Star Power Forward

As soon as he stepped from oppressive heat and humidity into the air conditioned, sweet-smelling shop, he heard his uncle cheer. “Woo! It's Shoreline High's own star Power Forward, Adam Polk! Go, Ospreys! Polk! Polk! Polk!”

Adam grinned at the customers in line.

The Karen in front glared back. She probably didn’t appreciate having her ice cream order interrupted. A toddler beside her pressed little hands against the refrigerated case, quietly chanting, “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.”

An old man and a middle school girl gave Adam polite smiles.

A middle-aged woman glanced at him and, unimpressed, looked away. She was tubed to a girl about Adam’s age. The girl was almost pretty, except for her thin hair and the haunted look in her eyes. She gave Adam the up-and-down look of obvious appreciation. He returned the compliment, even though she was too skinny and tubed. Maybe she was far enough along in her treatment to be a summer fling.

Adam turned his attention to the sweaty, hairy middle-aged man behind the counter. “Hey Uncle Vick!”

“Hey future Celtic,” Victor Polk replied. “Didn’t expect to see you ’til after graduation.”

“Thought I’d earn a few bucks this weekend, if you’ve got room behind the counter.”

“You know where the timecards are.”

Adam gave the girl one more smile, imagining how healthy she’d look later. He tried not to hear the rhythmic squishing of the pump hiding under her sundress. It was enough to know that Schlafly Disease could be cured, and the process had something to do with twenty-six weeks straight of two people having their pancreases connected.

Adam knew the drill at Uncle Vick’s. He’d started working summers there after his sophomore year. He clocked in, put on the apron, washed up, and landed behind the cash register in time to accept Tube Mom and her almost pretty daughter’s payment.

He couldn’t ask the girl’s name or flirt with her, though. Linny had come in.

Hot indignation sprung from Adam’s gut to his face like a wild inferno. He’d had exactly one fun interaction with Linny, and he would be paying for it for another sixteen and a half years.

She skipped the line and went straight to Adam.

“I don’t have anything for you yet, Linda,” he snapped. “I started working literally three minutes ago.”

Linny’s eyes were red and damp. She wore an oversized sweatshirt, even during a heat wave. She was probably so ashamed that she hadn’t lost much weight that she had to hide her body.

“I’m not here for money,” she said.

“Good,” Adam said.

Then she pulled an unfamiliar box out of her sweatshirt pocket and held it out to him. It looked like it could fit three or four pencils in it. Adam stared at the printed logo for General Wellness Incorporated.

Uncle Vick saw it, too. He sidled up close to Adam. “Take five, kiddo. I can manage the store.”

So, even though he had just clocked in, he took a break.

He led Linny outside and around the back of the building. The closest they could get to a private place was the patch of sunny gravel between Uncle Vick’s old Chevy Tahoe and the dumpster. Bees lazily investigated both. There was probably a hive nearby.

“Linda Weathers, is this some sick joke?”

“No, Adam Polk,” she mocked his overly formal tone. “This is serious.” She held out the test again. “I thought you’d rather just have me hand this to you. If you don’t take it, then my parents’ lawyers will get a judge to order it done.”

“Unbefreakinglievable,” Adam snarled. Linny’s dad owned five car dealerships in southeastern Massachusetts and northern Rhode Island. He could have easily afforded to raise Augusta without any input at all from Adam (well, besides that one initial contribution). Instead, the jerk had hired brutal lawyers and forced a high school boy to pay child support.

Adam stared at the slender box in Linny’s hand. She wiggled it in emphasis.

“Can’t you do it?” he asked.

“Can I, the person who shared her entire body with Gussy for forty weeks and has just finally stopped breastfeeding her, share my body with her for another twenty-six weeks? Is that what you’re asking?”

“You made Augusta,” Adam said, pointedly rejecting the terrible nickname.

“So did you,” Linny said. Her voice had an angry snarl to it but fat tears slid down her cheeks. “She got your blood type. I’m not a match.”

“Then how were you pregnant with her?” Adam asked.

“For goodness’ sake, Adam, I don’t do your bio homework any more.” She shoved the box into his chest. He grasped it. “Take the test. If it isn’t at the lab on Tuesday, you'll be escorted there yourself on Wednesday.”

Adam pocketed the box as Linny stormed off. “Who shortens Augusta to Gussy, anyway?” he sniped at her retreating back. She didn’t seem to hear him.

Adam spent the next few hours robotically scooping ice cream. He couldn’t fake a smile, and the tip jar definitely took a hit. Still, he was polite to the customers and he got the work done.

The mini golf course across the street closed at eight in the evening, so Uncle Vick aimed to stop serving at 8:30. He let Adam mull things over in silence for a while as they cleaned the little shop.

Adam finished mopping a little after nine. Finally, Uncle Vick said, “So, your kid has Schlafly.”

“Apparently.”

“And that box in your pocket contains a test to see if you can save the baby’s life.”

“Yep.”

“I guess you’ll want to take that right away, right? It’s time-sensitive. Gotta act fast, or your baby will die.”

Adam emitted the groan with the tones, but not the diction, of “I don’t know.”

“Come on, kiddo.” Uncle Vick gestured for Adam to follow. “If I’ve ever seen the face of a man who needs a drink, you’ve got it now.”

There was too much furniture crammed into Uncle Vick’s office, but at least the space was well-organized. Adam sat on the ancient, saggy couch where Uncle Vick slept during his frequent fights with Aunt Madeline. Uncle Vick pulled two beers out of a mini fridge and opened them on his belt buckle. He handed one to Adam, then leaned against the front of the desk.

Adam stared at the bottle in his hands.

“Don’t tell me this is your first beer,” Uncle Vick chuckled. “Weren’t you wasted at the party where your kid was conceived?”

Adam blushed. “I exaggerated a bit. It was less a party with a keg and more like… me and Shane hanging out in Linny’s basement with her and Erica. We were playing Monopoly and Linny brought out some orange juice and a bottle of coconut rum.”

Uncle Vick sighed heavily. “You’ve got some manning up to do, kiddo. But you’re in luck. You’ve got a Belgian pale ale in your hands. Light and smooth. Nice summer evening beer. Cheers.”

They tapped their bottles together with a clink. Uncle Vick drank half of his in seconds. Adam sipped and tried to like the bitter flavor.

“Okey dokey.” Uncle Vick held out his hand. “Let’s open this pancreatic compatibility test. I’ve seen the outside of a dozen of those boxes but never actually known what it's like.”

Adam hesitated. He took too big a gulp of beer.

“Nervous?” Uncle Vick asked.

“The whole tubing thing,” Adam said. Terror lumped in his throat. “I’m pretty uncomfortable with the idea.”

“It only lasts six months,” Uncle Vick said reasonably. “Who wouldn’t trade six months of freedom for another human being to live?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Adam said. “Aren’t there risks? And stuff that changes forever? Also, it makes a huge difference which six months are gone, right? Like, a grown-up who already has his own place and a job and stuff, his life can bounce back after getting tubed. I’m eighteen. I’m supposed to start college in the fall. I can’t keep up my basketball scholarship if I have a baby stuck to me.”

“Whoa whoa whoa there,” Uncle Vick soothed. “That box isn’t going to tube you to anyone. It’s just a way to collect a sample, right? A swab for saliva? Let’s just start there.”

Adam didn’t move to hand the box over. He also didn’t move when Uncle Vick reached into his pocket and retrieved the package. Adam wasn’t sure why, but he was suddenly aware of the fact that his uncle was positioned between him and the door.

Uncle Vick broke the seal. “All right, let’s see. Two cotton swabs. They look like oversized Q-tips. And this envelope has a plastic lining. I bet the used swabs go in there to be returned. Yep, look: the directions confirm it. What’s this?” He unfolded another thin piece of paper. “Some kind of pamphlet. ‘Understanding the Tethered Undifferentiated Biofluid Exchange system for the Pancreas, also known as TUBE-P or the tube.’”

This brought Adam to his feet in a flash. He gripped the paper, but Uncle Vick held on.

Adam asked, “May I?”

Uncle Vick released it. “It’s yours. But let me know what you learn. I didn’t even know ‘tube’ was an acronym.”

Adam nodded and resumed his seat. He skimmed the page, reading occasional phrases out loud. “Twenty-six weeks, beginning in the first phase of infection… effective in 84.8% of patients with Schlafly’s Disease… impact on numerous bodily systems, including endocrine and exocrine… Donors frequently experience increased dental problems, permanent changes to skin, diabetes, increased body fat and other physiological changes… Donors under age 24 have a 2.5% chance of becoming infertile, with the risk rising in proportion to age… One in every five thousand donors dies? This is risky!”

His uncle's weight was suddenly on him.

Adam froze. He couldn’t very well run away with the larger, much heavier man straddling him. It didn’t make sense! His heart was racing as if he were under attack, but this was Uncle Vick. His uncle wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Family doesn’t do that to family.

He held Adam's face with one hand, palm on chin, fingers and thumb pressing into cheeks. Adam felt a swab push between his lips and press against the inside of his right cheek.

Uncle Vick swirled the swab, counting out five rotations. “Good boy.” It was the same tone of voice he’d used when teaching Adam how fish as a child: authoritative, kind. “Now the other side.”

The big man swabbed Adam’s other cheek. He repeated the procedure, saying General Wellness Incorporated sent two swabs “just in case.” It didn’t take very long.

Casual as anything, he stood up and placed the samples in the provided envelope. He sealed it and placed it in the “Outgoing Mail” tray on his desk.

All his uncle had done was collect a DNA sample. Why was he trembling as if something intimate and invasive had happened? He stared at Uncle Vick. “Why?”

“You’re a dad now, kiddo,” his uncle said, perfectly calm. “You can’t let a little anxiety get in the way of doing the right thing.”

Adam tried to rein in his quick, deep breaths. He stared at the ceiling, willing his eyes to dry before it became obvious he had teared up. Weeping would make the whole thing exponentially more humiliating.

“Dude, are you crying?” Uncle Vick asked. Again, Adam didn’t pick up on any intentional cruelty. “Come on now. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but you’re a legal adult now. You’re almost done with high school. Shrug it off, drink a beer. I know it's not ‘socially acceptable’ to say ‘man up,’ but sometimes that’s exactly what you’ve got to hear.”

Rebellion sparked in Adam’s core. It would be cowardly to obey Uncle Vick. He fortified his courage with a deep breath, then locked eyes with his father’s brother. Moisture welled in Adam’s tear ducts and dribbled down. “I’m almost done with high school. I’m supposed to be slinging ice cream, partying with friends, and keeping up with my basketball conditioning. It isn’t fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

“I’m supposed to be worried about sunburns and wearing cool enough clothes to make friends in college.”

“Those are the concerns of young men who did not knock up a high school whore.”

Adam felt goosebumps down his spine. He tried to glare at Uncle Vick. Rage was a hot, empowering thing, and he wanted it so much more than anything else he was feeling. “What is wrong with you, man? When I first came in here today you were all, ‘Rah rah, Adam’s going to play basketball. Future Celtic!’ Now you think I should put my whole life on hold and give up that bright shining future?”

Finally, Uncle Vick’s face flushed and contorted with rage. He bellowed, “There's nothing wrong with me wanting a baby to live!”

“It might not live anyway! And if I’m tubed, I might not, either.”

“It?” Uncle Vick grabbed the collar of Adam’s shirt and hauled him bodily upwards. He moved the boy like a ragdoll, pinning him against the wall. Their faces were too close. Victor’s hot, beer-bitter breath filled Adam’s lungs. “It?”

“She!” Adam yelled. “She. Augusta.”

“That’s right. Augusta Weathers. Your daughter. Your baby girl will die if she doesn’t get tubed. If you’re compatible, it has to be you. End. Of. Discussion.” Victor abruptly released Adam. He crossed back to his half-empty beer and finished it.

Adam remained against the wall. He thought he might shake apart if he moved. “She might die anyway. And if I get tubed, so might I.”

Victor kept his back to the boy. “I said, ‘End of discussion.’ Get out of here. I can’t look at you right now.”

Adam looked at Victor’s rigid shoulders, then the envelope that sealed his fate. He turned and left.