The Other Side of Tomorrow

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “Willa Hansen?”

  The call of my name breaks me out of my thoughts and the three of us stand, heading to the door that leads us into the hallway.

  After getting my blood pressure and weight, we’re taken to a room with a table, four chairs, and your standard doctor’s examination table.

  I sit at the table, refusing to get on the exam table until I have to.

  Even now, I always choose to have a few moments, sometimes even seconds, to pretend I’m normal—to pretend I’m not the one here to sit on that table, that I don’t have someone else’s organ in my body.

  “You’ve been feeling okay, right?” my mom asks. “Taking your medicine like you’re supposed to?” She licks her top lip, a habit I’ve learned she only does when she’s nervous.

  “Yes, of course,” I say, mildly offended she’d assume otherwise, but I also know she gets like this every time we’re here, panicking that something is going to be seriously wrong with me. I’m sure, for her, having witnessed how sick I was in the beginning, it’s got to be scary thinking about me being like that again.

  She rifles through her purse and pulls out a piece of gum—another sign she’s nervous. She pops it into her mouth and chews madly, staring at the diagram on the wall showing how a kidney is transplanted.nbsp;

  Harlow’s eyes connect with mine and she gives a small shake of her head as if to say, “She’s crazy.”

  Minutes that feel like hours pass and my nurse comes in, asking the same standard questions they always do.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How much are you feeling?”

  “What’s your activity level?”

  “Are you eating? How’s your diet?”

  Over and over they go, and I shoot out my answers sounding like a robot as she enters each answer into her handy dandy iPad. She finishes up with me, saying the doctor will be in soon.

  I let out a breath, relieved this visit is almost over.

  Before my transplant, I didn’t have to come often which was nice, but now, the checks are frequent and while I understand the need for that, and am even thankful for it, that doesn’t mean it’s fun being here.

  There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Marks enters, spinning his pen between his fingers, which he quickly tucks behind his ear. He’s dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a button-down shirt paired with bright red Converse.

  “New shoes?” I joke, and he grins, pulling out the rolling stool.

  “I decided I needed more than yellow.” He shrugs and pushes his black-framed glasses further up his nose.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks me, and I sigh loudly. He chuckles. “I’m sure you’re sick of that question.”

  “I’m feeling great,” I tell him. nbsp;Which is true. “I have way more energy, I don’t feel tired like I did or achy. I feel … alive. I’m sure that sounds weird, because of course I’m alive, I was alive then and I’m alive now, but … I don’t know, I finally feel like for the first time ever I’m living and I believe there’s a huge difference between being alive and living.”

  Dr. Marks stares at me for a moment, a slow smile forming on his face. “Willa, you are far wiser than your eighteen years and I don’t know whether to be proud or afraid.” He chuckles warmly. “You’ve been through more at your age than most people deal with in a lifetime. That’s changed you—for some people they take that and change for the worse, being angry at the world for the cards they’ve been dealt, but not you. No, not you.” He shakes his head. “You’re quite remarkable.”

  “Thank you, I think,” I laugh, and he does too.

  “Hop up on the table and I’ll take a look so you can be on your way.”

  I sigh and do as he says, unbuttoning my shorts so he can peek at my incision and feel around.

  “Everything looks great. I’m happy with everything and your last blood work was excellent. We’ll have you stop at the lab before you go to do a draw today and when I get the results I’ll call you. If everything looks great I’ll want you back in another month, if everything is still holding steady then we’ll move it to every other month. Sound good?”

  I nod, more than happy to agree to that.

  “Good, good,” he chants and holds out his hands to help my short ass down from the exam table. “Let me go write up your orders and I’ll be right back with that—but first, any questions for me?” He looks from me, to my mom, and even my sister.

  “She’s all right then? The kidney is doing great?”

  He nods. “Everything seems to be as we like to see it. The kidney has taken to her body amazingly well.” He swivels his gaze to me. “But do not get any ideas and stop taking your anti-rejection medicine. If you stop, it will fail. Your body will attack and kill the organ.”

  “Trust me, that won’t be happening.”

  He nods and smiles. “I know, but I have to remind everybody. Some people assume it won’t happen to them.”

  I shrug. “Doc, if it wasn’t going to happen to me my kidneys wouldn’t have failed in the first place.”

  He laughs outright. “That’s true. I’ll be right back.”

  We’re all silent as we wait. I don’t know what it is but there’s something about this place that always seems to rob us of our voice. Like if we speak the whole place might come crashing down around us.

  Dr. Marks returns and hands me the slip of printed paper.

  “I’m sure you know where the lab is.” He winks.

  “You aren’t taking seventeen vials of blood from me today, are you?” I joke. That’s happened before. I nearly fell flat on the floor when it was over.

  He laughs. “No, not today, sorry.”

  “Thank God,” I mumble.

  “I’ll call you with the results,” he reminds me before leaving.

  My mom picks up her bag and the three of us head out to the lab across the building.

  There’s a line of people waiting, so I get in the back of the line while Harlow and our mom try to find a place to sit.

  As per usual, the line moves at a snail’s pace. Hospitals are severely understaffed. It’s ridiculous.nbsp;

  By the time it’s my turn, the lady working the front looks ready to cry.

  I smile pleasantly at her and try to, hopefully, brighten her day a little. I get irritated having to wait, but I also realize it’s usually not the staff’s fault. But that’s not always the case.

  Once she has my information entered into the system I’m instructed to wait my turn again.

  I sit down between my mom and sister, who are both occupied on their phones. I choose to read my book while I wait. Reading, for me, always passes the time way faster.

  Of course, I’ve reached one of the best parts when my name is called. It always happens, without fail.

  Slipping my bookmark into my book, I stand and follow the lady back to the small closed off room with the lone gray chair and loads of vials for blood.

  She consults her paperwork and begins printing off the labels and sticking them on the vials.nbsp;

  When she finishes with that she gets everything ready to stick me, tying a tourniquet around my arm and disinfecting the area.

  “This is going to hurt a bit,” she warns.

  “Trust me, I’m a pro at this.”

  I look away as she sticks me. It’s not that I’ll pass out if I see the needle go in, but I don’t like to see it.

  I hear the telltale popping of the vials going in and out. It always makes me cringe. I think it’s one of the worst sounds in the world.

  She finishes up and sticks a Band-Aid on my arm.nbsp;

  “You can head out the way you came,” she says, gathering up my blood and placing it in a holder.

  I make my way through the hallway back out into the waiting lobby.

  “I’m done,” I announce.

  “We’re done? Ready to go?” Mom asks.

  “Yep, all done.”

  “Thank God, I’m starving,” Harlow says, rubbing her stomach dramatica
lly.

  “I guess you should’ve thought about that before you overslept,” my mom grumbles, heading for the exit.

  nbsp;It takes us a little while to get back to the parking garage—since it was near the transplant center and we ended up at the lab but, finally, we reach the car.

  “What do you girls want to eat?” she asks, starting the car.

  “Food,” Harlow jokes.

  “Well, I’d deduced that much,” my mom laughs.

  “Honestly, I don’t care,” Harlow says. “I’m so hungry I’ll eat anything.”

  “What about you?” she asks me, looking in the rearview mirror at me. “Do you want anything in particular?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good with whatever.”

  She sighs. “I swear to God if I pull in somewhere and you guys say you don’t want it I’m going to strangle you both,” she jokes, pulling out of the garage and into the lane to get out of the hospital.

  Twenty minutes later she pulls into the lot of a restaurant. It’s one of those chains that has an assortment of all types of food, so I know exactly why she’s chosen it.

  “Sustenance!” Harlow cries and leaps from the car, running for the entrance as the two of us trail behind her.

  My mom shakes her head and mutters to me, “If I could only have a quarter of her energy I could take over the world.”

  I snort.

  “Come on,” Harlow cries, holding open the door and waving for us to hurry up. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  We step inside and get led to a table in the back. The lights are muted and sports memorabilia hangs on the walls and from the ceiling.

  Harlow buries herself behind the menu, moaning and groaning about how everything sounds good and she’s so hungry she knows she could eat it all.

  By the time our waitress appears we’re all able to place our drink and food orders. My mom might not have been complaining but I know she’s hungry too. It took much longer at the hospital than we anticipated, not to mention the drive there.

  My mom laces her fingers together and places her elbows on the table, looking across at me.

  “Have you thought any more about dancing?” she asks me.

  I shrug and let out a sigh. “Three years is a long time to be gone from dance and I’m eighteen now. I honestly …” I struggle to find the right words. “I don’t feel like it’s my passion anymore like it once was. Don’t get me wrong, I still love it and enjoy doing it for fun, but I want to do other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Nothing major, I’m still planning to go to college next year. But I want to save up some money and travel.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize how true they are. I want to see more of the world than my four bedroom walls and the ocean outside them. Now, thanks to this kidney, I have the opportunity to see the world and do things I couldn’t have done before. I don’t want people to say, “Poor Willa, her kidneys failed and she had to have a transplant.” Instead, I want them to say, “Wow, Willa saw, she conquered, and she soared.” I want to be remembered for living, not for hiding.

  “Travel? Travel where?” she asks, her brows knitting together with worry.

  I’m sure this revelation is a shock for her. I’ve been so dependent on my parents since this happened, needing their support to keep me from giving up, that I’m sure the thought of me leaving is scary for her.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling at the waitress as she drops our drinks off. “I don’t know where exactly. Maybe Japan,” I muse.

  “Japan?” she blurts. “Why on Earth would you want to go there?”

  “I want to see the Kawachi Fuji Gardens,” I explain. “They look magical. I figure it can be like my present to myself for finally getting a kidney. After everything I’ve been through I think I deserve a vacation, don’t you?” I joke.

  She sighs but smiles slowly. “Yes, I suppose if anyone in the world deserves a vacation it’s you. Your dad and I would pay.”

  “Thank you, that means a lot. But I only want you guys to help. I want to pay for some of it.”

  She nods. “I can respect that.”

  “You should take me with you,” Harlow says jokingly.nbsp;

  “You’re not setting foot out of this country, young lady. Don’t even think about it,” our mom warns with a pointed finger.nbsp;

  “Why does she get to leave?” Harlow grumbles.

  “Because she’s eighteen and legally an adult so I can’t stop her—but believe me that won’t stop me from worrying myself senseless.”

  “Oh, Mom, it’s not like I’m leaving today. Calm yourself. I don’t even have a job yet.”

  “Well, that’s a small comfort.”

  We’re saved from more conversation by the arrival of our food, and since we’re all starving we dig in and have no time to talk. It’s nice, being with my mom and sister. We don’t get times like this often enough and I miss it. So I choose to enjoy the moment, because moments like these are always gone too soon.

  Ping.

  Ping.

  Ping.

  I roll from my stomach to my back and immediately flop onto the floor with a small thunk. Thank God my mattress is on the floor or else that would’ve been loud and I’d probably have hurt myself.

  Ping.

  I hurry over to my window and lift it up, looking down at Jasper below with a small handful of pebbles cradled in his palm. He looks distraught, and if I didn’t know better I’d say he’s been crying.nbsp;

  “Are you okay?” I whisper-yell down to him.

  He shakes his head. “I need you.”

  I need you.

  Not I need to talk to you.

  No.

  I need you.

  I nod. “I’ll be right down.”

  I throw on a sweatshirt—I still haven’t returned his and I don’t plan on it—and shove my feet into a pair of flip-flops.

  Meeting Jasper at the front of the house, we make our same path around the side to the back, finding a seat in the sand.

  He draws his knees up, draping his arms over them, and lets out a heavy sigh weighted with pain and worry.

  I don’t say anything, not wanting to push him.

  It’s been a few days since we’ve met like this, and I’ve missed it, but I know he’s not here just to see me. He’s sad, visibly shaken.

  Placing a hand on his shoulder I rub it softly, feeling the muscle flex and pulse beneath my hand.

  He sniffles and looks at me with red-rimmed eyes.

  “My mom started cleaning out T.J.’s room today.” He lets out a heavy breath and looks away. “I didn’t think it would bother me this much, I knew it had to happen eventually, his room couldn’t sit there like some sad tomb but … this sucks. It’s like seeing the last of him erased right before my eyes. And it got me thinking,” he pauses, swallowing thickly. “I can’t remember the sound of his laugh. He’s only been gone a few months and I already can’t remember his laugh. I called his phone today, to hear his voicemail to make sure I at least still remembered the sound of his voice.”

  “Jasper,” I breathe.nbsp;

  The words I’m sorry are on the tip of my tongue, and while I am sorry I know those aren’t the words he wants to hear right now. I know I wouldn’t. Sorry doesn’t change anything.

  “Am I being stupid?” he asks, his voice cracking. “It’s only a room.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not stupid and it’s more than a room. A person’s room is a reflection of their soul, of who they are, it can’t be easy to see it disappear.”

  He clears his throat. “She says she’s not getting rid of anything yet, except clothes she’s going to donate, but the rest she’s packing away so even though it’ll be in the house it won’t be there.”

  “I can’t imagine how you feel, so I won’t pretend like I do, but I can tell you if this was Harlow, my soul would be crushed. She’s more than my sister, she’s my best friend.”

&
nbsp; He nods, looking back at the ocean.

  He grows quiet, so I do too, not wanting to urge him to speak if he doesn’t want to. Sometimes, we need a moment to ourselves but we don’t want to be alone, either. So, I stay by his side, giving him that comfort and quiet.

  nbsp;

  I jolt awake suddenly and my eyes blink rapidly against the blinding sun.

  Why is it so bright?

  I place my hands on my bed … no, no that’s not my bed, that’s definitely a chest.

  Why is Jasper in my bed?

  As my eyes adjust I see that I’m not in my bed, instead I’m on the beach. Jasper and I clearly fell asleep and now are bodies are entirely entwined together. Beside me he begins to stir awake, his hands tightening against me. He pauses, like I did, wondering why things aren’t right.

  He blinks his eyes open and looks at me. Up this close I see a small smattering of lightly colored freckles on his nose.nbsp;

  “Hi,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

  “Hi,” says another voice, but it’s not mine.

  Both of our heads jerk up and he look up to find my dad standing over us, his mug of coffee in one and the newspaper in the other.

  “I was on my way back from getting the paper and I wondered why the gate was open. Now I know.”

  Jasper jumps up, brushing sand off his clothes and then holds out a hand to help me up.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” he rattles. “We lost track of time and must’ve fallen asleep.”

  “Sure seems that way, but why were you even here?” My dad tilts his head before slowly bringing his coffee mug to his lips. “Hmm?” he hums when Jasper doesn’t reply immediately.

  Jasper looks from Dad to me and back again. “Um … I needed to talk to Willa.”

  “And this conversation was so important it needed to take place in the middle of the night on the beach? Interesting. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Dad,” I hiss. “Please. It’s obvious nothing happened, let it go.”

  “I’m not going to let it go, Willa. This isn’t okay with me.”