A fragile seed encased within a jelly-like surface. The moment I bite in, I’m met with a savory and slightly bittersweet crimson juice.
I feel betrayed.
The shell – now split in the center – sprawls out in a clear Tupperware container. The seeds – now eager to escape the spongy chamber they once worked together to fill – overflow onto my kitchen floor.
Should I feel betrayed?
The physician takes an echocardiogram, her hands guiding the wand as she spreads the warm jelly across my bare chest. As my heartbeat echoes through the room, I stare at the fruit and vegetable stickers spread across the ceiling and attempt to assort them by color. I only manage the red.
Apple… strawberry… raspberry… tomato… pepper… chili…
“All done! Let’s wipe you down and take you back into my office.”
A slice of watermelon… an opened pomegranate… beetroot… red onion…
“In the first few minutes, your heart rate was over 120. It could have been due to nerves or discomfort. The initial diagnosis was your young age, a usual hyperactive heart. Normal. The following minutes, I noticed some activity on your lower left side. There was a sign of leakage from your lower valve…”
Just like my dad.
“Just like her dad,” my mom echoes.
“Correct. Many times, heart diseases can be inherited. Based on her family medical history, this could be a possible cause.”
“Will she be alright?”
“I want her to get a few more tests done, to help in giving her a proper diagnosis…”
Test. Test. You’re young. You’re fine. You’re young and fine until you’re not.
“… now, the symptoms that Karoline’s described to me are tachycardia: the shortness of breath, light-headedness, the strain in her chest, the cramping a.k.a. palpitations. By the end of her exam, her heart rate didn’t drop lower than 110. This is what was worrying for me…”
She’s looking at me.
“… today, I’ll be sending you guys home with a referral to get a Holter monitor. This is a device that will track your heart’s activity for approximately 24 hours. Once I get the results, we’ll schedule our next appointment. I know this is a lot of information to process…”
You think?
“… do you have any questions for me?”
Why me? How much more will it hurt? How long…
“Mom?”
“Is there anything I can do for her, to alleviate or…?”
“I would recommend we keep her eating healthy and balanced meals. She’s quite young, but you should be aware the older she gets; she might have more complications depending on the severity of her future diagnosis. As of now, she might have her usual episodes of discomfort in the chest, when this happens have her lay down, have her take deep breaths in and out…”
I’m quite young. I’m quite young. I’m quite young.
As of now, my hyperactive heart will continue to pump out its red seeds. Occasionally, a few will make their escape, and the spongy chamber of my chest cavity will cause a minor crack in my shell. The crimson juices will cause a bittersweet sensation as it seeps through what it should remain within.
I continue to reimagine my heart as a pomegranate. The surface of the outer layer is beautifully shiny, masking a rot, that sooner or later will dominate. The moment someone splits it open, what will the surprise be: draught, the right amount, or an abundance? Would a customer desire a refund if they received my heart? Would they regret it if they knew they’ll have an abundant supply of seeds after the fruit’s external layer rots away?
I guide a handful of seeds into the roof of my mouth. Numerous bursts; the bittersweet taste battling the taste buds on my tongue. I scrunch my nose as my jaw tenses. Goosebumps and shivers embrace me. I enjoy the taste, but my body pushes back.
Peace and sadness on a balance scale, playing the game of seesaw, as I swallow another pomegranate seed in a daze. I feel a phantom pain making its presence known.
The next performance will prevail over the last. Budump. Budump.
Karoline Lopez is a writer and full-time student, currently pursuing a B.A. in Psychology and a Minor in Creative Writing at Montclair State University. She was born and raised in Paterson, New Jersey. She can be found spending her time with the pen communicating the wonders and images of the mind.
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