Hearts
I was sprawled out in his arms sobbing. I didn't know why. I mean, we'd broken up over three months ago. I didn't even think he cared about me, yet here we were, at prom holding each other. My arms clung loosely to his tuxedo shirt. His were tight, tightly pulled, tight around my waist. I could feel my hips bruising, but I didn't ask him to stop. I couldn't. He had been with me since we met on that fateful day at the hospital. It was only right that he was there with me to ride it out. Especially after all he'd done.
We met in a hospital. He was there for his grandmother, and I for my sister. We locked eyes, looked away blushing, twiddled fingers, tapped feet, made odd facial expressions trying to avoid the other's glance. He, the braver of us from the start, came to me and asked if I had gum. Of course I did, and I handed it to him with a sexy hair flip and an eye bat that was supposed to make him crazy. All it actually did was initiate the mom stare from behind me. He noticed, smiled an iridescent, dimpled, perfect smile, and pointed behind me. I turned to see the disappointed look of my mother, with wet-rimmed eyes, and an unmistakable scowl. I waved to him, and followed her down the corridor of the heart wing.
"Really, Tomasina? You're making go-goo eyes at some boy while your sister is in the hospital suffering?"
I rolled my eyes. It was just a boy. There was no harm done. My younger sister, Biela, was laying in her hospital bed. I could see her from the window they had. I started to go in, but a short white woman was standing in the doorway. She looked like an old lady, like an overworked ox, like a rubber band a pull away from snapping. She held a red, callused hand up, stopping me from entering.
"Her transplant was successful," she announced,"But we're keeping an eye on her. The doctor said the immunosuppressants wore off too early. It looks like she's stable, but we won't know until later."
It was later. I had gotten the call an hour into my final prom. It was my mother, sobbing that they were at the hospital with Biela. Something was wrong. She'd felt tired and decided to take a nap, and when my mother went to check on her, she was burning up and her hands looked as though they'd been pumped with air. The doctor had given her the Organ Rejection Symptoms paper after she'd gone home, just in case. Now, nearly two months after she was released, my sister was being rushed back to the hospital. The teachers standing guard at the door wouldn't let me leave. Rules were rules. I just had to wait while my sister's body rejected what was keeping her alive and cling to someone I thought I didn't need.