Give and Take

Prim, proper, and emotionally frozen. Every client -- every session -- is the same. Over the years, I've learned to channel the discomfort of their assertive handshakes into a smile. Honestly, I can't remember what genuine human contact feels like. Which, I suppose, is the cost of doing business at six figures per hug.

"Mr. Arnold, it's been a pleasure," I lied, continuing a cycle of detached pleasantries I've adopted for survival. He pushed himself away from me and gave my hand an unceremonious clasp, forcing a three-second handshake into a half-second span.

"We'll see," he returned, straightening his suit jacket. "I'll send a courier as soon as my doctors confirm your little business is more than a well-executed hoax."

"Of course. They can collect your deposit if you aren't completely satisfied."

He gave my apartment one last, clinical scan that lingered for a moment on a single stack of hundred-dollar bills; a splash of green on my otherwise sparkling white countertop. Then, without a word, he turned and left; security team in tow.

"Tell your friends!" I shouted over the slam of the door.

I settled back into a rhythm of detached self-care. Bland, healthy dinner alone. Check for new messages on my dating profile. Flip through requests for help sent to my nonprofit, Open Arms. Choose a single family to heal for free this year. Choke down the guilt of leaving hundreds more to die. Yoga. Lights out at 9:30.

When your life's work is selling your life away, you march to the beat of your own humdrum.

It's hard to say exactly what it costs me to heal someone, but I can feel the toll every time. Every hug since the age of 6 has left a pit in my stomach; cold sweat on my hands. I've learned to fight through the migraines, nausea, and involuntary locking of muscles. But in recent years, the pain has intensified. My soul is splintering, and I can feel death creeping closer.

But the physical pain is nothing compared to being left alone with my thoughts. It's hard not to resent my mother for the years she likely stole, completely by accident, in exchange for mended paper cuts and disappearing bruises. I definitely hate the high school crush who helped to kill me on her way to a full recovery from the flu. I lost those years before I ever had them, and I don't even know how many there were. But I count them every night.

A thousand sensations flutter in the darkness between my pillow and the ceiling, augmented by the subtle pulse of the city lights strong enough to breach my penthouse window. An electric chime interrupts my thoughts; calls me out from under the blankets. I forgot to sign out of the stupid online dating site. Another dangerously-deep-but-forcefully-hollow connection rears its ugly head. I sit down in front of the monitor and glance over an old thread. A new message from Evelyn lurks at the bottom.

I knew it was a mistake to keep talking. Modern dating is a numbers game; people go in with the understanding that they’ll enjoy parts of it at the cost of the rest. Most of them expect to leave a little heartbroken. It seemed like a safe way to get the buzz of emotional connection without the risk of giving myself – quite literally – away. And, so long as it stayed shallow, no one would be hurt.

But Evelyn, a Children's Hospital Administrator with a philanthropist's soul, was captivating. Painfully so. Without even knowing about my ability, she forced me to re-think the way I had used it before our paths crossed. What difference does it make to extend the lives of men and women who would spend my years on no one but themselves? They acted as if that time was owed them; a sharp contrast to the rare person who came to me desperate and left renewed.

Two of my nonprofit clients are caseworkers at Open Arms now, and the other three are stretching every paycheck to support the people around them. My "donors" don’t even send Thank-You cards. Just checks that they can ask the government to pay back.

More and more, I think I’ve been serving the wrong demographic; using the wealth of the selfish to cover the turmoil in my heart with comfort for my body. I h0ld my breath and hunch over the keyboard. Evelyn invites me to visit her at the hospital. We talk until I fall asleep, slouched against the monitor.

***

Morning came with its trademark genteel ferocity, warm sunlight forcing its way through my eyelids. As painful as it was to be ripped from sleep, I was encouraged. Unshackled from routine, every day seems longer. Fuller. Boundless possibility is greater than the most proven plans.

I made it to the hospital with four minutes to spare, but Evelyn was already waiting for me. She offered a well-intentioned hug, which I converted into an elbow bump with a little help from the coffee I picked up for us on my way in. After a quick exchange of meaningful pleasantries, we were off.

The facility itself was a marvel. The chapel sparkled in ten thousand pastel tones, courtesy of the morning sun and a wall of stained glass. Just down the hall, that timeless aesthetic shifted seamlessly into an indoor playground modeled after the city itself. Children sprinted, giggling all the way, across suspension bridge replicas and miniature skyscrapers. Apart from shaved heads and concerned attendants, it was hard to tell the difference between patients and their siblings.

Here, at last, was Life.

Here, too, tragically, was Death. Behind every sparkling smile, inside every pair of innocent eyes. Fear had made its home here, in hearts and minds that should be years removed from its touch.

In the corner of the miniature metropolis, two sisters sat in a silent embrace. The youngest, her wavy hair adorned with brilliant ribbon, refused to let her weeping sister go. The rest of the room tried to ignore them, to push forward in play. Joy morphed into a bleak background, a momentary distraction from the pain.

I smelled salt; felt needles prickling at the bottom of my eyes. This could not stand. Not while I had the power to do something.

“Evelyn, would you excuse me a moment?”

“Of course. You can step outside, but don’t get too far away. We’re not fond of unaccompanied strangers here.”

“Absolutely. I just need a moment to make a call. Is there a supply closet or something nearby? Somewhere that I can steal a little privacy?”

“I mean, there are more comfortable places,” she laughed. “But if it’s an immediate need, sure. You can grab the closet across the hall.”

There, in the middle of a dozen clear bottles of multicolored liquid, I found the space to weep. I called the office, made arrangements for us to set up a partnership with the hospital, and hung up. Let the silence wash over me. Cleared my mind (and my nose, which had filled when my eyes emptied). And, just before I left, spotted a stray piece of cardboard and a loose marker that gave me a dangerous idea.

“All set?” Evelyn asked as I emerged from my impromptu sanctuary.

“Mostly,” I said. “I know it’s a little strange, but I want your permission to do something. I want your hospital to be an official Open Arms partner. And I’d like to start, symbolically, today.”

I raised my crude sign, scrawled upon which were two words I never thought I would write: “Free Hugs.”

“I’d like to hear a little more about what that entails,” she said. “But since I'm here to supervise, I think we can make it work.”

Together, we toured the rest of the hospital wing, offering what seemed like paltry words of encouragement and a gentle embrace to anyone willing to accept it. The first few patients stung my chest as I released them, eyes awash with fresh tears. A dozen hugs later, my every step felt like a mountain summit. I fought for breath, forcing a smile as my forehead threatened to secede from my body. It was agony, but I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t intend to die; never thought I’d give my entire life away. But even as I started to shake from head to toe, I couldn’t imagine stopping. Sure, I might pass out, but I could just announce my retirement from the hospital bed when I woke up. After all, the ER wasn't far. These families would never know what happened here; I was content to bear that secret in my burning, aching chest. But it was increasingly difficult to hide my body’s violent protests.

For her part, Evelyn was a marvel; confidently extolling the virtues of every room and machine we passed. She spun almost endlessly from her toes to her heels and back, torn between making eye contact with me and drinking in the wonder of the world she and her staff had built. If she saw my discomfort, she did me the favor of ignoring it.

“There’s someone special I want you to meet,” she said as we rounded a corner and the din of families at play began to fade. Signs on the wall asked us to be Quiet, Please. Patients were trying to rest.

“Jesse has been with us for a little over a year now,” Evelyn continued, this time in a subdued whisper. “He came in to support his little sister when she started treatment. Made a bunch of friends here in the hospital. But just when she started to get better, he took a turn for the worse. The family is just about exhausted, and I mean that in every sense. Physically, financially, emotionally. It’s nearly impossible to watch one child fight for their life. To have to go through it again with a second, so soon after beating it the first time… I can’t imagine it.”

“Neither can I,” I choked. Every word was a war zone. “It would be my pleasure to meet him.”

Evelyn smiled.

“I thought you’d feel that way,” she said. “To be honest, I can’t think of a better family to be the first through your program once we launch our partnership.”

She knocked on the door, pushing it open to reveal a twelve-year-old boy, confined by his own weakness to a hospital bed. Cartoons danced in silence in the far corner of the room, hardly catching the boy’s puffy eyes. His parents were slouched in the corner, having apparently just captured an elusive hour of sleep. The creak of the door stirred the entire room back into labored motion.

“Hi, Jesse! Hello, Johnson family!” Evelyn whispered. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

“No problem,” Mr. Johnson mumbled, straightening himself out to face us. “You and the staff are welcome any time, Evelyn. Jesse loves company.”

The boy's teeth pushed their way through a stony countenance, and for a moment he was young and vibrant again.

“I wanted you all to meet my friend, Grant. He might be able to help you out,” Evelyn said. “Jesse, can you spare another one of your famous hugs?”

My mind swam through a fog, surfacing long enough to suggest that another hug might not be the best idea for me now. My chest tightened and my temples shouted their agreement, but my feet plodded resolutely forward.

Surely, I could heal one more. I could give this family their life, no matter what it might cost me. My vision blurred and darkened, but that precious smile never lost its glow. I reached the edge of the bed and collapsed onto it with as much caution as my spent muscles could muster.

Jesse reached out.

“Come here, Mister Grant,” he mumbled. “I want to tell you a secret.”

I leaned in, my pulse pounding in my head. I more fell around him than reached out, but he pushed himself up to wrap his feeble arms underneath my own. He strained to reach my ear and whispered:

“I was never really sick. But I didn’t want anyone else to be.”

I felt warmth growing in my chest, strength returning to my arms. His grip tightened and suddenly, I could feel his heart beating in rhythm with my own. Waves of peace and pain took turns pummeling us as Life and Death waged war within our bodies. I pulled him closer, and he snuggled up into the crook of my neck.

“I understand,” I whispered back, tears welling in my eyes. “Jesse, buddy, I’m a little scared… I don’t know what will happen when I let go.”

“Then don’t."

---

This is one of my favorite pieces, rescued from a blog I shut down. Original idea courtesy of Instagram's own @writing.prompt.s.