But this is as good a time as any to rip the band-aid off. “I was born with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. It’s a rare congenital heart defect where the left side of the heart is severely underdeveloped at birth. Without surgery the rate of survival is almost— nonexistent.”
I watch his face morph into about a dozen different emotions before settling on one. Morbid curiosity. That’s the one that’s most common. It isn’t every day that you run into someone that’s had the life I have. And trust me, that’s not me bragging. It’s just a fact.
“That’s what you meant when you said you were sick as a child?”
“Yes. I’ve been sick my entire life.”
“What about now?” His eyes scan me quickly, running across my face in breakneck speed then down my body and back up again. Like he’s looking for where I might still be broken.
“Now, I’m better.”
“How?” his voice is soft and tentative and that makes me like him even more. He’s trying to be gentle, even though I can tell he feels out of his depth.
“I had to get a new heart.” I say, just as gently. This is the part where people usually get weird on me. No one knows what to say, what to ask.
Some people become so flustered that they end up asking some pretty stupid questions. Though my mother would say there are no stupid questions. I’m not so sure that’s true, not after being asked if I got a heart from another person on more than one occasion. Like, do they think it came from an animal? Or grown in some lab?
His eyes immediately dip to my chest and stay there, like he can somehow see beneath my jacket and through my skin to the beating organ below. “A new heart?” he repeats.
“Yes.” I take a risk and reach for his hand. When he doesn’t protest I pull it to my chest, placing it just above my heart. His body has gone completely still. His eyes still glued to where his hand lies.
“Does it hurt?” he whispers.
“Not anymore. It did at first.”
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time and I’m in no rush to break the silence. Sometimes people just need time to process. It’s a lot, and I get it. It’s a lot even for me, and I lived it.
“Is that why you’re always checking your pulse on your neck?”
My eyes snap up to his, wide with shock. “How—” I stumble with my words, absolutely dumbfounded that he noticed. “You noticed that?”
His smile is sheepish, “Yeah but I figured it was because you were nervous or something.”
I gulp, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. He must feel the shift because he leans forward and wraps his arm around my back, pulling me closer to him.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just genuinely curious if it has something to do with your heart.”
I nod my head. I shouldn’t feel weird about him noticing. People have noticed it before, like my parents and my doctor. It’s nothing I should be embarrassed about but my little pep talk doesn’t stop the nervous butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
I work to push those feelings down before answering him. “When I first got my heart, I was so paranoid something was going to go wrong that I was constantly checking my pulse. It became a compulsion almost, even when I was well out of the woods. Now, it’s more of a comfort than anything. It helps ground me to the here and now, I think.”
“Can I feel?”
I’ve barely whispered yes before he’s already moving his hand up towards my neck. I hold my head still as his calloused fingers graze my cold skin. I shiver, not from the temperature but from the feel of his skin on mine.
And then comes a feeling that surprises me to my core. A sense of comfort, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. The feeling floats over me, starting at his touch and slowly working its way down. The warmth consumes my chest, spreading out towards my arms, my fingers tingling with the sensation. Next it works its way down my legs, finally reaching my toes.
I can feel iteverywhere.My whole body immersed just from that one touch.
A touch I could get used to. Just as I have the thought his hand falls away, taking all the warmth with him but his eyes are still on me, holding me captive with their intensity.
"Yo! Pierce! Get your ass in here! We're doing rounds of shots!"
He hesitates like he isn't sure how to respond, his eyes still intently on mine. I smile softly to encourage him. "It's okay. We can go in if you want."
His brows pull together like he's still unsure of what to do.
"Pierce!" his friend yells once more.
