STARFISH | HIS HEART

“So, how long they give you?”

Marcus turned over.

“Who? The pencil-necks?” He turned over, giving me his back.

I guessed it was a sore subject. I mean, yeah, of course it was.

“On ‘borrowed time’ I think, is the phrase they used.” He pulled the covers around him tight.

The blue lights above his bed flickered. Once. twice.

I tried real hard not to be uncomfortable. I rubbed my palms on my thighs.

“France told me you were in here. What’s going on? Why didn’t you call?”

Marcus chuckled, then coughed. He turned around. Sat up. He banged on his chest, like he used to when we was kids.

“My heart.”

“Your heart?”

“Yeaaah,” he chuckled again. “That’s what’s wrong.”He laughed, fully-bellied and deep throated, like old Marcus. “Can you believe it?”

For a second, his cheeks puffed up and his eyes brightened. But it was only for a second. His laugh devolved into another fit of coughing and his cheeks turned sunken, his frame deflated, and the covers on the bed swallowed him up.

Alarmed, but not knowing what the to do, I scooted up on the chair, arms raised, ready to half-fuss over him, but hanging back, just in case he’d hate it. Knowing he’d hate it. The coughing went on for a while. Dry, not phlegmy. High-pitched at the end.

He beat on his chest again.

I rubbed my thighs. “You good?”

He cocked his head at me, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“No, nigga. I’m dying.”

I panicked a bit at that. “No- I know, I- I just meant…”

With one slightly emaciated hand, he waved my concerns away. “I know. Just fucking with you.”

It was awkward for another long few seconds. I glanced around the sterile room, all lacquered wood and hard plastic, trying to figure out how to bounce back from this. Thinking up nothing, I decided to take us a few steps backwards.

My palms were sweaty again. I rubbed them.

I tried a different tact. “So, your heart huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah, ain’t that crazy?” A low wheeze escaped him.

I nodded along, not really sure why, just glad we were on the same page.

“Yeah, that is kinda crazy,” I picked up a random object on the side table, a glass reindeer ornament, just to give my hands something to do.

“You ain’t even forty yet…” I said. “What’d they- what’d they say it was?”

Was?

Really? Past tense? Jesus fuck.

“Nigga, I knooww,” he grew agitated, looking all around the room. “I don’t know man, you gotta ask them for the specifics.”

I nodded.

He looked over at me. “Yo, you remember that old nickname y’all had for me, like back in the day?” He snapped his fingers trying to bring back those ancient memories.

“Nickname? Nigga, what nickname?” I racked my brain, but came up blank.

“Bruh, you know the one. Jelly-somethin’- I don’t know, it was some science brain-teaser shit you came up with after I almost killed that guy stomping you at school.”

It clicked, and we both said it at the same time.

“Starfish Marcus!!!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled again, not too hard this time.

“Yeah man. I remember,” I laid a hand on his shoulder, surprising myself at how bony it felt. I swallowed the sadness and laughed with him instead.

“Yeah man. I used to think you were sooo cool. A cold, heartless motherfucker. Just Michael Jackson baaad, you know?”

He cocked his head at me again, the motion made only slightly less dramatic by the coughing that followed. When it died down, he placed his shaking hand over mine.

“Used to, huh?” He said, grinning. “I guess I ain’t cool no more?” He motioned to the tubes coming outta him. “Laid up like this.”

I covered his hand with mine.

I swallowed again.” Nah man, nah.” I tapped his hand. “You still plenty cool.”

Suddenly, I had a thought. “Hey, lay back real quick.”

I stood up, switching to the right side of the bed.

“What? why?” He asked me.

“Nigga, seein’ as you ain’t never gon’ wear nikes again, so you might as well just do it.”

His eyebrows slowly went up. “Wow. Reeaally nigga?”

I threw my hands up.“What? It’s true, ain’t it?”

Marcus just shook his head. “Just unbelievable… This motherfucker here… Cracking jokes, while I’m over here expiring like canned food… Can’t believe this shit,” but through all the mumbling and the head-shaking, and with some effort, he pushed himself onto his elbows, then finally came to rest on his back.

“This shit better be good,” he warned me.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

I saw his eyes suspiciously follow my every move. I pulled back the covers on the bed. His entire body stiffened.

“Hey man… This better not be no gay shit.”

“Will you shut up?” I said, pulling up his gown from beneath the covers.

“Whoa! Hey! Da fuck did I just say!?”

“Bruh, you are way too old to be acting this childish right now,” I told him. “Sit yo ass back and relax. I’m just going to show you how to do it. Then you can do it yourself, of have someone else do it.” Gingerly, I peeled his gown back again and slowly started to massage the area around his shoulders, arms, and rib cage, below his heart. I could feel how tense he was, so I started talking.

“You remember in college, how back in the weight room, the trainers used to massage us, before a game?” Some of his tension eased.

“Yeah,” Marcus said, still furiously avoiding eye contact. “Said it was to help circulate blood flow or some shit.”

“Yeah.” I laughed, sensing more tension leave him. “Or some shit.”

“That’s where you get this from?”

I looked up from the massage. “The idea? Nah. The technique, yeah.”

He chuckled nervously, Still unsure at how to react to my hand massaging his heart under the gown.

It beat so fast.

“What? You moonlighting as some sort agent super nurse, now? Mr. Peter Petrelli?”

I laughed, still massaging, his tension was almost all gone.

“Nah. Nah, man.” There was a pause. “I aint no doctor or nothing. I just have these- these attacks, or chest palpitations or whatever. And sometimes, ya know?” I pressed down, grabbing a decent handful of flesh and squeezing.

“My girl, she does these for me, ya know,” I said. “And… I don’t know. It helped me. And I thought- well, mayyybee,” I looked up at him.

“It could help you too.”

“Mmm,” he nodded. “Word.”

“Well?”

“What?”

“Is it helping, nigga? Damn, can I get a yelp review? I mean, you feelin’

any better ot what?” I asked him.

He made a bullshit thinking face. “Mmm. Gimme a second. Can you go a

little to the left, maybe? And like, I think you need a softer touch, my nigga, you know? Like a the ladies at the spa joints.”

“Fuck you.” I pulled my hands away. “I try to do something nice…”

“Oh, stop being a bitch.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Hey.” He grabbed me by the arm. “Nah, I’m being forreal.” He put his hand back over mine, over his heart, above the gown. “Look at that? No cough, so I guess I owe you a thank you.”

“ Don’t mention it, fam,” I told him. “I gotchu.”

He smiled, and this time it even seemed genuine, not full of his usual dry sarcasm. “You’re still a bitch, though.” Aaand there it was.

Before I could clap-back, doctors burst; a wave of white gowns and blue clipboards, checking equipment, poking and prodding him.

One of them politely asked me to stand over by the window, so as to not “disturb the patient” during the tests.

I could take a hint.

I made my way to the door, but someone called out my name.

I looked over and through the wave, Marcus’ arm had burst through.

Seeing it, I clasped him by the forearm.

“Yo, thanks again…. for visiting, man, and sorry for being MIA,” Marcus said from behind the wall of labcoats, “and sorry about, all this,” he motioned to his round the clock care team.

“The best money can buy, eh?”

“Facts, my brother.” I made as if to head out to head out, but a nurse waved me down.

She had tired eyes. Pretty. Rose-blond hair with brown eyes.

“This is a welcome surprise. He seems, like, really happy,” she told me. “Usually he just yells profanity at us.”

I looked at her, “part of the gig, right?”

“I guess,” she frowned.

“Oh and by the way, massages,

he likes massages, or he seemed to like em, I don’t know, maybe y’all could…”

“Got it. He’ll have the best massage therapists attending him,” she said.

“Right. Thanks. Really. Could you let me know, how he’s doing?”

There was clear hesitation in those brown eyes, but she smiled a small smile and nodded.

Marcus died a few days later.

When I asked what happened on my next visit, they just told me it was his heart.