We check out the athlete cadavers on display. Lots of muscles and sinews. Some exposed organs. “Look at how intricate the veins are,” I say. I like the look of determination on their faces.
We also see an ape. Apart from the head, which looks distinctively monkey-shaped, and the thighs, so much heavier with muscle than those of the human athletes, the rest of the body seems very Homo sapiens. A really good exhibit to argue for evolution. Max takes out his cell phone and snaps a photo of the skinned ape.
“You know you’re not allowed to take pictures,” I tell him.
“As long as I don’t sell them, nobody’s going to say anything,” he answers.
I look around. No white coats come rushing for us. “Gee, I wouldn’t mind having some photos of all this. It’s great.”
“I’ll send you some.”
Next up is a woman sitting, looking very relaxed for a corpse with her belly cut open. The opening in her body allows us to see her fetus. I don’t feel sad about the possibilities that ended for this person or her child. Even the first time through this exhibit, without Max, I felt detached. Which would have been a good thing if I could have carried out my plans for life. I wanted to go into research eventually.
Now, knowing that the real essence of me can interact with Kimberly on a beach, while my body sleeps on a hospital bed, makes me even more detached.
Still, I do feel a tiny prickle of sadness at the thought that I will never carry a baby the way this woman did. For that matter, I will never carry one in my arms, either. I didn’t even know I wanted to have kids till I looked at the thirty-three-week-old fetus. Perfect little toes, perfect fingers—only something obviously went wrong in its life. It was cheated of even more possibilities than I have been. I hear some squeals and turn around.
In the center of the room is an exhibit that attracts a crowd of our classmates. “Come on. Let’s check it out,” Max says.
We can’t make out what the draw is till we push closer. Morgan giggles nervously as I squeeze in beside her. There, crouching in front of us, a man and a woman seem oddly joined together.
“They’re having sex,” Gwyn says as though she’s disgusted.
“It’s not like it was their choice,” Emma answers her. “Somebody just posed them like that.”
“Why would anyone let someone do that to them?” Morgan asks.
“For science,” I answer.
“They donate their bodies. Look on that wall; the donor form is there,” Max tells her.
I frown. I would have donated my body to science if someone had asked me. Only I would have liked control of how I was displayed. For sure not like this couple in front of us.
Vanessa still drifts around, almost ghostlike. As we move away from the couple, she moves in.
Mr. Brewster directs us to a cart covered with a white cloth. It looks like some serving cart for a fancy dinner, only sitting on this tablecloth are organs.
“Go ahead. Pick one up,” the girl in the lab coat says. “Sarah,” her name-tag reads.
Max grins as he picks up a dark brown half-moon. “It feels like Plasticine when you’ve left it out too long.” He passes it to me.
“That’s a liver,” Sarah tells us. “What do you think this is?” She hands me an off-white slab of meat with a tube coming from its side.
I squeeze. It feels spongy, like a Nerf organ.
She gives Max one that looks gray and black. “Here’s a big hint. That one belongs to a smoker,” she tells him.
“Lungs,” I answer.
“Imagine breathing through it. Like inhaling through charcoal.” Max’s eyes bug.
Sarah raises her eyebrows. “Can’t feel great.”
Someone shoves into me. “This is just a stupid display,” Vanessa snaps. “My grandmother and grandfather smoke. They’re like a hundred years old.”
“Maybe the smoking only makes them look a hundred years old,” Max suggests.
I grin. “Yeah, smoking does cause wrinkles.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrow as she gives me her killer look.
Okay, bad move teasing her. She has no sense of humor. Still, how can anyone think that purposely inhaling burning anything wouldn’t be harmful?
Max and I drift away, looking at more bodies and organs and even the veins in a brain. Fascinating stuff.
Before we leave the exhibit, I head for the washroom, happy to have cruised through Body Worlds twice in one week (if you count my last lifetime). Safe and sitting anonymously inside a stall, I hear Vanessa come in crying.
“Not everyone gets lung cancer,” I hear Kierstead tell her.
“My mother smokes,” Vanessa sobs. “She’s done it since she was twelve. So she’s got those black lungs.”
I hear Vanessa blow her nose, and I flush and step out of my stall. Last time through this week, I might have stayed hidden in there till they left.
“Lung cancer isn’t the only problem smoking causes,” I tell her as I wash my hands.
“Shut up,” Kierstead snaps at me. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”
But as I pull the paper towel from the dispenser, I continue nonchalantly, “There’s emphysema and cardiovascular disease.” I saw them all hanging out at the far edge of the football field, Vanessa and her team members, puffing their lungs out. I know Vanessa isn’t only worried about her mom or her grandparents. “Really, Vanessa, you should quit smoking.”
“Easy for you to say; you’re a toothpick.”
“Take up jogging. Better for volleyball than smoking.” Too cocky? I turn to head out the door.
Kierstead steps in front of me. “You’re such a snot, you know that?” Bared teeth and wrinkled nose, her face looms ugly in front of mine, all her faked sweet silliness gone.
I speak into that anger. “Within twenty minutes of your last cigarette, your body starts to heal itself. Your skin will improve. Your breath will, too.”
“Think you’re so smart!” Kierstead shoves me hard against the wall.
I feel my ribs crunch. Amazing how much it hurts, considering I never felt the train throw me. I slide down. It isn’t the pain, it’s the fear of what will come that is the worst.
By the time my butt touches the floor, I think, no matter what, I’m not going to live this week cowering. So I take a breath and speak at Vanessa. “If your mom quits, her risk of heart attack will drop within twenty-four hours.” I peel myself away from the wall and off the floor, staggering to my feet. “After forty-eight hours, her nerve endings will repair themselves.”
Vanessa raises a fist and I duck around her, grabbing hold of the door handle.
“All I’m saying is that it’s not too late for any of you.” I quickly pull at it and slip out.
“Over here,” Max calls. “What’s wrong with you? You look funny.”
I hold my ribs. “Nothing. Just told Vanessa she should quit smoking.”
“Oh man, do you have a death wish or something?” He grabs my arm and drags me away quickly.
“No, definitely not. Dying is something I really don’t want to do right now.”
RETAKE:
Thursday after School
By the time we walk home that afternoon, the snow has turned crunchy again. The cold air stings our faces like a slap—even Jazz’s cheeks turn pink—and I find myself looking over my shoulder.
I’m supposed to help my best friend against those hard-eyed jocks. But not only did she flaunt her happiness in Vanessa’s face, I also gave out health lectures in the washroom. Surely, between the two of us, we bumped up our date with the volleyball team. Will they catch up with us at the overpass today instead of Monday?
Jazz doesn’t notice me speeding up our walk. She just prattles away in faster white-puff breaths about the exhibit. “Did you see they had the donor form on the wall display? Can you imagine wanting to donate your body after seeing the exhibit?”
“Yeah.” To study biology, I would have had to look at some donor’s cadaver one day. I frown as I think about all
the diseases I won’t be able to find the cure for, the discoveries I’ll never make. Before that day on the train track, I hadn’t even thought about dying, let alone donating any part of my body.
“It’s so dehumanizing. A real person becomes a posable statue,” Jazz continues.
“It helps educate the public. Wouldn’t you donate your body for science?” I ask.
“And have some medical students laugh at my lack of boobs? No way.”
“Think of it differently. Because of your body, some doctor will learn how to save someone else.”
“Since when did you become so noble? They’re going to cut the body up.”
“Worms are going to eat you, anyway. Or maybe someone will cremate you; there’s not enough room on the planet to bury everyone under a nice tombstone.” It’s time for Jazz to turn off the route toward her house.
“True.” Jazz stops for a moment, then touches my shoulder with her mittened hand. “Thanks, Paige.”
“For what?” I’m anxious to get out of the volleyball team’s range of revenge. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah. Because of you I can at least pretend my life is normal.”
It’s one of those mushy moments that I used to hate because I didn’t understand them before my train accident. Today, I really want to try. But I glance over my shoulder and see people in the distance. “You’re my only friend, too,” I tell her back. “Now can we just hurry home where it’s warm? We can chat later on Facebook.”
She grins and nods, and we go our separate ways.
I run the rest of the way home, hoping she does the same. Who knows when Vanessa might jump out at either of us. Phew! When I step into the warmth of our house, I hang up my coat, kick off my boots and head straight for the computer in the den to do homework.
Of course, I check Facebook first and see that Max has posted photos of Body Worlds. Too cool. I grin as I click on each picture and see, one by one, Max’s favorites. I download a copy of each to my hard drive. He’s even taken one of that intertwined couple. I click “Like.” In a few moments, another comment appears.
Jasmine Aggarwal: How did you take these? I thought no photos were allowed.
As big a nerd as I am, she’s on her computer the second she gets in the door, too.
I answer with two words—Cell phone—and then don’t think anything more about it as I finish my homework.
When Dad comes home, I help him make chili, crumbling up the little package of ground soy into the frying pan. “How was your science trip?” he asks.
“It was really great. Dead people sculptures. Would you donate your body to science?” I ask as I stir in the beans.
“No,” he says flatly as he dumps in a can of chopped tomatoes.
“What about organs?” I sample the chili and hold out the spoon for him to taste. “Wouldn’t you donate your heart for Mom?”
His lips curl upward only slightly. “I already have.” He brings the spoon to his mouth and tastes the chili. “It’s missing something. Pass me the cumin.” He shakes some in. “Chili powder.” He holds out his hand like a surgeon waiting for a tool. I pass him the chili powder and he sprinkles it in.
“So you would donate your heart? What about your lungs, your pancreas, your eyes, your liver and your kidneys?”
“Donating an organ for your mother is different. For you, too. Heck, I’d give you a kidney while I’m still alive.” He tosses a dash of hot sauce into the chili. “But for someone I don’t know …” He shakes his head and tastes the chili again, making a face. “A dash of cinnamon, maybe.”
I reach into the cupboard and hand him some. “But you know that I want to study biology, and I need bodies for that.”
“Look, can we not talk about this anymore?”
But we talk about everything, I want to argue. That’s what Mom always says. Only Dad rarely raises an eyebrow, never mind his voice. Today I hear an edge, maybe even a splintering in his words. If I ask anything more about organs, I think he might crack open. A touchy subject? Too bad, because I remember about Kim’s parents asking for donations to the Kidney Foundation at the end of her obituary.
When Mom gets home, I follow her up to their bedroom and ask her as soon as we’re alone, “Mom, you know I saw Kim Ellis’s obituary on the Net. Why did her parents ask for donations to the Kidney Foundation?”
Mom looks as though she’s trying to swallow her mouth. Painful memories? I wonder. Finally, she speaks. “Well, you know when you have a bacterial infection, the kidney is the worst place for it to hit really badly. Kim ate that bad hamburger and the E. coli attacked her kidney.”
“Makes sense. They couldn’t really ask for donations to the better hamburger fund, I guess.”
“No, but they could have asked for them for Sick Kids Hospital.” Mom seems almost angry for a moment. I want to ask her more questions but don’t even know exactly what answers I’m looking for.
“Look, Kim’s death was a real shock to us.” Mom pulls off her Foods R Good shirt. “We never really got over it.”
“No kidding. Dad doesn’t even want to talk about organ donation.”
“Well, then, just leave it alone, Paige.” She pulls on a lime green T-shirt with white handprints all over it. My handprints. I’d decorated it about three years ago for Mother’s Day and she still wears it. “Try to be sensitive to other people’s feelings.”
It feels a lot like that sting of cold air across my face on my way home this afternoon. I look at her sideways. “Mom, can I say one thing before we drop it?”
She looks me in the eye. “Go ahead.”
“If something should happen to me …” I stare back into those blue eyes that are so electrically charged and sensitive to my moods. I want to tell her Please, please pull the plug, because if I can’t live my life, I should at least be able to live out my afterlife. Kim and I should be able to move on.
Or we’ll be stuck on a beach forever.
But I would only be asking because I know that if fate plays out exactly the same way, I will be rigged to some kind of ventilator by Monday night.
Surely that’s against the rules—to ask to be released because of my prior knowledge. So I start again, on something I’ve always wanted but just never mentioned. “If something should happen to me, I want you to donate all my organs. My eyes, my lungs, my liver, my kidneys …”
She chokes back a sob then and looks away from me. That one word “kidneys” has upset her. Probably something to do with Kim.
“Aw, Mom. We’re talking recycling here.” I try to kid her out of her tears. “Just don’t let anything go to waste. That’s all I’m asking.”
Mom bows her head and holds the bridge between her brows with two fingers. Her shoulders shake.
RETAKE:
Friday Morning
Next day, the same snow flurries that occurred last Friday keep Dad back from the food terminal again. Mom and Dad decide to take the van in together and, if business is quiet, they will shut the store early.
Before they leave, I make sure to give them each a big hug.
“Mmm, this is nice,” Mom says. “To what do we owe this?”
“Growing up?” I suggest.
“Sometimes it has its advantages,” Dad says as he kisses my forehead.
If my previous destiny cannot be altered, there isn’t too much time left. I watch as Mom’s van backs out of the driveway and I wave. Then I swallow hard and head off, too.
Feathers of white swirl around me as I wait at the corner for Jazz. She must be running late. I turn to her house so we won’t miss one of our last walks to school together.
“Sorry, I slept in. Just be a sec.” She opens the door wider, and I step into the entrance of a whole different world, one that manages to surprise me all over again each time I visit Jazz.
The furniture looks large and overstuffed, bright green and red, with a huge leather footstool and a dark wooden elephant coffee table. This morning, the air smells like an exotic dinner.
Hints of garlic and cumin make my mouth water. A different exotic world.
Jazz dashes from her room with her backpack. “See you later, Mom,” she calls as she slips into her coat.
Her mother comes quickly to the door, smiling. With the same green eyes as Jasmine, she has the same warm brown skin, too, only on her it looks so much more foreign. Like all of Jasmine’s family.
“Don’t forget, I’ll be home late. Paige and I are helping Mrs. Falkner in the library today.”
“It is very nice of you girls to help your teacher so much.” She tips her head and Jazz brushes her lips across her cheeks. “And, Paige, you will be coming to Beena’s party on Saturday, yes?”
Last time her mother invited me, I made the excuse that I needed to help my parents in the store. Seeing all that extended family partying could be depressing. This time, I smile. “Thank you, yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Very well. We will be seeing you.” Her mother continues to watch us as we step to the end of the walkway, then waves from the window.
Because of the snow, the cold has cracked open to a softer warmer temperature. I look up at the sky. White everywhere. Beneath our boots, the snow feels wet and clumpy, perfect for snowballs or short-lived snowmen.
At the end of the block, I look back, and Mrs. Aggarwal is still there. I can just make out her bright red sari.
“They don’t give me a minute of freedom,” Jazz complains through gritted teeth, picking up some snow and forming it into a ball.
“She’s so proud of you,” I say. But I know firsthand what that kind of adoration does to you. It weighs you down with expectations, makes it hard to breathe. Makes it hard for them to pull the plug and let you give up your breath. I try not to think about how this all will end on Monday. The closer it draws, the more difficult that becomes.
“As long as I do everything her way, she’ll stay proud.” Jazz throws the snowball hard onto a stop sign so that the O is filled in with white. She pauses to admire it, then turns to me. “Thanks for backing me up.”
Best Friends Through Eternity Page 7