” Glory demanded, struggling to breathe.
“Yeah, sure, here,” said East, going to Glory and offering her the bag—which she grabbed and held close.
“Thank you,” said she greatly relieved, her breathing starting to normalize.
“You’re welcome,” said East, completely bewildered.
Glory looked back up at the sky. And tried to make like nothing had happened.
And East stood and stared at Glory. And wondered if he had heard her correctly. Had she just said that her heart was in that bag?
Glory felt East’s eyes on her and kept looking at the sky, hoping that East would go away so she wouldn’t have to explain what she had just said was inside the brown paper bag she was clutching.
But East wasn’t going away. He was staring at her. And trying to make sense of what had just happened. And—even though he knew it wasn’t any of his business—he couldn’t help but ask, “Um … I’m sorry, but, did you just say that your … heart … is in that bag? Is that what you just said, that your heart is in—”
“Yes,” interrupted Glory. He had already asked the question once, and there was no need for him to repeat it.
East thought long and hard about Glory’s answer. And then finally remarked, “It’s heavy.”
It was. But Glory chose not to let East know that she concurred, and said nothing. Because she was too busy trying—and failing—to find a way out of having to explain what she knew she was going to have to explain.
“Why is it in that bag?”
“It’s how I carry it around,” said Glory curtly.
“Why do you have to … carry it around?” asked East.
Glory almost told East that she really didn’t want to get into it. Because she really didn’t want to get into it. At all. But there didn’t seem to be a way for her to not get into it.
And maybe a part of her felt like getting into it with him.
So she got into it.
“It’s broken,” she confessed—and she was surprised to feel that strange lightness fill up her insides again. This time, it felt like an unburdening. And it felt good.
“Oh,” said East.
Glory expected East to have an opinion about her strange answer. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply asked, “What happened?”
“Wes broke it.”
“Your husband,” said East, making sure he was remembering who Wes was.
“Yeah. He went away.”
“Oh,” said East, saddened by the revelation.
“With someone else.”
“Oh, no,” groaned East.
“Yeah. And when he did that … well, I felt like my heart was gonna break. And that’s exactly what happened. It broke.”
Glory paused and checked in with East to see if he believed her.
And he didn’t seem to believe or disbelieve her. He seemed to be listening without judgment and without forming an opinion. Which was how he usually listened.
“And,” she continued, “it hurt so bad, I had to go to the hospital, and when I got there, well—I didn’t know this, because I was out cold—but … I guess it had broken.”
This was actually true. Glory had developed takotsubo cardiomyopathy, a weakening of the heart’s left ventricle that can occur as the result of severe emotional or physical stress—like when a husband leaves his wife for another woman. It’s also called broken-heart syndrome, and most people recover from it quickly with no lasting damage.
But not Glory. Her case was extreme: when she arrived at the hospital, doctors discovered that her heart had actually broken in two.
Glory eyed East before she continued, gauging how crazy he seemed to think she was.
But he didn’t seem to think she was crazy at all. He still just seemed to be listening.
“I almost died, I guess,” she continued. “But they hooked me up to a machine that resuscitated me and called in an expert”—fortunately Glory lived in a place where there were lots of experts—“and the expert took the two broken halves of my heart out of my chest, and when he did that, he somehow managed to drop them on the operating room floor, and they broke into nineteen pieces.”
Glory held up the brown paper bag she was holding.
“Slate,” Glory explained, shaking the bag three times. The shards in the bag clanked together as Glory shook them, making a jangly, earthy sound as they did. “It turned to slate,” added Glory.
After East took a moment to process what he had heard, he said the only thing he could think of to say to someone who had just told him that her heart had turned to slate: “Great for roofing.”
Glory turned to East and wondered what in the world she was supposed to do with that information.
And East shrugged a little. Because he had no idea what she was supposed to do with that information.
And then Glory turned her focus back to the sky.
And East watched Glory watch the sky. And marveled at her and what she had been through. And then asked, “How do you breathe? If your heart is in that bag, how are you alive?”
Glory tapped her chest a couple of times. “Artificial.”
“Really?” asked East, increasingly fascinated, and trying to figure out how an artificial heart might work.
“Yeah.” Glory was touched by East’s earnest interest. And seeming lack of judgment. “When my real one broke, we didn’t have time to wait for a donor to give us a real one. And there aren’t nearly enough real ones to go around.”
“Oh,” said East. And then he thought. And looked at the small brown paper sack Glory was holding close while he did. And then he pointed at it and said, “So … that’s your heart.”
“Yeah.”
“The one that broke.”
“Yeah.”
“And the one in there”—East pointed to Glory’s chest—“is artificial?”
“Yeah.”
East thought. And then pointed to the heart that was in the bag Glory was holding. “So why do you carry this one around with you?”
“Well, because they gave it back to me when I left the hospital,” answered Glory. “So I figured I must need it, that it must still be … important. I mean—it is my heart.”
“Yeah. But it’s broken,” said East.
“Yeah—”
“’Cause your husband left you.”
“Yeah, but—”
“For someone else.”
“Yeah—”
“Well, why are you paying your respects to a guy who left you?”
“Well, because that’s what you do when a person dies, you pay your respects.”
“But … he left you.”
“Yeah.”
“And it seems to me that a man who leaves somebody doesn’t deserve any respects,” reasoned East, building a case.
Glory defended herself—and her husband. “Well, I just didn’t leave things well with him, and I’d like to apologize to him. That’s all.” Glory focused on the sky again, hoping that East would be satisfied with that explanation and let the rest go.
But East wasn’t letting the rest go. “But he left you,” he argued.
“Yeah, but—”
“He’s the one who should apologize, not you.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Why should you have to apologize?”
“Just because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I kill
ed him!”
East froze. And tried not to look alarmed. And managed to say, “Oh.”
“Yeah. And I’d like to apologize.”
East wondered whether or not he was in danger and took a couple of tentative steps away from Glory.
And then the strange lightness Glory had been feeling expanded inside her and made her want to tell this kind, gentle man everything. He seemed to have believed everything she had told him thus far. Maybe he’d believe the rest of the strange story that had become her life over the past couple of years.
“See,” she explained, “Wes had come to visit me at home, after I had had my surgery—which had gone really well: my artificial heart was in my chest, and it was pumping, and I was breathing and doing most of the things I used to be able to do. And then…” Glory paused, rolling her eyes at the implausibility of it all before continuing, “Wes calls me up last Tuesday—I was eating my dinner—and says he wants to stop by to see me. And I don’t really want to see him, but I do want him to see that I’m doing well—really well, actually—without him. And so I tell him to come on by. And he does. And then…” Glory snorted sardonically and then continued, “He’s not even there for five minutes and he starts crying, and telling me that the woman he left me for … had left him! Do you believe that?”
East didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have enough information yet to know whether he believed or disbelieved. He was just listening.
Glory continued. “And then he tells me that he wants me back! I mean, can you believe that?”
East didn’t answer again—again because he didn’t have enough information yet to know whether he believed or disbelieved. He was just listening.
“And I said, as nicely as I could, ‘Wes, I’m sorry. I have a new heart now. It doesn’t want you back.’ And I know that sounds harsh, but it was the truth, and I owed him the truth. And I should have left it at that…” Glory paused and fought off some sadness as she relived her last moments with Wes. But then shook the sadness off and continued, “But I didn’t—leave it at that. And I told him that even if my old heart had been working, I didn’t think it would want him back either. And that…” Glory sighed and tumbled into a deep sadness as she finished her story. “That just killed him.”
East realized that he had been holding his breath since Glory revealed that she had killed her husband. Because he thought that she had actually killed her husband.
But now he realized that she hadn’t actually killed her husband.
She may have contributed to his demise.
But she hadn’t killed him.
And he exhaled for the first time since Glory had said that she had killed her husband. “Oh-oh-oh,” he stammered, relieved to learn that Glory wasn’t a killer. “So you didn’t … actually kill him.”
“Yes, I did! Because he got so sad that my new heart didn’t want him back that he just tore outta my house … and ran outside … and a bus was coming, and he didn’t see it, and…” She struggled to say what happened next, because it upset her so deeply. “And it just took him right out.”
“But … that wasn’t your fault. That was just … fate. Or somethin’.”
“No. It was my fault. At least—partly. Because I wished some pretty terrible things for him after he left me.”
“Well, that seems understandable.”
“It’s not, really. You’ve got to be careful what you wish for.” Glory looked at East, ashamed of what she may have wished for her ex-husband. “Anyway, I’m just here for some closure. I just want to say goodbye to him in my own way—not as his sad ex-wife at some big public service—but just … privately.” Glory started to fall into another deep sadness.
And East tried to catch her fall by hugging her again.
And when he did, he felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again.
And Glory felt it, too, and she pulled away from East as soon as she did. Because it scared her, that lightness. Because it made her feel like it might make her do things she didn’t normally do—like kiss a man she hardly knew.
Like East.
Which she suddenly did.
And then, as suddenly as she was kissing him, she wasn’t.
And East had the brown paper bag in his possession again—and was suddenly kissing Glory back. And then pulling away from her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Don’t be, thought Glory. And she kissed him again.
And then pulled away again.
And then gasped, “I’m sorry.”
And East said, “Don’t be! I love you!”
“Well—don’t do that!” Glory groaned, wincing, because East couldn’t possibly love her; he had just met her.
“Well, I can’t help it!” said the quiet stoic, who was suddenly getting loud and emotional.
“Well…” Glory saw that East had the brown paper bag again, and she grabbed it from him. “Help it!” she commanded.
“Why?” demanded East.
“Because! I won’t be able to love you back! I have a heart that can pump my blood and that’s all! The one that did the other stuff is broken! It doesn’t work anymore!” This was an inaccurate series of statements, because Glory was clearly feeling all the things that hearts make people feel. So either her artificial heart was doing more than just pumping her blood, or the one she had been carrying around was doing all the “other stuff” it used to do. Whatever the case, one of her hearts had moved Glory to kiss East again.
And when Glory pulled away from East, East had her heart again.
And Glory grabbed it right back.
And then East kissed Glory again.
And pulled away again.
And East had her heart again.
And Glory grabbed it back again.
And East grabbed it right back and pleaded, “Let me have this!”
“No!” Glory lunged and tried to get her heart back again, but East kept it away from her, which wasn’t very difficult, because he was tall, and she was not.
Glory lunged again—but failed to retrieve her heart.
East was impressed that someone with an artificial heart was so spry and strong. Modern medicine is a wonder, he thought.
And then Glory lunged again, without success.
And this went on for some time—Glory repeatedly lunging for her heart, East repeatedly keeping it just out of reach.
From a distance, they looked like a couple of kids playing keep-away.
Until one lunge landed Glory face-first in the snow.
“Oh! Are you okay?” asked East, rushing to Glory to help her up, because he felt terrible that he had just made her face-plant.
Glory flipped onto her back, sat up, and demanded, “East, give that back to me.”
“No!”
“It’s mine!”
“But it’s broken! It’s no good like this!”
“But it’s my heart,” pleaded Glory.
“Yeah. It is.” East held Glory’s heart above his head, out of her reach, and declared, “And right now, I have it.”
East looked up at the brown paper bag and said, “And I can fix it.”
And then he looked at Glory and said, “I’m a repairman. I repair things. It’s what I do.”
Glory took in what East had said. And wondered what his being a repairman had to do with anything.
And then realized it had everything to do with everything.
And she contemplated what East was proposing.
And what it implied.
And then she scowled and scoffed, because there was no way East could possibly do what he had just said he could do, whether he was a repairman or not.
But … then she couldn’t help but wonder … what if he could do what he just said he could do?
What would happen?
East took off his coat and spread it out on the snow, lining up, in front of him. And then knelt down and placed the brown paper bag on it. He rubbed his hands to warm them. And then cupped them over his mouth and ex
haled to warm them some more. And then took hold of the bag. The paper around the opening was so worn, it felt more like cloth than paper.
And then he checked in with Glory as he started to open it.
And paused. Because she didn’t seem to want him to open it.
But she didn’t seem to want him to not open it.
So East opened it.
And as he did, Glory inhaled sharply as if she was afraid that opening the bag was going to hurt her or something. And she held her breath.
And then stopped holding it.
Because she realized that the bag was open—and she was okay.
And she felt that strange lightness fill up her insides again. It felt like it was permanently replacing the darkness and heaviness that had been inside her since Wes had left her for someone else.
It also felt like it was making room for something else.
Something she thought she would never feel again in her life.
Something like what she had felt when she first met Wes. But—different.
East started to take the nineteen pieces of slate out of the bag. And he laid them on his coat.
Glory watched him do this.
And then she looked up—partly because she couldn’t watch what East was about to do, partly because she couldn’t believe he was about to do what he had said he was about to do, partly because no one wants to see their heart laid bare, but mostly because she was looking for answers to questions she didn’t even know how to ask.
And then … she saw them.
The northern lights.
They were hovering and pulsing in the star-filled sky above, filling it with streaks of red and green and yellow and white and even blue and purple.
Glory was stupefied.
“Wow!” she whispered as she took in the otherworldly display. “Wowwwww!” she whispered more quietly, as not to disturb them. “They’re so beautiful.”
And they were—so beautiful that Glory forgot for a moment that they were why she was there. And that they were what—and who—she had come to see.
But she remembered soon enough what and who they were—and why she was there. And when she did, she called out and up into the night sky, “Oh! Wes!” The northern lights seemed to become stiller, as if they were waiting to hear what she had to say. “Wes!” Glory repeated. And then she waved to them, calling, “Goodbye!” And then she repeated the farewell—maybe because she wanted to make sure he had heard her: “Goodbye, Wes!”