* * *
After blowingoff some steam at the gym, I headed to the hospital to see if I can get a rematch from Kyle, in total denial that an eleven-year-old is my only friend now it seems.
“Are you practicing without me?” I ask as I walk in, seeing him sitting on the floor playing the game.
He laughs, barely turning his attention away from the game. “I don’t need practice. I’ll still kick your butt.”
I grab the extra beanbag and sit next to him, purposely knocking into him to mess him up. “Oops, sorry about that,” I say, trying to hide my laugh.
“You know, you really do need a life,” he teases.
“Shut it. Now hurry up and finish the game so we can get started.”
Our game begins, but instead of playing with the same gusto he always does, his mood turns somber as he says, “My mom told me you know.”
I try to act stupid, keeping my attention on the game. “Told you what? That you’re gonna lose and my tally on the board is taking over?”
“No, Carter. What you told them.”
I pause, dropping my head and the remote.
“You could have told me, you know?”
Knowing what this kid is up against is breaking my heart. If he doesn’t find a donor soon, I hate to think what’s going to happen. He’s become my friend, the coolest guy I know, and he’s only eleven. I turn to face him. “That’s not my place.”
“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
“Not if I have a say about it. We have another drive coming up, so don’t think like that.”
Kyle has a rare form of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and is in need of a bone marrow transplant. Finding a match has been almost impossible, but we’re holding out hope.
This donor drive we’re planning can’t come fast enough. I’ve spread the word to as many people I can in the City, putting fliers everywhere and talking to every doctor I knew. I can’t think that this might be his last hope because I know we’ll find someone.
He takes a deep breath, turning back to the game. “I’m okay if I do.”
“Okay with what?”
“If I die. My parents always told me I was their miracle, so maybe that miracle was only meant to last for so long.”
My heart hurts for him, and I pause the game, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Miracles are forever,” I say before reaching over and engulfing the little guy in my arms.
