When I Die [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 22: Christmas

When I was a child, I'd always been overwhelmingly emotional. I found a caterpillar on a leaf outside my home when I was five, and I stuck him on my finger, carrying him inside. At first, I stuck him underneath the cap to my lava lamp on my desk. I found a glass bowl that my dog at the time drank out of, and put it over him so I could watch him. I named him Cat and brought in leaves from outside, bunching them up in my tiny, chubby hands. I stuck them in the glass for Cat and tried to make him feel at home. Two days later, I noticed Cat wasn't moving. When I realized that Cat was dead, I cried for two days straight. I was in hysterics, screaming, red face, wracking sobs, the whole nine yards. My mom told me then, bewildered by my outburst, "it was only a caterpillar!" and I screamed at her, hiding in my closet.

The emotions took me down often. When I went low, I went way way low. Often, waiting on my transplant to either work or not, waiting for either a yes or no, I thought about all the times I'd been so sad. After the caterpillar incident, my mom and dad took me to several psychiatrists and counselors to decide just what to do with me. They tried everything, from yoga to Mommy and Me to karate, new diets and then, as their final resort, medication.

It got particularly bad during high school, and every time I got overwhelmed or upset or angry, I would remember that I wasn't supposed to be. I tried to repress my emotions a lot. My dad would tell me to "man up!" Eventually I imagined what it'd be like if I wasn't here. I thought a lot, laying there, waiting on my blood vials to come back about how little I knew about death before. I thought about depressed me, before cancer, and I wanted to scream.

My sophomore year, I would lay awake almost every night, staring at the ceiling, and wonder about how much easier it would be to die than to face the crushing weight of living every day. But now, now, death was staring me straight in the face... and what? I was afraid. I was a coward, I'd always been. I'd always been afraid of what I didn't know. I didn't kill myself because I was scared of what happened next, I was still afraid now.

                  

I thought about this more and more two weeks after the transplant. I was in hell. I was sweating, my body was burning. I felt like I was in flames. My mom and dad placed ice packs around my body in an attempt to keep me from frying my brains. I'd never gotten Ophelia's number, and I wondered about her some nights. I guessed she'd been released. But one night, after my fever spiked, and I passed out, she knocked on my door when I woke up.
When she walked in, I was so surprised to see her. She was just as beautiful as ever.
"Leo, how are you?" She smiled.
I smiled back, though she couldn't see through my oxygen mask. "Not great," I admitted.
She sat down beside me, and slowly moved her hand over towards mine. "Tough transplant, huh?" She said.
I nodded, and chuckled because that was understatement of the year. My head was throbbing, and I felt like my body would burst into flames.
She leaned forward, pushing her jet black hair out of her eyes.
"Leo... What's keeping you fighting?" Her question took me by surprise. I looked at her, brows pulled together.
"Well, I don't want to die," I answered, "I'm not ready." She nodded.

I sighed, "why can't you ever come visit when things are good? I was just out of the hospital... I was doing well, I wish you saw me then," I complained. She smiled, but didn't say anything. She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "I'll be back to see you again soon, I'm sure." She said.

She confused me then but I just nodded. She left then, and I looked around. I was alone now. I wondered where my mom had gone. I closed my eyes then, nodding off within a minute.

When I woke up, I was shocked awake by cold compresses being stuck to my neck and belly.
"Good, good, okay, he's down to 101," a voice said.
When my vision became clear, I realized there were several nurses surrounding me, hustling to get me settled. My mom was on the side, tears filled her eyes. She seemed relieved to see me awake.
I wasn't in a lot of pain, but I was burning up.
They told me my fever spiked to 105 degrees, that they'd given me medicine to bring it down, and that I should thank my lucky stars it worked when it did. The doctors assured us that this was just my body adjusting to the transplant, but they still had no word on whether it worked or not.

I was surprised, three days later, when they cleared me to go home, in the care of my mom and dad. It was Christmas Eve.

             I'd never felt this way. It was like all the energy was sucked from me, like I couldn't move a muscle without falling over. Angela wheeled me out to the car and I stood, shakily, stepping into the car. I fastened my seat-belt and then let out a deep sigh. I was surprised at how exhausted from that tiny bit of movement I was.

I wondered if I was "going home" to live or to die.

My mom drove me home, my dad was, of course, working. When we pulled up in the front yard, Aaron came out to the car and all but held my entire body weight as we walked through the yard. Lara was on the porch with Baby Leo. He was getting so big, I thought to myself. I was missing it.

"You good? I got you bud," Aaron assured me, holding me up.

One leg, then the other, one leg, then the other, like a baby.

By the time we got inside and upstairs, I fell into my bed and immediately fell asleep. I had no more left to give.

The next day, Christmas morning, I woke up early. My mom helped to clean me up and Aaron helped me get dressed. Such small chores took such great energy that I didn't have. I was so worried this was going to be the rest of my life, however long.

My mom made cinnamon rolls for us all, and I sat in my dad's recliner, watching Hattie open gifts from Santa. She was amazed. I loved to watch her laugh, she was so thankful for everything and it was so refreshing. She giggled, her beautiful, beautiful giggle, where her face scrunched up into a tiny bunch of lines. She got a new bike, a doll house that was almost as tall as her. She got clothes and boots, and she was so happy with it all.

"Look Leo!" She'd screech, holding up a new doll. I could tell she wanted so badly for me to feel a part of it all. I'd smile, even though I was having trouble breathing. And I'd take her dolls in each hand and make them talk to each other, even though I felt like passing out.

Sam opened a new skateboard, new shoes, new drumsticks, a hi-hat for his drum kit, and a few movies. He was so happy with it. It was the most I'd seen him smile and laugh in a long, long time. Even he made attempts to involve me, showing me different beats on his drums.
"Isn't that a good sound?" He'd say, and I would nod and agree.

Aaron and Lara got a new blender, clothes, gift cards, and a food processor, for making baby food for Little Leo. It's funny how much your wants change as you get older. But Little Leo was undoubtedly the most spoiled of us all. He got gifts from Santa and his mama and daddy, and my mama and daddy, not to mention Lara's side of the family. He got toys and books and clothes, so many clothes. Lara argued that the food processor was his as well.

Towards the end of the gift unwrapping, my mom and dad sat down beside me and smiled warmly. I was beginning to get tired, and they could tell.

"Leo, we have a gift for you. It's special," my mom said. My dad nodded, "it's a big one. We want you to enjoy it."

They pulled out a gift box, perfectly wrapped and pretty small. I weakly pried at the gift wrap, trying to pull it apart. I ripped open the front and saw the box inside, it was a new camera. The camera was a nice, for real camera. All my life I'd been toying around with Polaroids and Minoltas. This camera... this was a big deal. It had different lenses, all sorts of accessories. It was the one I'd had my eye on for so, so long. The excitement was dulled by the thought that lingered in the back of my mind... was this just wishful thinking on their part? What do they want me to take a picture of, my feet? The IV drip? Maybe one day, I'll be able to walk outside again.

"Oh, wow... thank you both, so so much. It's amazing," I said. They both smiled and hugged me, one after the other. My mom whispered, "take lots of pictures," into my ear.

Christmas was so nice, it had always been my favorite holiday. I looked around at my family, with all their smiles and I let myself feel thankful. My heart felt full, and I even let myself imagine a future Christmas, next Christmas, and the one after, and the one ten years from now, the first one with a wife, and the first one with a child and then one even further down the line, when I had three kids and they were all old enough to wake up and run downstairs. And when I imagined them all, running to my bed and jumping upon me and my wife, screaming at the top of their lungs, "SANTA!!!"

I imagined Myra beside me.

And for just a moment, The Black Future was colorful. Just for a moment, I was painting it, and it was beautiful.

I smiled to myself and let myself enjoy Christmas, and it was the last good day I had for a long, long time.