let’s go outside for a minute. I want to ask you something.”
Outside, the afternoon is darkening to early evening. The hospital breathes and shudders behind us. We wander in the parking lot, among the cars, talking softly, like we’re afraid we’ll wake them. It’s cold. The wind sends trash and dry leaves scuttling along the ground. I keep looking back to see if anyone’s following us.
“They say my mother’s heart is bad. She needs a new one. They want me to donate my heart. What do you think of that?”
Mandy stops, her eyes and mouth open. Wind whips her frizzy hair around her face. She looks shocked. I breathe a sigh of relief: at last, someone who can see reason.
But then she says, “Oh, Arnie. How wonderful! Can they really do that? That’s so wonderful—congratulations!”
“You mean you think I should do it?”
“Isn’t technology incredible?” Mandy says. “These days doctors can do anything. Now you can share yourself, really give yourself to someone else in ways you never thought were possible before. Your mother must be thrilled.”
“But it’s crazy—”
She takes my hands in hers and looks up into my eyes. “Frankly, Arnie, I didn’t think you had it in you. I’m really impressed. Really, I am.”
“Mandy, I thought you could be realistic about this. What about me? Do you want me dead? What am I supposed to do without a heart?”
“Oh, I’m sure they could fix you up. The important thing right now is to help your mother.” She unzips my jacket and presses her hands against my chest. My heart twitches, flutters like a baby bird in her hands.
“What about your heart? If I give my mother my heart, would you give me yours?”
She draws away from me suddenly. All the lights in the parking lot click on simultaneously and her face is flooded with white. She presses her knuckles to her mouth. “Now that’s not fair,” she says.
“There! Now you see! When it’s your own heart in question, you change your mind, don’t you?” I cry, waving my arms around.
“You’re not being fair,” she says again, her lower lip quivering. “You’re the one who doesn’t want a commitment. You’re the one who can’t even say the word marriage. A few months ago I would have given you my heart, and gladly, but you didn’t want it. But now … well, if I gave it now, that wouldn’t be fair to either of us, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t. Maybe it’s time we thought about getting married. You could come share the apartment; we could share things—”
“Oh, you’re just saying that. You’re just thinking about yourself, what you need; you don’t care about me. I think I’d better go—”
“But Mandy! Wait! What am I supposed to do?”
“Arnie, you know what the right thing to do is. You should get back to your mother now. Give her my regards.”
“You hate my mother.”
“No, I just feel sorry for her. She has a bad aura. She’s had a hard life, and it’s not all her fault,” Mandy says. She pats my arm. “You know what you should do. She’s your mother.”
I try to kiss her, but she turns away and I get a mouthful of hair. “Why don’t you call me after you make a decision?” she says. “Then maybe we’ll talk.” I’m reaching after her, wanting to grab hold of her hair, the belt on her overcoat, anything, but she’s too quick, a few steps away already.
I watch her go. Brisk, determined steps, like a schoolteacher. “But Mandy!” I bawl. “Mandy—this may be the last time you ever see me with my heart! Next time I could have a different heart! A different heart! What about that?”
She doesn’t even stop, just calls over her shoulder, “Who knows, it might be better than the old one.”
I find my way back to the waiting room. Someone has mopped up the coffee.
“Feel better?” Nina asks.
“Made a decision yet?” Fran says.
“Yes … no … I don’t know,” I say.
They are both quiet.
Then Aunt Nina says, “She carried you for nine months. More than nine months! You were late. Do you remember it?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Aunt Fran says.
“She didn’t mind it, of course. She loved it. But it couldn’t have been easy,” Aunt Nina says. “She was a frail woman.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, though I can guess.
“There was a time when her heart beat for both of you.” She sniffs. “I don’t see why you can’t do the same for her.”
“He said he’s thinking about it,” Aunt Fran reminds her. Fran turns to me. “Arnie, think about this: The heart’s a little thing really. Less than a pound. It’s just a muscle. You’ve got muscles all over the place. Can’t you spare one?” She looks earnestly into my face. “Can’t you spare a little bit of flesh?”
“Your mother’s dying in there!” Nina blurts out. She heaves a shuddering sigh, then another. “Don’t you care?” she says, and then they are crying, both of them, drops sliding down the wrinkles in their faces.
My mother’s dying in there. Dying? She looked all right just a little while ago, I remind myself. But I have to sit down. A coldness sinks and spreads through my gut. I want to call someone, talk to someone. I want a drink badly.
Later we go visit my mother again. She looks worse, but perhaps it is the fluorescent lights draining color from her face. I stand again at the foot of her bed. I can see the veins and tendons on her neck. So delicate, so close to the surface, you could snip them with scissors.
“Arnie,” she says softly, “you should go home and get some sleep. And shave. You look terrible. So tired. Go. I’ll be here tomorrow, I’m not going anywhere.”
“You see?” Fran hisses at me. “Sick in the hospital with a bad heart, and all she can think about is you!”
Nina strokes my mother’s head and tells her she’ll be fine. I look at my mother lying there and I try to think of her as organs, blood, cogs and springs and machinery. I remember a time when I was small and she hugged my head to her. My ear pressed into her stomach and I could hear the churning, gurgling workings within.
“Go on, now. Get some sleep. I’ll be fine,” my mother says weakly, and closes her eyes. We shuffle out.
Fran and Nina say they will stay awhile longer, in case anything happens. I leave, but promise to come back soon.
I drive home in the dark. I go up to my apartment and turn on the lights. I take a shower and try to shave, but my body does not want to work properly. I stub my toes, jab my elbow,
