I barreled into our room and the baby cried. He didn’t seem to share my elation. I sat down on the bed and fed him. He looked dreamy and satisfied after. Lit by the fluorescence and reflective black rock ceiling, his little face was so pale compared to my own. His defective eyes twinkled as he watched the changes in the light. I wrapped him up tightly in a blanket and held him. Hurry up, I thought. Sleep. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, peering at me, making sure I was still there. I smirked, thinking my suspicious nature had been passed to this tiny bundle. “You trust me about as much as I trust myself, don’t you?” I whispered, rolling my eyes.
Finally, he stopped checking for my presence and I took him to his room. Creeping across the hall like I had stolen the child, I laid him down in his crib. I leaned down and kissed his tiny head. He stirred and his forehead crinkled for a moment before it relaxed again. My lips had never touched something that soft. It was the first time I had ever done that. Smoothing his tiny, blond curls from his face, I smiled again, the sensation less and less foreign.
I left our son and returned to Joseph. My heart still hurt. It was wrapped up in a dark shadow that would squeeze inside my chest at the sight of him. His body was suspended in gold, waiting. I climbed into his bed, lightly touching his resting face, almost scared it would cave in if I pressed too hard. I whispered, “I love you.” Another first. My tears stung and fell on his unresponsive face. Yes, hope is a dangerous thing.
Matthew knocked on the doorframe, interrupting me. I wasn’t embarrassed. After he caught me poking Joseph’s eyes, this was nothing. I sat up, wiping my away my tears.
“I want to talk to you about the operation,” he said seriously. He walked to my bed and sat on the edge, crossing his legs like he was a preschooler sitting on the mat in front of a teacher.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I just nodded.
“It’s a very complicated procedure. If it works, though, Joseph will be as good as new. Maybe better.”
“So why didn’t you do it before?” If it would fix him so completely, why wait until now?
“It’s very risky, the success rate is…”
“Stop!” I turned away from him, closing my ears, closing myself off to the prospect of complications and slim chances. That cloud of hope was trying to return to the sky. I didn’t want to let it, not yet. I held onto it tightly, clutching it to my chest like a pillow.
Matthew put his hands up in surrender. “All right. I just want you to understand that this is his last chance. If it doesn’t work…”
“It will work. It has to.” I knew I was being stubborn, but I couldn’t leave room for the possibility the operation wouldn’t work. That was not an option. Joseph wouldn’t leave me here on my own.
Matthew smiled. He understood. For some reason, he cared about us. I trusted that he would try his best.
“Do you have any questions?” His kind eyes assessed my restless state. I was all over the place. He was much older than me but his casualness made him seem young, like he was a surgeon that still climbed trees and played. Maybe he was.
“What can I do?” I asked anxiously.
He chuckled. “Find people with O blood and get them to report to the clinic.”
“That boy… Cal. He had O; I’ll go get him.” I jumped up, about to fly out the door.
“Not now. Tomorrow.” I scowled. I didn’t want to wait. “Get some sleep, Rosa. Tomorrow will be a very difficult day for everyone.”
No. Not difficult. Wonderful. He could be fixed.
I relaxed back into the bed, sharing a pillow with Joseph. I wondered if they had any technology that could fix me. I know what I would ask them to do. Before the baby, I would have said my eyes. That would have been the first thing. Now, I would ask them to install a few doors or blocks between my brain, my mouth, and my body. I would probably break through them all but at least it would slow me down. Stop the continuous flow of stupid or dangerous that seemed to pour out without warning.
I pulled Joseph’s limp arm around me and fell asleep, dreaming of the squeeze I would feel when he woke up and pulled me to him.
We were to meet at midday with our results. I had asked everyone I came across what their blood type was, probably more than once. I wasn’t registering their faces; they sloshed down the halls, walking IV bags, in my eyes. I found myself winding up tighter and tighter like a rubber band about to twang and take out someone’s eye. Each person I asked seemed genuinely frightened when they told me no, like I was going to squeeze blood out of them like juicing an orange. And I couldn’t find Cal. I hoped someone else had.
I made my way through the maze of corridors to the clinic with the baby in my arms. It was up a level. I followed a series of metal-rung ladders and platforms. My footsteps sent muffled sounds up into the ceiling, with no rebounding echo. Dull, like we were living inside a damp sponge. It was dark and cold, much colder than when I first arrived.
Hope. It’s a foolish feeling, one that lifts you up only to cut your wings and send you crashing back to the ground.
I entered the clinic, blinking. It was a shiny, white room, too bright. The smell of disinfectant and out-of-place mustiness swirled up my nose. As I scanned the room, I felt like a giant had stepped on me, squashing my body, twisting his foot to push me deeper into the dirt. There was only one person sitting in a chair. Only one. He looked pale. Bags of blood were piled next to him, a needle protruding from his arm. Cal.
Apella was talking to Alexei in sharp whispers. I’d never seen him so angry. His bottom lip was quivering and his pale face was twisted into a very dissatisfied expression. She shook her wrist free of him, looking into his eyes, her own teary but determined. She slipped passed me without looking up and went into the hall. Deshi was hanging back, squeamish from all the blood.
“Is this it?” I asked no one in particular as I spread out a blanket on the floor and put the baby down. I felt a little crazed, the morning’s disappointments weighing on me. How could this be it?
Matthew walked over to Cal and patted his shoulder. “That’s it for you; you’ve given more than enough.” Cal tried to speak but he could barely whisper. His face was white as a sheet. He tried to grab a glass of water from the table next to him, his hand shaking. He quickly gave up when he realized he was too weak. Letting out a small laugh, he said, “I think I keep grabbing for the imaginary one. I can see two glasses dancing in front of me right now.”
I walked over to him and held the glass to his lips. “Thank you,” I whispered, my own body trembling. This couldn’t be it. It wasn’t enough. Cal managed a tiny nod and looked up at me with his kind, hazel eyes.
“Is this it?” I repeated, this time aiming my question at Matthew, who had collapsed in a vinyl chair. His face showed stress for the first time. He pinched his eyebrows and stared at the tabletop like it was talking to him.
“There’s one other, but it’s complicated.” He pushed the words out. They had a bitter edge to them.
“What… what’s complicated about it?” I ignored their faces, even though I could tell there was something deeper going on. I was trying to boil my blood. Change it to O. I wished I could give Joseph my heart. I would have given him anything.
Alexei stormed out of the room, slamming the door weakly behind him.
“Is it Alexei? Let me talk to him. I’ll change his mind. I’ll make him see….” Desperation was clear in my voice.
Matthew still wouldn’t look at me. He shook his head. “No, it’s not Alexei. It’s Apella.”