With This Heart(5)

Abby : What percentage of you wants to rape and murder me on the side of the highway?



I had to ask. I could have probably been more suave about it, but there was no point. He wasn’t actually going to come on my road trip anyway.



Beck : Are you crazy? The side of a highway is a terrible place for a murder. There are witnesses driving by. I don’t know how long it’d take me to find a dump site. And Lord knows, you wouldn’t be compliant. Plus, I’d never get past the cliffhanger you’ve thrown at me.

Abby : Sarcasm doesn’t translate very well over text, so I’m going to assume you’re serious and not text you anymore.



I didn’t put my phone away. I knew he was kidding, and even if he wasn’t kidding, his greenish swirly eyes were almost worth taking the chance on him being a serial killer.




Beck : Not texting me is a sure fire way to get to the top of my murder list… You’d be leap-frogging the guy in Chipotle earlier who skimped on my rice.

Abby : La la la… This is me not responding.

Beck : Okay, hold on. We just met and I’ve made two murder jokes…

Abby : Stay on topic…

Beck : Sometimes you have to trust people.



I snorted. Yeah, right.



Abby : You just answered my question with a cliché.



My phone dropped on the table and I left it there as I wandered around my apartment. I went to my refrigerator and browsed the bleak contents. I strolled through my room, rearranging things that I’d just placed thirty minutes earlier.

But the only thing I actually did was consider Beck’s comment and the way it had burrowed into my consciousness.

An hour later, I replied again with two simply words.



Abby : I know.



I said “I know”, but I couldn’t think of a single person I had been forced to trust like that. For the rest of the night as I laid in my bed, I tried to imagine Beck and I living like the gay, one part blind couple next door. They seemed really happy, albeit suffering from an alcohol addiction. They had a few cats and sometimes through the walls I could hear them playing music and laughing. That seemed like love to me.

…



The next morning, I woke up to a text.



Beck : When do we leave?



I didn’t answer. It was one thing to consider taking him on my road trip in the middle of the night when I was nearing unconsciousness and feeling lonely in my tiny apartment. In the light of day, clarity sank back in and I shoved my phone into my purse without a response.

I started that day like I did every day since the transplant; I took my temperature and then swallowed each of my anti-rejection drugs in one big gulp. I’d learned that trick early on. I would say I was pretty talented at being sick.

Once a week I had an appointment with my doctor to make sure my body wasn’t attacking my shiny, new heart. That’s where I was heading with my mom that day. I was staring out the window, letting my eyes lose focus on the homes flashing by, when I considered for the first time that I wanted Beck to go on the road trip with me. In fact, I didn’t want to go on the road trip without Beck anymore. I squashed the thought by turning the stereo up louder, but Mom quickly turned it back down.

“ You don’t listen to music that loud when you drive, do you?”

“ Um, no, not really,” I lied. The louder, the better. How can you feel the music if it’s not blocking out every other sound?

“ Abby, you can’t be distracted when you drive. It’s important to focus on the road and to drive defensively.”

You might be wondering why my mother was repeating all of this even though I was nineteen and should have been driving for three years already. Well, it turns out that when you have congenital heart failure, your heart can crap out on you at any moment and you’ll pass out, and you know, take out quite a few people heading south on highway - 71. So even though I had my license, I didn’t start driving until after the transplant two months ago.

“ We’re just doing lab tests today, right?” I asked, trying to turn her focus toward my health. It was her favorite distraction, and I was actually quite thankful to have her help 99% of time.

“ Yes, and then I think Dr. Pierce will do a quick physical like usual.”



…



I pulled my sleeve back down after they drew a few tubes of blood. I hated wearing a long-sleeved shirt in summer, but I always had to wear layers to Dr. Pierce’s office. I’d lost so much weight in the last few years, and even though the new heart was helping me put some of it back on, I still felt chilled to the bone most of the time. Good thing I lived in Texas. At least I’d warm up when we walked outside.

“ You’re all done. I think your mom is waiting out in the lobby for you,” the medical assistant offered politely, finally making eye contact. She was always the one to take my blood. The first time I went in, she couldn’t find my vein despite me being ten shades beyond pale. After that incident, she just took my blood and we averted eye contact until the very end. Humans are weird.

“ Oh, actually, is Alyssa here?” I asked, shuffling my feet awkwardly.

The medical assistant eyed me skeptically and then nodded. “Yeah, she’s on break though…”