The Heartbeat Hypothesis

by Lindsey Frydman

  “You bet your ass I did. Now cheer the fuck up. Would it make any difference if I told you Piano Boy is here?”

  “What? Jake’s here?”

  She exaggerated an eye roll. “Damn. If I’d known it would cheer you up that much I would’ve told you before.”

  “Before? You saw him here earlier and didn’t tell me?”

  She sent me a look usually reserved for boyfriends. “Because I knew this would happen. I’d tell you and then you’d spend the rest of the night looking for him.”

  “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  My eyes scanned the crowd for Jake, but it was pointless. He wouldn’t draw attention to himself, so it was harder than those Where’s Waldo? books. I hadn’t seen him in days, since our impromptu kiss in the middle of beautiful nowhere.

  “See? This. This is what I didn’t want.” Kat grabbed my hand and hauled me through the throng of students. “If you like Piano Boy, you can’t go looking for him like this.”

  “Can we please stop calling him that?” I allowed her to pull me along until some girl almost ran right into me.

  Kat paused and turned around. “Audra, it doesn’t matter what we call him. The rules are still the same.”

  “You mean your dating rules?” She’d tried explaining them to me a few times. But I was never overly interested in dating, so it seemed like too much work: don’t be clingy, don’t be overly available but also don’t be too hard to get, only say yes to a date if the right criteria were there, and so on and so on.

  It was ridiculous.

  “Come on. Let’s go outside. Forget about Piano Boy. I’ll forget about Matt—for a little while, anyway. Let’s have some fun. Pretty fucking please?” She grinned, gesturing toward the back door.

  We passed a group of girls all wearing short skirts or short shorts, all wearing the same bored-to-death expression. Another cluster of students hooted and laughed at who knew what. Once outside, we refilled our drinks from the keg on the patio. Kat dragged me to the wide open space behind the house where a bonfire raged, sending puffs of dark smoke into the night air. It reminded me of camping with Jake.

  I stood next to Kat as she talked animatedly about something that happened in her statistics class. She stopped midsentence when the group of people behind us began shouting. We both turned to see what everyone was freaking out about, and a loud crack caught my attention. Once I realized what was going on, I almost scurried back inside. Being near two dudes going at each other wasn’t smart. But among the swinging fists and swarming crowd, I spotted a head of hair I knew well.

  No.

  Lots of people had dirty-blond hair; that couldn’t be him.

  The two guys crashed to the ground a couple feet in front of me. They rolled violently, and I had to skip backward, out of their way.

  Oh God. It was him.

  “Jake.” My voice couldn’t be heard. I’d whispered his name so softly, I wondered if I’d actually said it out loud. “Jake.”

  My back hit a brick wall, sending a chill up my spine, and I watched the scene I couldn’t stop, couldn’t change, couldn’t fix.

  Some people cheered. Everyone moved closer. Why would they want to be closer? No one tried to stop the two brawling guys. The sound of bone meeting flesh and bone cracking against bone echoed in the night air.

  As my heart thudded inside my chest, something changed. The chaos of the crowd raged in my ears. Everything got louder, louder, louder.

  Jake hovered over the unknown guy, who’d stopped moving, and his hands neared his throat. Too many seconds passed and a dark, terrible burning twisted through my veins with every too-quick pump of my heart.

  “Jake!” My feet moved, and I put up no resistance, even though my brain didn’t completely agree with what I was doing. “Jake.” Inches away—too close. All he had to do was twist his shoulders and I would’ve been behind the wrong side of an elbow.

  But his arms slackened, his body becoming immovable—except for his eyes. They found me, recognition flared, and something cold and slimy slid down my chest.

  Jake pushed off the guy and was on his feet in seconds. The one on the ground rolled over, gripping his face with one hand, coughing and spewing spit and blood. But then I wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.

  I followed Jake, yelling his name as he pushed through the thickening crowd. He could hear me, but he wouldn’t stop.

  “Stop running away,” I shouted. “It’s just me, Jake. Please.”

  He halted so quickly, I almost slammed into his solid back.

  Tipping my chin up, I said his name again and examined his face. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He promptly wiped the back of his hand across it, looking away.

  “Leave me alone, Audra,” he said in a strangled voice, whipping around once more and stomping through the grass.

  I was going to do anything but leave him alone.

  Trotting behind him, I caught his sleeve and tried again. “Jake. Talk to me. What happened?”

  He pulled his arm free of my loose grasp. “Nothing happened. It’s fine. I’m fine. But you should stay away from me right now. Okay?”

  I shook my head, but he wasn’t looking. “Because you’ll hit me?”

  His chest heaved as he came to a hasty stop, raking an angry hand through his hair. “No, of course not.”

  Taking a step closer, I hoped I’d broken through whatever wall he’d constructed.

  “I don’t have to hit you to hurt you.” His voice shook, like gravel spewing from the back of his throat. “But I will hurt you.”

  I drifted backward, blinking in surprise and confusion. “That’s stupid. You’re not going to hurt me.”

  “It’s not stupid.”

  We were far enough away from the party noise to feel isolated in the dark. Too loud to be hanging out on a public street.

  Jake clenched his fists, sucked in air, then unclenched them. Again and again and again. His breathing slowed, but it didn’t appear to be helping—his jaw was tight, brows pinched together, shoulders rigid as stone.

  “I’ll take the rest of your photos, and I’ll give you piano lessons because I’m not one to go back on my word, but I’m no good for anything else,” he said, lowering his voice like we’d suddenly fallen into a library. “I can’t be your friend—I can’t be anyone’s friend.”

  “What are you saying?” I whispered. I was confused about the details, but I knew that feeling in my gut—the one buzzing down my nerves, sending electric shocks through my limbs, straight to my heart.

  “I’m sorry, Audra.”

  He took a few more breaths as my heart spun itself into a giant tangle of pulses.

  “So, what?” I threw up my hands to conceal their shaking. “You’re going to give me piano lessons, but nothing else is okay? I’m supposed to act like it’s cool to be your friend two hours a week, but be okay with you shunning me the rest of the time?”

  “It’s not like tha—”

  “Yes, it is!”

  Jake dipped his head, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You’ll thank me later.”

  He spun and strode through the grass, leaving me stuck to the ground with the words he’d said—and the ones I hadn’t.

  I’d wanted to say don’t go. You’re wrong. So wrong. About me and about you—everyone can be a friend. I wanted to be his friend—more than his friend—someone he could confide in, share his secrets with.

  I wanted to tell him that no matter what was going on, it would be okay.

  My eyes stung as I stood alone in the dark, watching his silhouette fade into nothing. It wasn’t fair—the way he could walk away so easily, and there wasn’t a thing in this world I could do to stop him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake wasn’t at the piano room on Monday.

  Honestly, I hadn’t expected that—or the repeated punch in the gut I suffered.

  I spent the first thirty minutes staring down the hall
, down at my phone, at the hall, then back at my phone. I sat in the hideous purple chair, clutching my bag against my chest.

  It took me an hour to truly believe he wasn’t coming.

  It shouldn’t have taken so long, but I was never any good at giving up.

  His words echoed in my head: I’m no good for anything else.

  He was wrong. I wished—more than I wished to have been born with a healthy heart—that he could know that.

  I sent him a text, but didn’t expect a response.

  Me: I waited for you. Hope you’re okay.

  Constant pressure found a home in my chest, followed me around campus while I studied and while I lay in bed at night trying not to think. It didn’t make sense. One day he was kissing me. Days later he was blowing me off.

  The more I tried not to think about Jake, the more his face popped into my brain. Things always worked out that way.

  The following Monday, I sat at the piano bench while I stared at the walls and waited for a boy who never came.

  …

  “Come out with me,” Kat pleaded for the fifth time in ten minutes. “Put on some, you know, clothes, and do something with your hair. We’ll go out, have some fun.”

  I glared. “I’m wearing, you know, clothes. And what’s wrong with my hair? It’s in a ponytail.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Whatever.” I fell back against my pillows and shut my eyes. “I don’t feel like doing anything to my hair, or putting on Kat-approved clothing. Not tonight.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  I could sense her glaring at me, so I sat up and stared back—a stare-down—something we did that accomplished absolutely nada. She’d try not to blink. I’d try not to blink. It would last a few seconds and then we’d both laugh.

  “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re the lamest college freshman I’ve ever met,” she said, shaking her head and pushing herself off the floor.

  Everything felt like total ass, so maybe she had a point.

  “I’ll get Matt to come with me.” Kat picked her purse up off the floor and stuck her feet into her shoes. “If you wanna mope, you can sit around and mope by yourself. I still love the shit out of you, even if you are being lame.”

  “How does that saying go? Boo, you whore.”

  She laughed. “The phrase you are looking for is ‘tough love.’”

  “Blah, blah. Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I pulled Mister Yellow Blanket over my legs. “For the record, I’m not moping. I just don’t want to go out.”

  “I’ll allow you to indulge your delusions this one time. M’kay?”

  I tossed a pillow at her head, missing by a foot. “I’d like an exchange on my clearly broken friend. I’ve got a lifetime warranty, right?”

  “Oh no. Returns are not accepted. All sales are final, remember?” She twisted the door handle with a giggle. “Sorry. You can’t get rid of me.”

  “Should’ve read the fine print.”

  “Eh. You live and you learn, right?”

  I grinned. “Obviously.”

  “Sure you don’t want to go?” she asked, hesitating with one foot out the door.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. And I’m good. Promise.”

  Kat arched an eyebrow, saying she didn’t believe me. And okay, I was lying—just a little. “Fine. Don’t come. But remember.” She pointed a finger, made a serious face, and I tried not to laugh. “Don’t fall in love with maybe and supposed to. They’ll never love you back.”

  It took twenty minutes from the time Kat shut the door to the time I made sense of the unsettling feeling zipping through me like a homicidal Ping-Pong ball. I was bored. And angry. And annoyed.

  Twenty more minutes passed. I did a little screaming into my pillow. Freaking out alone was okay, right? Then I threw on some real clothes—my favorite pair of jeans and a light sweater—and stuffed my feet into my shoes. But I left my hair the way it was.

  I needed out of this tiny box.

  I spent time wandering around campus. The latest classes ended hours ago, so not many students lingered around. And it was Friday night. Most people had things to do, friends to see, beer to drink. Whatever. Not me. And even though I’d chosen this fate, it didn’t make me happy.

  That was probably some type of metaphor.

  The pathways were dark, lit only by the blue security lamps. I approached the rec center, and the closer I got, the brighter it became. Light poured from the windows, cascaded down the brick walls, and fell across the pavement for yards.

  I wasn’t surprised when I found myself at the piano room.

  All the lights were off. Turning them on felt like disturbing something peaceful, so I walked inside, ignoring the switch on the wall. It wasn’t pitch-black, and I easily found my way to the piano bench. When I sat, it was a tiny bit harder to breathe.

  My fingers ran across the keys without pressing them, so the room stayed silent.

  Too long I sat there, until the quiet got to me. This was no better than my room.

  I was about to stand when I remembered what I had in my purse: the sheet music for “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I’d folded it and stuck it in there so I could look at it often, try to keep the notes fresh in my mind. I hadn’t managed to play the entire song yet. Not without getting frustrated and giving up.

  I pulled out the sheet music from under my antirejection meds. My heart beat harder, like it was screaming at me, trying to tell me something.

  Sorry, heart, I don’t understand you.

  But my heart wasn’t mine anymore, so maybe there was a true disconnect. Maybe it wasn’t something I made up in my head. It was a heart just like the one I’d had, only this one never belonged to me, never would belong to me.

  They say every cell in the body is capable of retaining memories. I’d read stories about transplant patients who claimed to become a completely different person afterward—angry, violent, depressed. Some have even claimed to fall in love with a near stranger because of their new heart. I didn’t feel like a different person, and I didn’t suddenly love someone new.

  I unfolded the sheet music, tried smoothing out the wrinkles, and then set it above the keys. I placed my hands in their proper spots to begin the familiar melody. After a few slow breaths, I hit the first note.

  And kept going. And going.

  My fingers hit the right keys (okay, mostly the right keys), and there weren’t long pauses between notes because I didn’t have to think too hard about where to move my hands. And I realized while I moved my fingers, pressed them down, shifted, pressed, again and again, it actually sounded like “Twinkle, Twinkle.” It sounded like real music.

  The song was nothing close to piano mastery, but I’d done it. I played the entire song.

  Jake taught me how to play the piano. And no one was there to see it—to hear it.

  My heart picked up its screaming again, and pain stung the backs of my eyes. I squeezed them shut, blacked out the piano keys and sheet music. Tried to be happy—only happy—that I’d done it.

  But it didn’t matter how hard I squeezed, I couldn’t be only happy. The empty spaces in my chest filled with poisoned air that burned straight down to my soul.

  I wish you were here.

  I did not cry at the piano bench, thank you very much. But fuck, I wanted to.

  When I walked out of the room, most of my sadness stayed behind. I passed the glass walls and hideous purple chair, and then trudged up a short staircase, my sneakers squeaking against the tile. Reaching the exit, I shoved through the doors, an unfamiliar feeling raging in my head and just below my rib cage.

  I stood in front of Jake’s apartment door, staring at its plainness, unable to remember when I decided to come here. He’d made it clear he wanted me to stay away. Then he bailed on the lessons.

  He bailed.

  But maybe if I knocked, we could talk, and then—I don’t know, maybe we could fix whatever broke. Maybe if I knoc
ked, it would fix everything.

  But maybe not.

  I shouldn’t have been here, but my stupid feet didn’t obey, so what the hell was I supposed to do?

  Don’t fall in love with maybe and supposed to. They’ll never love you back.

  Leave. I needed to leave.

  I backed up, still staring at the door, rubbing my sweaty, shaky palms down my jeans. But what if—

  I pulled out my phone, sent Kat an SOS text. Maybe if she told me I should leave, my feet would finally listen. She could be my voice of reason. I paced, waiting. Up and down the hall, staring at the cracks in the corners.

  When ten minutes went by, I pulled out my phone again and dialed her number.

  “Hello?”

  But the voice on the other end wasn’t Kat.

  “Mrs. Werner?” I recognized her mom’s Russian accent.

  “Kat—she…she’s been in an accident,” she said between controlled sobs.

  Pain seared through my chest as Mrs. Werner gushed bits of information. Kat’s car was hit from the side on the corner of West Laurel and South Shields Streets. An ambulance rushed her and the boy she was with to the ER. Both were in critical condition, both were in surgery right now. But that was all they knew.

  Every nerve ending in my body sizzled, cracked, and then exploded, like I’d gone up in flames. I couldn’t breathe—something that once seemed so easy. I hung up the phone and held it limply in my hand until it finally fell and smashed against the floor.

  Seconds passed, maybe minutes. I remembered how to breathe at some point, but when I did, it allowed the silent sobs to escape.

  Then I heard a voice. My name. Remembered I was in front of Jake’s door. Remembered what I’d been doing and thinking before that phone call.

  And now he stood a few feet away, holding the door with one hand, a pinched-up expression on his gorgeous face.

  “Audra?” he said again, looking at me like maybe I was on fire.

  But I couldn’t think of a thing to do other than grab my phone, turn around, and sprint away.

  I had a love/hate relationship with hospitals.

  Guess I had them to thank for my life—but how many people died inside these walls? Every day. Every hour. Every minute.