Heart Sister

by Michael F Stewart

  But it’s really not stuff like that I feel like I’m missing. I’m missing out on things a healthy me will actually do. Like climbing onto my roof. Like investigating the alley behind the local bakery, or the huge storm drain that runs into the bay. That’s what I want to see. I want to run down a hill as fast as I can.

  To answer your question about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, PASS! Life’s too short, dude. Here’s a question for you: What is your greatest regret?

  I have something I want to do before I kick it, something I don’t want to regret not doing. Feel free to mock me, because I’m so beyond embarrassment. I want to kiss a boy. REALLY full-on make out—tongues and everything. Yeah. I’m seventeen and never had a proper kiss. Yeah. I’m oversharing. I can do that with you. Can I tell you one more thing? You can’t joke about this though.

  I’m scared.

  I’ll take a hug. I hear even virtual ones are still worth something.

  YHS

  I can’t separate the welling in my chest from the girl in the next room. I know I have to, or I’ll come across as insane, but all I want to do is…well…volunteer, I guess. It explains why I couldn’t sign my last note as heart brother. This feeling’s a bit nauseating after calling her heart sister for so long. I’ve had girlfriends before. One that lasted a couple of months. But I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to a girlfriend than I am with Becca. What if I tell her?

  I shake the idea from my head. If I told her, she’d tell me off. I wouldn’t have the star of my movie, and I’d likely be caught by hospital security and charged with trespassing and theft of medical records.

  Still, I need to help her. She’s scared. Scared of what?

  I creep back to her door.

  “Uh, hey,” I say. “Just heading out and wondering if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  Becca smiles. “Uh, no, Dappy. I’m doing really well.”

  I press. “I was here yesterday for your biopsy.” She scowls, and I rush on. “That sounds scary. The big…” I put my hand on my neck. “When’s your next biopsy?”

  She checks her phone. “Two hours, twelve minutes and five seconds…four seconds…three…”

  “It’s every day?”

  “No. Yesterday’s didn’t happen because of my freak-out.”

  That explains her fear! I clap my hands and try to restrain my excitement. “I have an idea—I don’t mean to be pushy. Sorry.”

  “Go on.”

  “I asked your dad what you would love, something wild. He said tigers.”

  “Okay. He was taking that very literally.”

  “How about kittens?”

  “No, only tigers. Kittens I’d prefer to skin and wear as a hat.”

  I stare at her.

  “I’m kidding!” she says. “But that’s really funny if—never mind, it’s an inside joke. Of course, kittens. What kind of serial killer do you think I am?”

  “Right, okay then.” I start pulling out my gear. “Will you try something for me? For your next biopsy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve got a kitten program.”

  “You promised, no more—”

  “You can play with kittens while they’re—”

  “While they’re shoving a hose down my jugular.” She doesn’t look convinced but then shrugs. “No promises.”

  “Awesome,” I say. “I’ll just leave it. Your call.” I set it up with my computer so that all she has to do is slip on the headset.

  She points her fingers at me like it’s a gun and fires. I pretend I’m hit and stagger through the doorway.

  Outside in the hallway, I keep my hands pressed over my chest. Then a familiar voice rings outs over the PA. “Code blue, room 212.” That’s just down the hall. Doctors and nurses converge on it as I sidle closer, hoping to slip past and out. But as I reach the room, it is strangely quiet. Doctors and nurses are standing around but just talking quietly. The heart-machine alarm is turned off. The boy lies unmoving. Where is the crash cart? The chest compressions?

  Nurses filter out. One wipes a tear from her eye and continues in my direction. “Excuse me,” I say. “What happened? Why aren’t they saving him?”

  The nurse gives me a compassionate smile and says, “Sorry, we really can’t talk about other patients.”

  “Well, how do you know for sure he’s dead even? I mean, with my—” I catch myself. “I mean, I hear there are all these tests they do, like pain, cranial nerve or ap…ap-something.”

  “Apnea tests?” she asks, and I nod. “Those are only in very special instances. When the patient is a potential organ donor.”

  “Wait a sec. If you want to be sure you’re dead, I mean dead dead…” She gawks at me, and I blunder on. “What I mean is, if you want to be sure you’re not going to wake up in your coffin underground, mistaken for dead, then—”

  “Seriously, you’re the least-funny clown ever, but yeah, register as a donor. The docs will make sure you’re dead if you ever have the opportunity to have your organs recovered.”

  She leaves me stunned at the exit. I hear the click of Dr. Lebow’s heels approaching the corner behind me. I hurry off the ward.

  On the subway I contemplate for a moment how wrong I was during Minnie’s testing. Their testing Minnie was the gold standard in assessing death. It wasn’t opportunistic. If anything, to be a donor was a final chance, a last hope, for Minnie to do something powerful. Opportunity, the nurse said. The opportunity to be a donor. Unlucky in life, lucky in death. I recall my rage. My demand that she breathe. My rage hadn’t been meant for the doctors. I was angry at Minnie. Breathe. For leaving me alone.

  I write a response to Becca but get stuck at the salutation. I can’t address her as heart sister anymore. I just can’t. Right now I don’t need my heart sister. I need Becca, and whatever we could be. For the first time in a long while, I detect a crack in the door to my future, and I sense her standing just behind it. I launch right into the message.

  *Hugs* *Virtual make-out session* What’s the right make-out word? *smoochie* *smoochie* This is the best I can do. Something’s definitely lost going from real to virtual, I think!

  Seriously, I’m sorry you’re scared. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have someone switch out a major organ. You’re so strong! Another *hug.*

  Every good story needs a reversal. Ivan the Vole, knowing he has no help, seeks to prove that the five-headed cat demon doesn’t exist and that it can only be a diving skunk that is stealing the kids. He climbs down the hole of certain doom, only to find himself face-to-face with…the cat demon! Except she doesn’t have five heads, she has seven! Dun-dun-DUN!

  But the demon doesn’t eat him. She wants a friend. Seizing the opportunity, Ivan recruits the cat demon—named Shelagh—to help stop angel-skunk and brings her to the surface, where they are met with needle-bearing mice! What happens next? Stay tuned to…you’re up!

  Answering your question: What’s my biggest regret?

  My mind flashes to Dennis’s disappointed face this morning, but that’s not it. That’s just my most recent regret.

  Never looking my sister in the eye and telling her I loved her. Never thanking her for all she did for me to make life easier and build friendships for me. Never saying goodbye to her. That’s the one.

  The more I fall for Becca, the less I can tell her. Family love burns like embers, and sometimes you can’t tell if there’s any heat left in the coals. But romantic love? I only know it from movies. A good director sets the scene. Condensation slides down a bottle of champagne. Music lifts and falls as fingers dance on ivory keys. Two gazes stretch across a room to meet, their hearts thrumming with the piano strings. If I want Becca to see me as more than a clown, more than a heart brother, I need to set the scene.

  What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?

  Of course, I can’t tell her mine, because it’s in progress right now.

  TWENTY–NINE

  I hop off th
e subway and for a second don’t recognize where I am or why I’m here. It’s too early for my stop. Then I realize that this is Dennis’s stop. My conscience has carried me here. Maybe it was realizing how wrong I was during Minnie’s testing. Maybe my letter to Becca brought me. I do know for what. To apologize. After all, he is my kidney brother.

  I’ll knock on his door, say I’m sorry and explain that Becca and I have a letter-writing relationship—it’s not like it’s love or anything real, but it’s helping me, and it feels personal. He’ll understand.

  I’m on the sunny side of the street, and without the VR gear weighing me down, there’s a bounce to my step for the first time in almost two months. This is the right thing to do. I push through the door to Dennis’s walk-up and climb the stairs to his apartment. As I near his door, I hear voices.

  So I text, I’m at your door.

  Inside there’s whispering and a sudden bang. The door before me creaks ajar.

  “Hey, Dennis,” I say, peering through the crack.

  His head is cocked, eyes down.

  “Hey, Emmitt.” I can’t tell if he’s hiding something or if he’s upset.

  “Sorry, you know, about earlier.” I’m taller than Dennis by a good six inches, and when I go up on my toes, I can see beyond his scalp. A green sheet lies flat on the floor. Furniture teeters against the side wall. Painting? I sniff the air and then continue, “It’s just that—my talking to Becca is really helping me. I don’t want to jinx it. I’m…I’m glad you followed me like you did.”

  “Okay, thanks. Bye.” Dennis tries to shut the door, but I stop it with the toe of my shoe.

  “Is someone over?”

  He flushes.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I whisper.

  “Trust me, she’s not my—it’s not a girlfriend.”

  “Then…” I’m genuinely confused. What could he possibly be embarrassed about? The only other person we really have in common is—wait. “Eileen’s here? The racist?”

  Inside, another door swings open to clack against the wall. A woman says, “The one thing everyone seems to forget in the world today is that people can change.”

  Dennis rolls his eyes and backs up, opening the door wide to reveal Eileen standing there.

  “It was supposed to be a surprise,” Dennis explains.

  “It is,” I say. But then I spot the green sheet hanging against the back wall, overlapping with the sheet draping the floor. A camera is set up. An expensive one.

  “I rented it,” Dennis says.

  “I still don’t understand,” I reply.

  “You didn’t have Eileen’s video. For your film.”

  I glance at Eileen, who shrugs. “I’m sorry to hear your mom’s ill.”

  “Why are you here?” I’d called her a “dead thing.” That’s a lot for her to claw back from.

  “You said I could do better. I agree. I’m here to try.” Her hair is up in a tight bun, and her face is just as pinched as ever, but there’s a softness to her eyes. “Turns out we’ve known each other for a long while.”

  “You two?” I’m catching up.

  “Insulin Junkie,” Dennis says. “We were on the same diabetes forums together.”

  “I’d—of course—pictured him being a much older, strapping white man.” Eileen snorts.

  Dennis says, “I remembered all the questions, so thought I’d…”

  After Becca’s refusal, I know better than to turn down an opportunity. “Well, what are we waiting for?” I ask. “This is fantastic!”

  Our high five cracks like a gunshot. Before he walks away, I grab his wrist. “Dennis?”

  “Dude.” He stares at my hand.

  “Sorry. I just want to say thank you. For all of your help.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  But we both know it’s not.

  EXT. CAMPFIRE - NIGHT

  Around the campfire, MINNIE (16) sits with EILEEN (early 70s). Minnie has her guitar across her knees and plucks absently at the strings without realizing she’s doing it. She grins at Eileen, face aglow, sparks flying into the night.

  MINNIE

  What’s your name?

  EILEEN

  Eileen.

  MINNIE

  If you were an animal, what would you be?

  Eileen eyes the camera as if it’s a snake.

  EILEEN

  A mule.

  (laughs)

  When I was little, I rode horses out on a farm. A working farm with other animals. I refused to ride any other horse but a white mare. The trainer said I was like a mule.

  MINNIE

  If I were to put you in a diorama, what would it look like?

  EILEEN

  Oh, I’d be braying at someone or something. I enjoy telling people where they are wrong, see. I’m only trying to help.

  (beat)

  My diorama would have a bunch of sad piglets, cringing in a pigsty as I tell them to clean up.

  MINNIE

  Cool. What would other people put in your diorama?

  Eileen’s squint tightens.

  EILEEN

  I know who I am. I know people think I’m a busybody. Unwanted. No longer useful, if I ever was.

  Eileen’s eyes shim mer with anger and perhaps shame.

  EILEEN (CONT’D)

  They’d have the same diorama, but maybe someone would have tied something to my tail. A balloon—something I can’t shake off. They’d mock me, see?

  MINNIE

  How can you make the diorama better?

  Eileen sighs. This is the tough one for her. Changing.

  EILEEN

  I don’t know. I can ignore the pigs and their mess. Why do I care? Maybe that’s just what pigs do? Maybe I can bray a bit less. Maybe there’s a horse in me, like I’m a pony who’s decided to be a mule and can decide to be a horse again.

  (swallows)

  This isn’t easy for me today, coming here, but...organs—I’ve looked into this. An organ doesn’t care what body it’s in. All the same stuff. All the same.

  Eileen’s eyes sparkle with emotion.

  FADE OUT.

  Silence stretches out. My finger rests on the Stop Recording button.

  “We done?” Eileen asks.

  “That was so brave,” I say finally.

  “Thank you to Minnie,” she says.

  “To Minnie,” Dennis agrees, clutching his side. “And to my organ twin.”

  Eileen winces, her lips a white line, and then she relaxes a bit. “To my organ twin.”

  I’m still filming.

  “You know what I think about sometimes?” Dennis says to Eileen. “It’s how my kidney isn’t really a kidney at all. It’s like the Triforce.”

  Eileen looks at me.

  “No idea what he’s talking about,” I say.

  “From The Legend of Zelda.”

  “Still nothing,” I reply.

  “Okay, not the Triforce then. My kidney and my pancreas are like diamonds the size of my fist. Seriously, think about this. Here’s what actually happened. I had my operation in Hamilton. Three surgeons from Hamilton got offered the organs by the National Transplant Organization. Using a super-complex algorithm in some high-tech operations center, they decided Minnie and I were a match. The surgeons drove to Toronto with a team of people, where they removed the kidney and pancreas. Evidently surgeons usually do their own organ recoveries.”

  As Dennis explains, my chest tightens again.

  “They packed the organs, and then they, not a courier but the actual doctors still, carried them to a helicopter or a waiting van, which rushed them all to Hamilton. In Hamilton the streets were blocked off by police as the organs traveled across the city, as if it was for the president or something. All of this timed to precision.

  “Meanwhile, a team of people prepped me. The same surgeons who recovered the organs performed the operation on me. At this point they’d been working for hours and hours. These people, with their years of experience and education, devote
d their day to me. After the surgery another team spent a week with me in the intensive care unit. And for who?” He stares at each of us.

  “See? They’re not a kidney and a pancreas. Diamonds. Life. And just like Eileen said, and like the Triforce in The Legend of Zelda, it gives life indiscriminately. Who am I? I’m just Dennis, some kid who wants to code software. I had a great-uncle who couldn’t bring his family over from China because the government had slapped a head tax on them. He was so lonely. Lived in a rooming house for two decades. He thought he had no value. But they put big honking diamonds in his great-nephew. Don’t you see how spectacularly crazy that is? That’s the most amazing thing in the world.”

  I swipe the tears from my cheeks. It’s more than Dennis’s story though. Minnie was treated like a queen too. I was so wrong. When Minnie arrived at the hospital, they spent hours trying to resuscitate her. They put her on life support. The doctors did their tests for death. We were given the option. Did we wish to have her moved to a funeral home, or did we want to try to save eight lives? Did we want to bury eight diamonds? Minnie was never coming back. In the ground those diamonds would turn back to coal. While the doctors were recovering her organs, they treated her with all the respect given to a live patient. Even though she wasn’t. She had died out on the street in front of that car.

  Dennis shakes his head at me, as if still unable to believe his luck. Eileen watches him contemplatively.

  “I have to run,” I say.

  “I’ll send you the video, okay?” Dennis says.

  As I close the door behind me, I glance back at Eileen, who looks at ease in the strange apartment.

  Walking briskly to the subway in the heat, sweat beading on my brow, I call Joey. He’s having a better day, and by the time I hang up, I’m feeling closer to my organ family than ever. If only I could stop thinking of Becca with a needle stuck in her neck.