Heart Sister

by Michael F Stewart

  Joey looks up, surprised.

  JOEY (CONT’D)

  Lifting me. One might be putting another bottle in my hand. They’d be hugging me.

  DENNIS

  Whoa! You know what? I bet I’d be this sick gamer to them. They don’t know me, not physically. The ones who did, they’d see me as a kid in a hospital bed. But that’s over.

  Eileen’s squint tightens.

  EILEEN

  A busybody. Unwanted. No longer useful.

  Eileen’s eyes shimmer with anger and perhaps shame.

  BECCA

  An artist-warrior on a dragon. Triumphant and standing over her magic stone. That’s what I’ve always shown people.

  Becca smooths out her hospital gown.

  EMMITT

  An organ transplant is a near—death experience. I don’t know another way to put it, but Minnie and all the doctors and nurses are like angels, offering another chance to change.

  MINNIE

  How can you make the diorama better?

  GERRY

  When I see something new, learn something I never knew before, that’s a good day. I don’t think I can fix the diorama, not the one others see. Just mine. There’s a reason why I chose the mongoose as my animal. They’re immune to snake venom. Eat cobras for breakfast.

  Gerry’s jaw flexes, much as it did on a mission, just before he relaxed to take the shot.

  JOEY

  I need to get out from the hugs, right? I need to push myself up onto my knees. Brush myself off. Stand. Show the two little ferrets I can be strong myself.

  Dennis’s chin tilts upward.

  DENNIS

  Orangutan-me is gonna hang from the tree branches and swing, and collect durian fruit or termites or whatever they eat, and use my super-amazing fingers to code even faster. And when I’m done, I’m gonna donate my organs! And if I don’t die when they’re still useful, I’ll give them money, because every moment from here on out I owe to the kind stranger who gave it to me. I owe you.

  Dennis laughs.

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

  EILEEN

  Maybe I can bray a bit less. Maybe there’s a horse in me, like I’m a pony who decided to be a mule.

  Becca smiles sadly.

  BECCA

  I’m just starting my quest. Now…unchained.

  Tears stream down her face.

  EMMITT

  Minnie’s here still.

  EILEEN

  Thank you to Minnie.

  DENNIS

  In me they put big honking diamonds. Don’t you see how spectacularly crazy that is? That’s the most amazing thing in the world.

  EMMITT

  We celebrate quick-thinking people who save others in a moment of crisis. But people who, in the fog and agony of grief, can think beyond themselves despite crippling pain? That’s the ultimate kindness. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t. You did. You’re the heroes. It’s what Minnie wanted. And it’s BIG. So big.

  (beat)

  She’s a catalyst for change, for love, for determination, for family, improvement, for new beginnings, and that’s all she ever wanted. But don’t take it from me…

  MINNIE

  I’m Minnie. A unicorn.

  My diorama has this cool, smart owl of a mom, and a bear dad just crazy enough to inspire me. I’m a twin to my best friend, a fierce and loyal mouse named Emmitt. I can make the diorama better every day by giving it my all. That’s all it can ask of me, and all I can ask of myself.

  Minnie grins through the fire.

  FADE OUT.

  My breath comes in short gasps, and I taste blood on my lip from biting down on it. I’m so proud of her, but I can’t shake the feeling that she jinxed herself somehow. That the universe took her oath too literally. I will change the world by giving it my all.

  I pull off the headset, my hair sweaty and tousled, my cheeks tear-soaked. I place the headset on the shelf, beside the turned-down picture, the one of Minnie and me cliff jumping. My fingers brush the frame. I can’t flip the picture. Not yet. I can watch Minnie’s VR all day, but I can’t look at a static image of her.

  I bend to the butcher paper and shade in all the colors of Becca’s rainbow heart. I’m not fully satisfied with the video. It’s not the syrupy, positive piece I’d first imagined—not Disney’s version of Minnie’s impact. But I think it’s the amount of cutting I needed to do for Becca’s part that bothers me the most. Maybe it’s the steroids, but something isn’t right. I feel like I left too much of her on the cutting-room floor.

  I think I had to for my mom’s sake.

  I take a final look at the drawing of Minnie and her organs, and after a long blink I roll her up, fold her in half and slide her into my hockey bag with the rest of my superhero memorabilia.

  Then I take my headset, the weathered laptop and the hand controllers into the living room, where I plug it into the TV. It’s time. It’s my all.

  THIRTY–THREE

  I set it all up before I bring my mom to the living room.

  “Mom, I have something I’d like you to watch.” She has never been keen on virtual reality because it makes her nauseous. “It’s short, and there isn’t any movement involved, so I think you’ll be okay.” Her face remains flat. “You’ll really like it. You need to watch this, okay?”

  When I bring the headset toward her, she doesn’t resist. “I need to warn you though. Minnie is in it. I know it will be hard. But I hope this makes you sort of sad-happy, okay, Mom? Okay?”

  I ease her onto the couch and grip her hand in mine.

  “Here we go.” I swallow and hit Enter VR, and my mom joins the campfire.

  “This summer Minnie sat me down at the campfire and asked…” VR me begins, but I’m only half listening. As the experience starts, my mom shakes her hand free of my fingers and reaches up to pull the headset tighter to her scalp.

  “…here’s Minnie with her first question.”

  My mom’s fingers tighten on the headset, and her legs swing off the sofa.

  I start to grin as she takes a couple of stumbling steps toward the TV. She’s up, wobbling like a fledgling on an unsteady test flight. Her face holds more hope than I’ve seen in weeks. Her back and knees start to bend, and I realize she’s not walking toward the TV. No matter who is talking, she focuses on only one part of the scene.

  “Minnie,” she whispers.

  “Mom, it’s just a video,” I say.

  But she’s not listening to me. She’s listening to her daughter.

  “If I were to put you in a diorama…” I watch Minnie on the TV.

  My mom kneels before virtual Minnie and reaches out.

  But her hands pass through her daughter. I know they are passing through nothing, and beneath the headset that covers her eyes and upper cheeks, my mom’s mouth twists.

  “Minnie!” she shouts and wraps her arms again and again around nothing at all. “Minnie!”

  “Mom!” I shout to break through, but she’s not here. I unplug the VR gear, blinding her.

  “No!” she screams.

  She gropes the air, hitting the TV, which rocks on the wall. Her fingers pull off the headset, and her eyes search the room.

  “Where? Where is she?”

  And I realize something is very wrong. Her eyes are wild, unfocused. She gets to her feet and runs, me trailing, to Minnie’s bedroom.

  “Minnie?” she calls as she opens the door.

  I can’t help but listen for an answer too.

  Once inside there’s a moment of peace on her face. Minnie’s room is just as it’s always been, so everything must be fine. Then she runs a finger across a shelf.

  “Why is it so dusty in here?” She paws at the shelves, knocking over mice and squirrels, scattering nuts. “Minnie usually keeps this all so tidy. Where’s your sister, Emmitt?”

  I try to be strong as I answer, but my voice cracks as I say, “She’s dead, Mom. She’s dead.”

  I’ve made a terr
ible mistake. My mom was not ready to hear about Minnie living on, giving life to others. She collapses to the floor, sobbing.

  Later, when my mom’s back in her bed, looking worse than ever, my dad tries to comfort me. “It’s okay, Emmitt. You didn’t know. She’ll come around. The doctor said the medications take at least a week or two to begin having an effect.” But I can’t help but wonder if he’s staying home from the shop today to protect her from me.

  I leave them together and trudge alone to my bedroom. I text Dennis. The video didn’t work. My mom freaked out.

  He sends a sad emoji, then: Can I see it?

  Sure. How about we give it a day though.

  Eileen will want to see it too. We all will.

  I know.

  There’s a pause during which I can practically feel him wrestling with whether to show up at my door. Finally: Tomorrow then. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  They will all want to see it—Gerry, Eileen, Dennis, Joey.

  Joey.

  Crap, I totally forgot to call Joey last night. I spent all my time editing the video. I punch in his number immediately, but it goes to voice mail. My inbox has no messages from Becca. I debate whether to send her one, but all I want to talk about is my mom and the video and how it didn’t work. Maybe I can go see her.

  When I walk back into the kitchen, I spot my dad cutting onions. He wears goggles to deal with the stinging mist. With the knife and the goggles, he looks like a guard.

  “I’m heading out,” I say, and I note the relief in his shoulders. “Will you watch the video I made of our organ family?”

  “Maybe,” he says. I realize he’s been crying even with the goggles on. “I’m not sure I’m ready for it either.”

  Back at the PICU, as I approach Becca’s room, I feel unarmed. I’m in my clown getup, but Dappy doesn’t have his VR system today. I left it at home with my dad, hoping he’ll watch the video and have a different reaction from my mom’s. Maybe.

  “Hiya, Dappy!” Dr. Lebow waves, and I grin back. A grin that falls away as I reach Becca’s doorway. Her dad’s out, and Becca is sleeping. I sigh and turn away, let down.

  “Hey there,” someone hisses.

  I glance back into the room, uncertain where the voice is coming from. Becca’s eyes are slits. “Hey?”

  “Come on in,” she says. I do, and the hint of a smile creases one of her cheeks. “I’ve been pretending to sleep.”

  “You are a great actor.”

  I sit beside her. The bed is raised higher than usual, and she glances down at me.

  “They raise it for sponge baths,” she says.

  “And you want me to—”

  “Uh, no, I’m only saying it’s so the nurse doesn’t have to bend.”

  “Why are we whispering?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to talk to people.”

  “You’re talking to me.”

  “You’re different.”

  We lapse into silence for a second. “Why don’t you want to talk to people?”

  From the corner of one eye, a tear makes a break for it across her temple. “That’s why.”

  “Sorry.” She doesn’t want to talk for fear she’ll cry, but I’m not sure what I can say. Her father did explain that the steroids cause mood swings.

  “I’m sorry. I’m scared,” she says.

  “But the biopsy is done, right? If not, I can bring my headset again. I left it at home so my parents could use it.”

  “It’s not the procedure,” she replies, eyes still shut. “I’m worried I won’t get life right.”

  “You’ve done awesome so far,” I say, waving an arm at the wall. “Your art. Your—”

  “Can you go to a party and dance, or bang on some drums, or hop on a bike and go to a friend’s house just because?”

  I laugh. “You make it sound so hard.”

  “I’m serious. Those things are hard for me. When I was learning to play the piano, my parents wouldn’t let me play Bach. Said it was too vigorous.”

  I keep forgetting how sheltered a life she’s led.

  “This is the end game for me,” she says. “I’ve got no more excuses.”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s also the start, right?” I reach up and grip her hand, and I tense when she threads her fingers with mine.

  “I’ve always known I had a heart defect, but the problems really started when I was nine. I had arrhythmia—atrial fibrillation. Basically, my heart went nuts. Two hundred forty beats a minute, and it wouldn’t slow down.”

  With her hand beneath her gown, she makes the fabric flutter. It reminds me of a sparrow having a bath. “I could watch it, just like this. I was so scared. But the doctors explained that they could put in a pacemaker. So we did. I wasn’t scared anymore.”

  “Well, that’s good.” I’m distracted by the feeling of her finger stroking the back of my hand.

  “For a while, yeah, but I still had problems, so a couple of years later, they had to give me an ablation. That’s where they fry some circuits on your heart to stop it from beating when it shouldn’t. Another surgery. More school missed. Time. A couple of years after that, I needed a new type of pacemaker—four leads, four wires, another surgery. Every time I started to decline, we had options. Solutions. I wasn’t scared.”

  “But then you got a new heart.”

  “Not quite. The doctors here are pretty good at keeping me alive. After I went into heart failure, they put in an LVAD—a left ventricular assist device. They plug in half an artificial heart that does the pumping for me. I had a backpack with a battery I had to keep charged.”

  “Whoa.” Now I understand what she meant when she said about wanting to feel unchained.

  “Yeah, pretty bad, huh?”

  “I sometimes forget to brush my teeth.”

  “You’re right, same same.” She grips my hand. “Did you forget today?”

  “My teeth?” I raise an eyebrow. “No.”

  “Good, good,” she says almost to herself. “Well, I never forgot to charge. But it was like shackles. Couldn’t do anything, not that I felt like doing anything. Climbing stairs was challenge enough.”

  “But I don’t understand. Now you have a heart, so why are you scared?”

  Her eyes water, but she nods. “If this doesn’t work—” She pauses. “If this doesn’t work, there might not be another one, or I might never qualify for another one. They only last fifteen years on average. Did you know that?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Another tear.

  “Becca, you know, in a way you’re just like the rest of us.”

  She stares at me, confused.

  “Yeah, you’re just a girl with a heart. You could get cancer. You could be hit by a car. We all live with these fears.”

  “Just a girl with a heart, huh? Fifteen years on average, remember?” She touches her chest. “As for cancer, these drugs increase my chances by a lot.”

  “So you’re a little different. You going to let that stop you?”

  “You sound like a friend of mine.” She blinks away another tear and smiles. “He dared me to do something.”

  “Really. And what was the dare?”

  “It’s a favor I’d like to ask.” We’re whispering again, and her grip is so tight.

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you take off your makeup for me?”

  I frown. “Your friend dared you to ask me to take off my makeup?”

  She chuckles. “No, but I want to see your real face when I ask you.”

  I hesitate.

  “Come on, this is so the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

  But Becca doesn’t realize what she’s asking me to do. I’ll need to sneak out of here without being seen. But I think I know where this is headed. My heart seems to trip over itself, and I wonder what else arrhythmia could be a symptom of. “Okay.” I release her hand, missing her touch already.

  At her sink, I use a towel to scrape off the makeup and then wash my face with w
arm, soapy water. When I’m done, I turn.

  “Not bad. Now come over here,” Becca says. “Hurry—my dad will be back soon.” She uses the buttons on the side of the bed to raise her back and lower the whole thing at the same time.

  For a moment we listen to each other breathe.

  “Will you kiss me?” she asks. “I’ve never really kissed anyone.”

  I hesitate. “Me?” I glance to the door, feeling exposed. An imposter.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” She rolls her eyes, and her expression swings from expectation to annoyance.

  “It isn’t just the steroids talking?” I blurt.

  “What? No!” The bed begins rising again. “It’s okay. Forget about it.”

  “No, no, I just don’t want you to regret…it being with me.”

  “You’re cute and all, but you’re right, it’s not like I’m in love with you or anything.”

  “I’ll do it.” I step closer.

  She’s shaking her head, the bed still rising. “I don’t want a pity kiss.”

  “Do you want a kiss or what?” I press close and smell her. Beneath the antiseptic smell, the caustic detergent used on the sheets and the strange basil aroma of her hair, there’s another scent—oil pastels and orange lip gloss.

  “Not anymore,” she says and turns to face the wall.

  “I’ll kiss you,” I say.

  “And then I’ll hit the nurse call button.”

  “Only if you want a kiss! You asked me.” She says nothing. Her shoulders begin to shake. “Are you crying? Why are you crying?”

  “I rescind kissing consent.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She rolls around to face me, eyes shimmering, lips full, face hot, and she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and I want to kiss her as much as I’ve ever wanted anything, and I lean in, gently turning my head as I do.

  “My heart is rejecting,” she whispers when I’m close. “That’s why I’m crying.”