Pledge

 “I want to know about you.”  He says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’ve been talking for the last two hours and you haven’t told me a single thing about yourself, besides your name of course.”  

I shrug, trying to avoid the topic.  “I’m a listener. Not a talker.”  

He keeps at it.  “No really, I want to know.” 

I shrug again. I could, after all, tell him, but I don’t want to hurt him. Besides, it’s nice to have a normal conversation and pretend that I’m normal once in a while. 
I look him over, trying to think of something to say.  “What’s there to know about?”  

“Well, what’s your favorite color.”  He asks nonchalantly, trying to come in on a smaller topic.  

“Clear.”  I answer immediately.  

He laughs.  “Clear is not a color.” 

I smile. “It is if you want it to be. Who says what colors have to be? Glitter can be a color as well. ” I wrinkle my nose. “Although, I don’t like glitter that much.”  

Connor chuckles, amusement plain in his voice.  “Okay, but why? Everyone has a reason for their favorite color.  What’s yours?”

I cock my head to one side for a minute, letting my dark brown hair fall in front of my dull green eyes.  For some reason, it helps me think.   

“I guess it’s because it doesn’t draw attention to itself.  It always tells the truth by showing what’s on the other side. It’s easy to see through and doesn’t hide anything. No lies.  No deceptions. No vibrant, colorful distractions. It just is what it is. And yet, because it is what it is, that makes it beautiful.” 

I glance over at him.  Connor’s mouth is hanging open, and his bright blue eyes are staring at me in disbelief.  “When did you make that speech?”

I smirk at him.  “Just now.”    

He straightens up and, like a soldier, he salutes me.  “Ashley Maywood, I believe you are a mature person with a positive personality that has a deep understanding of the world and life itself.”  

He says it in a deep voice, making me grin.  “That’s not true at all.” I say, trying to draw the attention away from myself.  “I just like the color clear.”
“As I said earlier,” He's scowling, but I can see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “Clear is not a color.” 

We stop at my house.  Well, my apartment, I should say.  Well, it’s actually, technically my mom’s and dad's apartment.  Chicago, Illinois is a big city and has lots of people.  So, when you don’t make enough income to afford a fancy house, you get an apartment.  At least, that’s how my dad explained it. 

“Well, this is it.”  I explain. I head up the stairs to the door.  

“Ashley!”  Connor calls, startling me. He runs his fingers through his dirty-blonde hair, looking nervous.

“I..um..want to ask you something.  How would you feel about…?” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of the right word.  “..maybe hanging out on Saturday?” 

I smile and shrug my shoulders, trying to act casual.  “Sure. What about pizza? 8:00?”  

He grins.  “It’s a deal.” He runs back down the street. 

My brother, Will, appears in the doorway.  “You think he’s cute, don’t you?” He inquires, looking at me.  

I nod.  “Ye-” I start to agree dreamily, but then stop in the middle of the word, realizing what I’m saying.  I elbow Will, playfully in the stomach.  

“Stop it.”  I laugh. 
He chuckles.  “I’m just saying. You’re seventeen-years-old.  You deserve a boyfriend.”

“We barely know each other. He is not my boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh.” Will replies sarcastically. 

I elbow him again. 

…………..

Connor and I meet at Lou Malnati’s Pizzeria, on 1120N State St, at 8:00 on Saturday.  Like the gentleman that he is, he opens the door for me. And, like the lady that I am, I bow graciously, exaggerating.  

“After you.” I say, managing to keep a straight face.   

I’m really good at making him laugh.  And he makes me laugh as well. We talk about our lives. Mostly his.  He asks me what I do.

“I’m currently an assistant librarian at the Chicago Public Library.” 

“You know what I mean,” He answers. “Like...what do you do in your spare time?”

I’m embarrassed to say it. It seems childish.  “I’m an author. I create worlds that are not my own. To escape.”   

“Escape from what?” He asks.

I almost can’t answer him, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.  I shrug. “It’s just fun to have an adventure once in a while.” I try not to betray what I’m thinking. He can’t know yet.  Just a little longer. Just a little more time. 

“I’ll toast to that.”  He raises his root beer-filled cup, smirking.  

We stumble out the door of the restaurant, laughing our heads off. People on the street look at us quizzically.

“Everyone must think we’re crazy.”  I say, chuckling.

“I’m crazy about you.”  He replies, looking at me.

I scoff. “That was the cheesiest line ever.”  I try to shrug it away, but the words echo over and over again in my head.  I’m crazy about you.  I’m crazy about you.  

………..

I lay my head on my pillow, desperate to get some sleep.  I told myself I wouldn’t do this. Not to get close to anyone, I mean. I’m a bomb. Ready to explode. Ready to send shrapnel, flying into the hearts of the people that know me.  Having my mom, my dad, and Will, is hard enough. But adding another person to that list is unbearable.  I’ll tell him next Friday.  I will, I will.  But I know that it is an easily broken promise.

……...

We walk out of the movie theater, holding bags of popcorn.  He takes a single kernel out of the bag, and lifts it up, ready to toss it.  I open my mouth, widely. I feel the soft, buttery, taste hit my tongue, and instantly crunch down on it.   
“SCORE!!!” He yells.

I laugh. “You’re gonna wake up people from here to New York City.”

“People there are always awake. Besides, we have a cause for celebration.”

“You throwing a popcorn kernel in my mouth is a cause for celebration?"

"Well yes, but there is another reason. I have a girlfriend." He says a smug grin on his face. 

"Oh, do you now?" My heart sinks. I feel like a deflated balloon. I shouldn't be disappointed. It's not like I was going to get close to him anyway. I should be relieved. I won't have to tell him.  I should be relieved, but I'm not. 

 He nudges me, seeming to sense my discomfort.

 "I'm talking about you."

I'm genuinely surprised. "Me? Me?!? I'm your girlfriend?!" 

He smiles, then stutters."I-If that’s okay with you.”

I take another creamy popcorn kernel out of the bag and toss it into my mouth, watching as relief spreads over his face. “We officially have a cause for celebration.”

………..

I sit at the computer, wondering how to word what I’m thinking. I shouldn’t have said yes. I can’t be his girlfriend. I know I can’t. It should be much easier to put it down in an email, but even in typing, I can’t think of how to say it. I end up writing this: 

Dear Connor, 

I’m sorry I have to say this, but I can’t keep it from you any longer. I can’t be your girlfriend. I just don’t like you enough. It’s too impossible. Once again, I’m sorry.

It’s a little lame, but what else can I do? The email is mostly true except for the part about not liking him enough.  I like him too much. Too much to hurt him. And yet, here I am, telling him I don’t like him. But it’s better than the truth.  

Connor replies: 

Ashley, what is going on? And don’t tell me you don’t like me enough, I know it’s more than that. 

I have no answer. I stay silent. I have to make sure to stay away. Unable to do anything else, I shut the computer and walk out of the room.  

………

Connor sees me at school the next day and walks up to me.  I turn my head and try to go the other way. He catches up to me and grabs my wrist, turning me to face him.  His eyes are red and there are deep shadows under them. It seems like he didn’t get much sleep last night. His hair is tousled just like normal, but it has more of a I-just-got-out-of-bed look. 

He gets straight to the point, not wanting to waste any time. “You’re hiding something from me. Whatever it is you can tell me.”

I glare at him. “Connor, no. I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore.”  

“Why Ashley? Why? Why are you keeping things from me? Why can’t I be with you? I don’t understand.  What is happening?!?!” His voice rises on every word, his face starting to get red. I cut him off, not being able to hold it back any longer.  

“I’M DYING, OK?” My voice grows quieter, realizing the reality of what I’ve just said.  “I-I’m dying. I have Cardiomyopathy. Heart failure. The only chance I have is a heart transplant, and the odds of getting that-” I pause. “Low. Very low. One out of ten. I could literally die at any time. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

I look at him, expecting to see sadness, but instead there’s a grim determination. 

“You’re an author, right?” He asks, taking me off guard.  

“Yes.” I replied slowly, wondering where this is going. 

“We’re going to make a pledge.” He pulls my arm and takes me closer to the oak tree at the side of the road.  His bright blue eyes meet mine, and he gazes at me meaningfully. He takes out two crystal necklaces from out of his pocket. 

“I never told you what I do.” Connor says, holding the two necklaces in his palm.  “I’m a jeweler. I do it in my spare time. I know it’s a little strange, but it's just fun to create something once in a while, you know?"

I nod. I look at the crystals in his hands. One is a dark jade green and has copper wire surrounding the top, connecting it to a bronze chain.  The other is sharp-edged and clear, with silver, metal wire looping around it. They're both the same style and are rather simple, but stunning at the same time. He hands the clear one to me, and I smile.  He remembered my favorite color. He then takes the jade green one and drapes it around his neck, watching as I do the same. He takes my hands in his, watching me intently. His voice breaks into my thoughts.

"I pledge to write our story. Repeat it."

"I pledge to write our story." I say. 

"No matter what happens."

I open my mouth, but then shake my head. "No, Connor. I can't. I can't do this." I pull my hands away from his. "I can't-" 

I don't finish my sentence before he kisses me. The whole world seems to melt around me, and I am stunned for a moment.  When he pulls away, the sharpness of his blue eyes bore into me.  

“I promise to keep the pledge, no matter what happens.” He says. 

 I can barely hear my own voice as I repeat it. 

“I promise to keep the pledge, no matter what happens.”

Three weeks later:

I pick up the last present, marveling at its beautiful wrapping. I reluctantly tear the paper away to reveal a beautiful book. It’s dark leather with beautiful gold binding around the edges. I look up at Connor.

“Thank you.”

He smiles and nods.  “You said you were an author and I saw you didn’t have anything to write with.  I just figured it’s important for an author to have a book. To write a story. Or at least, to write your ideas.”

I’m speechless.  It’s my birthday and somehow, he knew exactly what I wanted.  Sure, I could always write on the computer, but there’s something satisfying about a paper and pen. I stand up and hug him. But something feels strange.  There’s a painful throbbing in my arm, and I suddenly feel very light headed. Connor holds me tightly, a concerned look in his eyes.  

“You okay? You look kind of pale.”  

 I’m not okay. I’ve researched heart attacks enough to know what’s happening.  The world is getting darker and darker. I manage a whisper, knowing that these will probably be my last words. 

 “Goodbye.”

……….

I wake up several moments, only catching small bits and pieces of conversation.  A few times, I hear Connor’s name, but never his voice. That’s strange. He should be here.  I feel a hand shaking me as my mother interrupts my slumber. 

"Ashley honey, wake up." 

Mom is sitting on the bed, her eyes full of tears, and she sighs in relief.  After a few moments, I realize I’m in a hospital room. The brightness of the white walls is blinding, and I struggle to look at it after coming from complete darkness. My dad is standing behind mom, and he has deep circles under his eyes. Will is beside him, with the same sleep-deprived look. His hair is ruffled. It reminds me of Connor’s. Connor. 

“W-what happened?” Even I wince at the sound of my croaky voice.  

Mom turns her attention to me.  “While you were in a coma, the doctors found a heart transplant.” Her smile is intoxicating.  It might not work, but it's new hope. My mom continues. “Your original heart was in such bad shape, they just decided to put it in right away.”

I smile, but I”m distracted, when I realize my mom’s expression.  She’s holding something back.

“Where’s Connor?”  I ask, voicing what’s on my mind.  

My mom bites her lip.  “He was in a car accident, honey. Brain-dead. He had already volunteered in hopes he could maybe eventually save someone else. Because he knew he couldn’t save you. We-we didn’t think…”      

She trailed off, but I knew exactly what she meant.  I had Connor’s heart. The only thing that was keeping him halfway alive, was now keeping me alive. The cruel irony of it was agonizing. Connor was dead. I would never hear his voice, never see his face, never see him.

“No.”  My voice is barely a whisper. "He promised. HE PROMISED!!!!”  The hospital room is a blur. Nothing matters anymore. My mom shakes me by the shoulders, but I barely feel it.  I almost black out, but force myself to calm down. Although, all I want to do is curl up, close my eyes, and get away from this miserable world, I have to stay awake. For mom. For dad. For Will. For Connor. 

………..

I stay in the hospital for a few days, moping. Nothing seems fun anymore.  The novels I used to read sit on the shelf, reminding me that things don’t turn out as well as they do in books. Connor is gone, and I can’t help but think that it should have been me. 

My mom enters the room, holding the dark, leather book in the crook of her arm. 

“Hi, honey how are you feeling?”  

I can only nod. 

Mom is not surprised by my bluntness. “I brought you the book.  Remember? Connor gave it to you.”

I fold my arms over my chest, forcing myself to look away. “I don’t want it.”

Mom sits down beside me. “Look, I know you’re hurting, but you can’t do this forever." She pauses for a minute, contemplating. "The most depressing part of life is when the person who gave us the best memories becomes a memory. But when that happens, the only thing you can do is remember them." 

She passes me the small book, and quietly leaves the room, not bothering to look back. I sigh, my mom's right. I hold the book gingerly, rifling the pasty, white pages. I start closing the book, ready to set it down on the stand by my bed, when something catches my eye.  Between the cover and the first page is a tiny slip of paper. It’s in Connor’s scribbled handwriting. I pick it up, holding it between my fingers. It only says a few words. Remember the pledge. I love you.  I press the tip of my pencil on the first page, having the familiar feeling of a story taking place.  I tell the story. The story of a blonde-haired boy, a girl with a disease, and a pledge. My story. This story.