Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 14

The day is really slow today, and Elliot is tired. He sits down on the bench and tips his head back and closes his eyes, soaking in the sun. 

For once he feels really warm, whereas he is usually very cold. He can feel his dark hair absorb the light and though it feels hot where the bench digs his hair into his scalp, everywhere else it's like a blanket. 

When the whirring, clicking, and squeaky sound wheels come of Emma's oxygen tank comes by, he doesn't move an inch. He just smiles. 

"Hey, Emma." 

At first Emma responds with a cough and a slap to her chest. The sound of her hitting her chest is a bit frightening; like when one hits a hollow log, the sound just rings throughout the entire thing. 

"Heyo, Almond-Boy," she says. Her voice is crackly and weak, and Elliot's used to it, and that frightens him.

He opens his eyes and looks over at Emma, whose eyebrows are quirked up and a smirk is on her face. She's holding up her head on her hand which is leaning on her elbow. "Today's the day." 

Elliot takes a deep breath and sits up straight. He reaches over and grabs his sketchbook and flips a few pages forward. Emma stares at the blurs of pictures that he flips through and she has to admit she's interested. A sketchbook always seems like a dream-state kind of world, a picture book showing the mind of its owner, telling a story in disjointed and confusing ways with each sketch. Nothing connecting and yet it all connects all at once, once you know the person well enough. 

She hopes one day she'll be able to read the story of his sketchbook and understand it all. Just like a picture book. 

He flips to a picture of a heart, it's bright and colorful and beautifully drawn. Emma's eyes light up, and she has a wide grin on her face. "You drew me a diagram?" 

"It's easier, and makes it a bit more fun," he says, laughing. Emma furrows her eyebrows together and laughs as well. 

"More fun?"

"You know what I mean - not as depressing." 

"Okay, so explain to me this beautiful diagram." Emma gestures to the entire picture and Elliot laughs. 

"I wouldn't call it beautiful," he says and takes a deep breath. "If it's killing me it's probably not a very pretty heart." 

Emma's smile drops and she tilts her head to look at it more. It makes her tense up when Elliot says things like that: "it's killing me".

She's getting better, she's stopped denying it every time he says it - well, she stops denying it out loud. She knows she's being a little bit ridiculous, and she's heard it over and over: kids who think they're indestructible, and she knows better now. She's learned she's not, but it's sort of startling to hear that Elliot isn't; even if it is obvious. 

"So yeah, this is my heart." 

Emma can see the problem already. Four sections of the heart, and three of them are perfectly fine. The fourth one, though, the left ventricle, is smaller than the others, by a lot. Elliot's drawn a dotted line as to size it is supposed to be, but the reality is there in a bold printed line and in bright red color. Along with the left ventricle, everything on the bottom left is a bit messed up, the valves and the atrium and a few veins are quite skewed and shriveled. 

"What does it mean?"

"They call it Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome." Elliot closes his eyes and nods to himself, trying to think through the facts and get them out in a way that makes sense - in a way that doesn't seem like a bunch of disjointed facts.