The Other Side of Tomorrow

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Willa: Be out in a minute.

  “Be cool,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

  Perry raises his head from his cushion. “What are you looking at? I’m fine,” I tell him, though I’m the farthest thing from fine.

  It’s just hit me—I’m about to get in a car with a guy, a guy I barely know, and go who knows where.

  “What have I done?” I mutter and head outside.

  I approach the car waiting outside—a yellow Jeep with the roof taken off—and stop outside the passenger door. I don’t have to wait for him to roll down the car window since there isn’t one.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asks with a laugh.

  I tilt my head. “I’ve been thinking, how do I know you’re not going to kidnap me? You could be a murderer for all I know.”

  “Do I look like a murderer to you?” he scoffs, mildly offended.

  I shrug. “Most murderers are good looking. It’s how they kill so easily, women go with them willingly.”

  He grins. I don’t find this a grinning matter. “You think I’m good looking?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, my God, after what I said that’s all you got from it?”

  “Well, I mean, it’s a backwards compliment, but a compliment is a compliment.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve decided you’re too dumb to be a killer,” I say, and open the door.

  He makes a sound. “Now I feel like I shouldn’t be offended, but I definitely am.”

  “Hey, if the shoe fits …,” I joke.

  He shakes his head. “You’re something else.”

  He pulls away from the curb—it’s my last chance to jump out, but I don’t.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.nbsp;

  “I can’t tell you that, it sucks the fun out of it,” he protests. “All I’ll say is, it’s one of my favorite places in the world. I … uh … haven’t shared it with anyone before, but after talking to you yesterday, you … you get things, and I think you’ll appreciate this.”

  “Wow,” I say, slightly shocked.nbsp;

  “We have a fairly long drive ahead of us,” he warns. “I’m going to swing by McDonalds’s for some breakfast. Is that cool with you?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  After a quick detour where I order an Egg McMuffin and he orders a bagel egg sandwich, we’re back on the road.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” Jasper says around a mouthful.

  “Um … I mean, I’m boring. I read a lot. I used to dance before my kidneys failed. I want to get back into it; I miss it.”

  “What do you like to read?” he asks.

  “Romances, mostly,” I admit and blush. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed by it. There’s nothing wrong with a little smut. Smut makes the world go around. “Contemporary, paranormal, and some fantasy now and then.”

  “That’s cool. I like fantasy and thrillers. The occasional biography now and then depending on who it’s about.”

  “Really?” I ask, shocked.

  He chuckles. “What? Since I’m a guy I can’t read?”

  “No, no, it just … surprised me, that’s all.”nbsp;

  “Don’t get me wrong, surfing is my passion. If I could’ve gone professional, I would have.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I question, curiosity getting the better of me.

  He shrugs and shifts in his seat. “There are a lot of guys out there way better. Liam Wade for example. That guy kills it every time. He’s a legend and he’s just up and coming. I can’t compete with that, and frankly, I don’t want to. I want it to remain fun. To try to make a career out of it would suck the fun out of it. I want to love it for the rest of my life.”

  “I can understand that,” I admit. “I used to dance before … before the kidney failure. It was my passion. I didn’t care that it was hard work because I loved it. But I never wanted to try to pursue it professionally. I didn’t want to lose my love for it because I had to do it.”

  “What kind of dance?” he asks.

  “Ballet mostly, and jazz. I did a little bit of hip-hop too.”

  “I have such a hard time seeing you do ballet.” He shakes his head.

  “Really?” I laugh. “Why?”

  “I don’t know … you have that wild, carefree, can’t hold me down vibe about you. Dance seems very rigid.”

  “It’s the opposite,” I disagree. “Yeah, it has rules, but everything does. But learning to be in tune with your body and flow with the music, there’s nothing else like it.”

  He nods. “That makes sense.”

  “How old are you?” I ask him.

  He chuckles. “I’m twenty. What about you?”

  “I turned eighteen on the fourteenth.”

  “Happy belated birthday then.” He grins in my direction.nbsp;

  “Thanks.”

  My hair whips around my shoulders as he speeds down the highway, heading south. I still can’t believe I’m in a car with Jasper, headed who knows where, and I’m excited.nbsp;

  I’m excited to be doing something I never normally would do.

  I’m taking a leap of faith and seeing if it pays off.

  “How old were you when you started dancing?”

  “Around four—and before you ask, no, my parents didn’t push me into it. I was always dancing. Spinning, twirling, I couldn’t sit still. My mom enrolled me in dance and it was a natural fit.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” I ask him and wince. “I’m sorry, that’s a lame question.”

  He chuckles. “No, no. I think a person’s favorite color is very telling about them. Mine’s yellow, I do like orange too. What’s yours?”

  “Purple,” I answer immediately. “But that funny kind of purple you only see as the sun is going down.”

  He laughs heartily. “That is … very specific.”

  I shrug. “Without specifics life would be one giant what if.”

  “That’s true,” he agrees. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, a song by The Fray plays through the speakers from a playlist on his phone. “If you could go anywhere in the world, money wasn’t an issue, where would you go?”

  “The Kawachi Fuji Gardens in Japan.”

  “The what-a-what?” he says, taken aback. “No offense, but I was expecting Paris or London. Maybe Rome.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see those places one day too, but you asked where I wanted to go most and that’s where.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s this magical garden with these flowers making arches in all these bright colors, it doesn’t look like it belongs on this planet. It’s magical,” I gush. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  I grab my phone and do a quick image search. Pulling up a graphic, I show him.

  He glances over. “Whoa, you weren’t kidding. That’s amazing.”

  I smile, pleased he agrees.nbsp;

  “How on earth did you ever discover that place?”

  “I had to do a research paper on a country and I chose Japan. Where would you go?”

  “Mine seems so boring and dull in comparison,” he admits with a mock wince.

  “Oh, come on.” I bump his shoulder playfully with mine. “Now you have to tell me.”

  He chuckles. “I want to go to Vancouver, Canada to snowboard.”

  “Oh, you snowboard too?” I inquire.

  “No, but I want to.”

  “You’re quite the sports guy, huh?”

  He flashes a grin at me, his dimple winking from his cheek. “Yeah, I guess. I played baseball in high school and I was on the swim team.”

  He changes lanes and takes the next exit.

  Nothing looks familiar and grasslands stretch on either side of us, with an intermittent cow or two.

  “You know, I’m still not convinced you’re not planning to kill me.”

  He laughs. “Think what you want, but I’m not planni
ng to kill you.”

  We drive for another twenty minutes, the scenery changing to more mountainous, before he turns on to a dirt road and drives some more.

  Eventually, he stops and parks the Jeep. Light is beginning to creep into the sky.

  “Where are we?” nbsp;I ask.nbsp;

  From what I can tell, we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no trail, no more road, no other cars, and just trees.

  He hops out and the door closes with a creaking noise. “This isn’t it. We have to go on foot from here.”

  I look down at my feet, thankful I wore my sneakers; they might not be cute but at least they’re comfy.

  I hop out and fumble with my bag.

  “Leave it,” he tells me.

  “Um …”

  “Trust me, no one comes out here, it’ll be safe.”

  I decide to listen but tuck it under the seat just in case.

  “It’s not a long walk, I promise.”

  We fall into step beside each other. His arm bumps into my shoulder as we walk, reminding me how much taller he is than me.

  I have no idea what he could possibly want to show me way out here, but I’m curious.

  The trees begin to thin and, suddenly, we find ourselves on the edge of a cliff overlooking the whole world—or so it feels like.

  “Oh, my God,” I breathe, watching the sun rise over the ocean. Below us the shore is rocky and dangerous, not the kind that’s safe for the public. The rays of the sun seem to stretch out infinitely, hugging the globe. I look up at him and find he’s watching me instead of the magic that’s happening in front of us. “How did you ever find this place?” I ask.

  “My grandparents own all the land here; it’s on their property. I was out exploring one day and found it. I’ve never shared this spot with anyone, not even my brother,” he says significantly. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his board shorts. “I’ve spent a lot of time out here since we heard about T.J.” He shakes his head. “It’s the only place I feel truly at peace. Even the water isn’t entirely my safe place anymore, because it was something I shared with T.J. since we both liked to surf.”

  “Why would you share this with me then?”

  “Because when I look into your eyes, I see something I see in myself. Sadness, but a fighter too. But every fighter has weak moments, and when I feel weak I come here and let it out.”

  “Let it out?”

  He turns away from me, walks to the edge, throws his arm out and screams.

  His scream echoes around us, and I swear some birds take flight somewhere behind me.

  Suddenly, he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Come on, you do it too.”

  I shake my head.nbsp;

  “You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

  He holds out a hand coaxingly to me. I shove my fear aside and place my hand in his. He pulls me forward gently, entwining our fingers.

  I look down at our joined hands, surprised by how easily our hands fit together, his tan and freckled, mine pale and slender.

  He bends his head and my breath stutters when I feel his lips touch the shell of my ear.

  “Let it out, Willa. Let the world swallow your pain so you don’t have to.”

  I look into his eyes, and in my gut, I trust him, I trust him to let my guard down, to allow myself to feel vulnerable.

  Turning back to the water, I do what he says—I let it out.

  I scream.

  He screams.

  And the world swallows it whole.

  The sun has fully risen, and even though it’s early it’s already grown hot enough that I’ve taken off my plaid shirt and tied it around my waist.

  We sit on the edge, our feet dangling beneath us.nbsp;

  “What was it like?” he asks, breaking the quiet that surrounds us. “Being told your kidneys had failed?”

  “Honestly?” I think for a moment how best to explain. “I didn’t think or feel anything at first. I was too sick, I guess. I mean, I knew that was bad, but I couldn’t comprehend how bad. I didn’t understand I was close to death because I didn’t feel sick. Yeah, I had symptoms, but they were weird so I brushed it off. I don’t think it hit me until almost a year later, when I couldn’t find a living donor match, just how bad the reality was. Dialysis sucks. It’s hard on the body, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It’s not natural. Your body isn’t meant to go through what it puts you through. It’s draining on your body and your mind. I started to give up hope then, for a while.” I swallow thickly, remembering how I felt then, how alone and desolate my thoughts were. A tear falls down my cheek and I brush it away. “There were a lot of nights I laid in bed, the anxiety suffocating me, the stress of the dialysis, school, a life I didn’t want to live, and I thought about ending it all. About how easy it would be, and peaceful compared to everything else. I didn’t fear death anymore, I still don’t. I snuck downstairs one night and emptied a palm full of my pills into my hand. I stared at them for a long time. I thought about my parents, my sister, my friends, and a future that at the moment seemed to hold no hope. But, suddenly, I saw a small glimpse of light, of what I might get if I could be patient enough to wait for a transplant, and all the things I could do after. But only if I was strong enough to fight to live.” I grow quiet and look at him for the first time since I started talking. I expect to see judgment on his face, but I’m shocked to find respect instead, and maybe awe. “I haven’t felt suicidal since that day,” I add. “And now, here I am, post-transplant.” I spread my arms wide. “That small light I saw then is a blazing sky today.”

  He continues to stare at me some more, and then in a whisper so soft it’s almost as if he doesn’t mean to say it aloud at all, “You are amazing.”

  “I’m nothing special,” I argue. “I’m just someone who got dealt a bad card, and I’m doing what I have to do. I don’t have a choice.”

  “But you did, you just said it yourself. You thought about killing yourself. You could’ve ended it all, avoided it all, but you haven’t.”

  “That doesn’t make me special.”

  He blinks at me, his eyes scanning my features. “I think it does.”

  He stares at me so intensely I swear I can feel it all the way inside straight down to my core. I feel like I’m being x-rayed and he can see every good and bad thought I’ve ever had plainly laid out. But he doesn’t look afraid, in fact, he almost looks like he likes me more because of it.

  “When you said you’d lost someone …,” he starts and clears his throat. “You were talking about yourself, weren’t you?”

  I crack a smile. “Perceptive, aren’t you? Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

  He nods. “I thought so.”

  “I was fourteen when it happened. I had to mourn for a life that I no longer had. I can never get that naivety back, of not even considering the fact my body might fail me one day.”

  He takes my hand again, fitting our palms together. Both of us look down at them.nbsp;

  “I think you’re the strongest person I know.”

  “You don’t know me,” I protest.

  His eyes meet mine. “I know enough, and I want to know more.”

  I think back to that day where Perry ran into him outside the coffee shop, how he made me feel with one glance, and I think about all our encounters since.

  I became a big believer in signs after my diagnosis, and once you start looking for them and pay attention, they’re everywhere. I don’t believe everything is by chance, I do think sometimes the world places things in your path for a purpose.

  For some reason, I’m supposed to get to know Jasper.

  He’s supposed to be in my life.

  Of that, I am certain.

  “I’d like that,” I admit.

  “Good.” He stands and hauls me up.nbsp;

  He holds onto my hands, looking at me as my hair swirls around my shoulders from the breeze.

  “I need to stop in at the house before we head back, is that okay?”

&n
bsp; “At your grandparents’?” I ask stupidly, and he cracks a grin.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s fine,” I agree.

  We walk back to the Jeep and a part of me is sad to leave this place behind. I can’t help but hope I get to come again.

  The drive up to his grandparents’ house is longer than I expected. They must own a lot of land. Eventually, we turn up a gravel drive and bump along until we come across a decent sized house covered in blue siding with a red front door and red shutters. To the right, I can see a stable, and out in the field cows roam freely with no fencing. This place is so different compared to the beachy fun time vibe of Santa Monica.nbsp;

  Jasper parks the Jeep in front of the house and hops out. He starts up the steps and looks back at me.

  “Are you coming?”

  “N-No, I’ll just sit here.”

  He comes back down the steps and opens the car door.

  “You’re coming,” he says stubbornly.

  I laugh. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

  “Never,” he quips.

  I shake my head at him and slide my legs out of the Jeep. When my feet hit the ground, a small cloud of dust from the gravel and dirt billows up.

  Five steps lead up to a porch with two rocking chairs by the front door.

  Jasper doesn’t bother to knock, he doesn’t even pull out a key. He just puts his hand on the knob and twists and it opens right up.

  “Granddaddy?” he calls out. “Grandma?”

  “In here, sweetums,” a lady’s voice calls from the kitchen.

  I snort. “Sweetums?” I question him.

  He shrugs, clearly not bothered by the endearment. “My grandma grew up in the South,” he says like that explains it.

  We enter the kitchen and the first thing I notice is the explosion of cupcake and brownie pans everywhere.nbsp;

  Then I notice a tiny woman, barely five feet, standing on a stool at the island stirring yet another bowl of goodness. Her gray hair is clipped back, with several strands falling forward. An apron sits around her tiny waist.

  “What are you up to today?” she asks him.

  “Just swung by for a visit. This is Willa.”

  “Willa?” Her head whips up. “A girl?” she questions as her brown eyes collide with mine.

  Jasper and I laugh.