Tin Heart

by Shivaun Plozza

And that’s what does it. That’s the thing that pulls me out of the fog. Carmen looking so lost and confused and scared.

  ‘Why is everyone calling you Marlowe?’ Kari says.

  I look at Zan. Pleading.

  ‘Now,’ she says, every last brick in place. ‘Tell her now.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ says Carmen, and she says it loud enough that people nearby turn and look.

  An audience. Great.

  ‘I can explain,’ I say.

  Carmen folds her arms across her chest. ‘Then do it.’

  ‘My name isn’t Ray.’ Leo drops his hand from my waist; the air is suddenly cold against my skin. ‘It’s Marlowe. Marlowe Jensen.’ Each word tastes bitter and poisonous in my mouth. ‘I didn’t tell you my real name because I didn’t want you to know that I wasn’t, I mean, that I was . . .’

  Every part of my body recoils from the poison of these infected words. But I can’t stop now. I can’t press pause, can’t go back in time, can’t fix this.

  All eyes are on me.

  ‘I was sick,’ I say. I say it, but only to Carmen. ‘I was very sick. My heart wasn’t working anymore and I needed a new one. I was going to die.’

  She frowns at me. She doesn’t get it.

  The words pour from me. ‘I got a new heart and I was okay and I wanted to know whose heart it was but the family wouldn’t make contact and then I joined this Facebook group and there was a comment from your dad and it made me think your brother –’

  Carmen jolts back as if my words are electric.

  I reach out, trying to connect, but her whole body arches away from me. She looks as though she’s going to throw up again.

  ‘If Luis was my donor I just wanted to get to know him and maybe thank him somehow, so I couldn’t tell you who I was because that would upset you and making you happy seemed like the best way to say thank you . . .’

  She’s shaking her head, trying to shake loose my words.

  ‘And I liked you and I really wanted you to like me . . .’ I trail off.

  ‘Hang on,’ says Leo. ‘Someone needs to take a step back and explain what’s going on.’

  I’m waiting for Carmen to say something, anything, but she just looks at me, fighting to understand. I see her emotions as they cross her face: take it back, I don’t understand, it doesn’t make sense, how could you?

  There’s a knot of sickness churning in my stomach and I can hardly breathe for the shame, the fear, the guilt. We’ve slipped into a weird little pocket of frozen time. The party has stopped, there’s no one but us, and time is refusing to move forward. It’s going to make us hover in this moment, the worst moment of my life, and it’s going to make me stay here and feel every damn second of it.

  Finally Carmen turns to Leo. ‘I can explain what’s going on,’ she says, her words slurred with tiredness, with drunkenness, with anger. She raises her hand at me. She points. ‘She lied about who she is because my brother . . . My brother is dead. And she . . .’ She doesn’t finish. Her words are swallowed by sobs, silent, whole-body-shaking sobs, and her face is just raw, heartsick grief.

  ‘We should go,’ says Leo. He presses his hand to my shoulder, letting me know he’s right there. I can’t take my eyes off Carmen and I can’t move.

  ‘Marlowe,’ says Zan, quietly, softly. ‘Maybe you should go.’

  ‘She should never come back.’ Kari folds her arms across her chest. Her jaw twitches, taut and locked shut.

  She turns her face away from me. She can’t stand the sight of me and I don’t blame her. I can’t stand me either.

  As I wrestle with the front gate I hear the thud thud thud of someone running towards me. Damn this gate. Why won’t it open? It’s too dark for me to see how the mechanism works or even which side of the gate it’s on, but I keep pushing and pushing even though my palms are stinging and, goddamn, why won’t this gate open?

  ‘What the hell?’ say Leo, breathless behind me. ‘I was calling you.’

  ‘It won’t open. It’s broken.’ The gate clatters as I kick it.

  Leo reaches around me, brushing his arm against mine. He flicks open the clasp. ‘Pull, okay? You pull it.’

  He tries to pull the gate open, but I’m standing in front of it, too close, and I can’t step back because he’s right behind me. We’re all tangled, but it’s not the good kind of tangled, not like before when I was in his arms and he was kissing me. It’s the wrong kind of tangled. Everything is wrong.

  I push him out of the way and squeeze through the gate.

  ‘Wait up, Marlowe.’

  He grabs my arm, but I shake him off. I can hardly see where I’m going but I am not stopping. I need a place to hide: a cave on an island on a planet in a far-off galaxy.

  ‘Marlowe, wait.’

  He grabs my arm again and this time I can’t get rid of him. So I turn around and hit him in the chest. ‘Let. Me. Go.’

  ‘Okay.’ He steps back. ‘I shouldn’t have grabbed you but you’re going the wrong way.’

  I look around. It’s too dark to tell where I am. The only thing I know is that a few houses back, music and laughter is pouring out of an open front door and Carmen is hating me.

  I cover my face. ‘God, what have I done?’

  I keep waiting to cry, to weep, to sob, but nothing happens. I’m numb.

  I hear Leo shift a little closer, but he doesn’t touch me again.

  ‘I’ve got a car,’ he says. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  Even though my eyes are covered, I can see. I can see Carmen’s face. Her disgust. Her hate. Her sadness. I feel that image stretch and relax into every part of me.

  ‘Marlowe?’ Two hands gently rest on my shoulders, barely touching. ‘I’m going to take you to my car and drive you home. Okay?’

  I don’t resist. I don’t have the energy. I let him lead me to his car.

  He opens the passenger-side door with a key because the car is old. I get in and there’s the faint smell of petrol and cigarette and pine freshener. The car rocks as he opens the driver’s-side door and hops in.

  It’s dark and he doesn’t turn the engine on. I stare at the dashboard.

  ‘So when you said you had a broken heart . . .’ says Leo. He laughs, a sad, quiet little laugh.

  The car rocks as Leo turns in his seat to face me. ‘That girl. Carmen. She’s . . .’

  I press a hand to my chest like I’m about to make an oath. I touch the twelve-centimetre scar that runs between my breasts. But I’m not promising anything, I’m raging at myself for making such a mess of things.

  ‘This time last year we got the call,’ I tell him. I keep my eyes on the dash. ‘There was a summer storm and we were at home. Pip got the day off because I was too sick to even get out of bed. Mum was always letting Pip off when I was sick, so it felt like he was hanging round in case I died and it was his last chance to see me.

  ‘We binge watched a season of Project Runway and they were both so cheery – smiles and laughter, you know? But it was fake. I pretended I couldn’t see the way they looked at me. A last-chance kind of look.

  ‘Then the phone rang and everything changed. When Mum put down the phone she said there was a heart. Then she stared at the phone as if waiting for another call, for someone to ring back and tell her it was all a misunderstanding, a clerical error or a bad joke. But the phone didn’t ring. And Pip smiled – the first real smile I’d seen for a long time.

  ‘Things started rushing then – everyone moving and talking. Mum grabbed the hospital bag we always had packed and we drove to the hospital.

  ‘That was the best day of my life. And the worst.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Leo says. He reaches over but doesn’t connect. His hand hovers over mine, which is curled in my lap. He pulls back. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  He breathes loudly or maybe it’s just loud in the quiet of the car. In the space between his sounds I hear my own breath – short, sharp. We’re out of sync with each other.

  ‘I’m fine,�
� I say. ‘But ask Luis how he’s doing. Ask Carmen. Ask their dad. I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was that my body would reject this new heart. I was sure the operation would go wrong, that somebody would make a mistake. And I was sure we wouldn’t make it to the hospital on time and they’d give the heart to someone else. I was sure they’d got the test results wrong and he wasn’t compatible with me and my stupid rare blood type. And I was sure that I’d get some random disease the second I stepped out of hospital because my immunity was so low. You get used to looking for the negative in every situation. It becomes instinct. And there’s so much out there that can go wrong.’

  Someone drives past, headlights strobing through the cabin of Leo’s car.

  ‘I didn’t think it would be me that would stuff things up. Not a doctor, not my immune system, not a new organ. Me.’

  ‘Marlowe, I don’t think –’

  ‘Just drive. Please.’

  It takes an age for him to shift back around and for him to turn the key in the ignition and for him to drive me home in silence. It takes an age, but it’s still not enough, not enough time to forget Carmen’s face. There will never be enough time for that.

  ________

  For a one-year anniversary you’re supposed to give a gift made out of paper.

  Luis Castillejo, I could write you a letter. But Carmen doesn’t like my letters.

  How about origami? You liked monkeys so I could make you one swinging from a tree.

  I could make a poster. I would write your name in big letters and stick the posters up all over the city so everyone would know you – they wouldn’t know what you did or who you were but they’d see your name over and over until the words would imprint in their minds so deeply that your name would flash through their dreams. There would be a whole city of people dreaming your name.

  Except for Carmen, who already dreams about you so I think maybe my gift to you would make her cry.

  Guess I can’t stop dreaming up ways to make her cry. I can’t stop screwing up.

  Happy one-year anniversary, Luis Castillejo.

  ________

  There’s a paper crane on the end of my bed when I wake up. It’s balanced on my feet. I sit up and the crane somersaults, but luckily doesn’t fall off the edge. I pick it up: Happy Anniversary! is scrawled in my mother’s handwriting along one of the wings and there’s a love heart on the other.

  My heart twists.

  I think about wearing the maroon pinafore but decide on a boring-beige skirt and a washed-out white t-shirt. Invisibility is my friend today.

  Mum’s beaming when I head into the kitchen and she sings the first verse of ‘Marlowe’s Got a New Haircut’ at me while I pour myself a bowl of muesli. ‘I should get Pip to make up an anniversary song, shouldn’t I?’ She comes up behind me for a hug. ‘What rhymes with anniversary? Nursery!’

  I was going to tell her I was too sick to go to school today, but I can’t stomach the idea now that I see her face. I can’t worry her like that, not today. And I can’t stay at home with her because every smile, every squeal of delight, makes me want to throw up more. She runs her hands through my hair and keeps humming ‘Marlowe’s Got a New Haircut’.

  I wriggle out of her grasp and sit at the bench. I check my phone for messages but there’s nothing. Not even from Zan. Even though I didn’t expect it – and I know I don’t deserve it – that still hurts.

  As I’m trying to pretend the whole thing was a terrible nightmare, a text from Leo comes though: U ok?

  ‘Cursory,’ says Mum.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rhymes with “anniversary”.’

  I shove my phone in my pocket and shovel spoonfuls of muesli in my mouth. It’s my favourite nut-and-seed mix that Mum makes, but today it tastes like cardboard.

  Mum leans across the bench from me on her forearms. ‘What time are you coming home after school?’

  ‘The usual.’

  ‘Good. Plenty of time to set up.’

  ‘Set up what?’

  The thump, thump, thump of Pip bounding down the stairs two by two interrupts us. He skids into the room like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Only I don’t remember Tom’s character being dressed like a nurse. And not an actual nurse in scrubs and sensible shoes but a white-dress Red Cross kind of nurse with combat boots and a green wig.

  ‘We’re late,’ he says.

  I hope we never get there.

  ‘Artery!’ says Mum. ‘That rhymes. Is that too on the nose? I’m sure Pip can work it in tastefully.’

  Pip skips over to me and grabs my arm. ‘We’re late for a very important date.’

  I hope we slip down a rabbit hole on the way to school and never arrive.

  ‘I’ll walk with you as far as the shop,’ says Mum, grabbing my bowl and rinsing it in the sink. I swallow the last of the papery muesli and nod.

  I do my best to hold them up – brushing my teeth one at a time, tying my shoes in double knots, forgetting my books and having to go back for them – but we still get to school on time.

  I freeze at the school gates. I wish I was a superhero and my power was invisibility. I wish I still had long hair to hide behind.

  ‘Marlowe?’ Pip looks up at me.

  I scan the crowd hanging around before first bell. All those friendship groups and their walls of bags and the Feeling Tree with no room for actual feelings. But no Zan.

  One day. I only have one day to get through and then it’s the weekend. I have English with Zan period six, but I doubt she’ll be here anyway. She’s skipped school for lesser reasons. She’s probably still at Kari’s. With Carmen.

  ‘I think you’re sad,’ says Pip at my elbow. ‘I can fix that.’ Pip rumbles through the tatty brown doctor’s bag he’s carrying. It’s filled with books and his school lunch but probably not a cure for my sadness.

  He pulls out a book: Finn Family Moomintroll. ‘I’m using it for costume inspiration but you can have it. It will make you smile. Smiling is a cure for sadness.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not sad.’

  The first bell sounds.

  ‘Get to your locker, Pip,’ I tell him and walk away.

  By period three, I crack and send Zan a text: I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?

  She doesn’t answer.

  The only person who does send me a message is Leo: Just tell me ur ok.

  I told him already. I’m always okay. The apocalypse could come and go and I’ll still be here, being okay. Like in war films, there’s always that one background character you think will be first to die but somehow they make it all the way to the end. They even outlive the hero sometimes. Looks like Zan had it wrong. Leo’s not the secondary character; I am. Just a dull blur in the background of Carmen’s life. In Luis’ unfinished story.

  Luckily, I know all about being invisible. It’s mostly about being quiet. You just make sure you sit in the corner and don’t say a word, don’t even move, just let people forget you’re even there. I could survive the next two years like this. A quiet little mouse in the corner.

  I truly believe I can get through the day until I walk into English and see Zan sitting beside Cerberus on the other side of the room. Black jeans, black tee, black cap, black mood. My insides turn arctic. Her shoulders stiffen when she sees me.

  And then she looks away.

  I find the furthest corner to sit in and stare straight ahead. By the time the second bell goes and Laidlaw has walked in, I’m rattling with energy. I think I’ll explode.

  ‘I call this activity the Barometer of Truth,’ says Laidlaw from the front of the class. People are still settling in and whispering about the so-close-they-can-almost-taste-it weekend, and he glares them into submission one by one. ‘You’ll notice there’s a “yes” stuck on the wall on one side of the room and a “no” on the other. When I say a statement, you have to get up and stand on the side you agree with. Yes or no. There is no “maybe” on the Barometer of Truth.’

  People groan and I
don’t blame them. It’s Friday, period six, no one wants to think. Least of all me.

  ‘I will pick on you randomly to defend your position,’ says Laidlaw, ‘so choose wisely.’

  Laidlaw reads the first statement off a card: ‘Dr Frankenstein is the most sympathetic character in the novel.’ Then he stares at us. We stare back. ‘Move,’ he snaps. ‘Yes or no.’

  People are slow to get up. They look to each other for cues – ‘Are you going to choose yes or no? No? Okay, I’ll come with.’ Most people head to ‘no’, including Cerberus, Eddie Oro and Zan. I don’t want to be anywhere near Eddie and the dog-beast, but there are only a couple of people moving towards ‘yes’ so I can’t choose that side – the fewer the people, the more chance you have of being picked. I slip behind a guy called Farran on the ‘no’ side, and press my back against the wall. Zan is on my left with only a guy called Viraj between us.

  ‘Someone from the “yes” side,’ says Laidlaw. ‘Tamaya?’

  She blushes. She’s shoulder to shoulder with her friend, a short guy with glasses whose name I can’t remember, and it’s clear she has no idea what to say because she only chose ‘yes’ because her friend did. I peek around Viraj at Zan. Her arms are folded across her chest and she’s starting straight ahead.

  ‘He was trying to do a good thing,’ stammers Tamaya, and I feel for her. The blush covers her entire face, including her ears. ‘It wasn’t his fault the monster turned out bad.’

  Laidlaw turns to my group. ‘Someone want to counter?’ No one responds. ‘Anyone think that the monster is the most sympathetic?’

  Farran leans into the guy next to him. ‘I’m so bored,’ he whispers.

  ‘Nah,’ says Eddie. He’s somewhere up the other end where I can’t see him (thankfully) but I recognise his voice. ‘The monster’s not even a real human so how can you sympathise with him? Elizabeth, though. She’s hot.’

  Laidlaw rolls his eyes. ‘Right, next one,’ he says. ‘Creating the monster was a selfish act. Yes or no.’

  I steal a glance at Zan, but she’s not looking back.

  Most people don’t move sides; I still have Farran in front of me. But Viraj changes sides and suddenly I’m next to Zan.