There are so many fragile things. After all, people break so easily, and so do hearts and dreams.

— Neil Gaiman

THE CADAVER in front of me made me uncomfortable in more ways than one. First came the nauseating stench. Then the sickly, zombie-like appearance. It made wonder if it had ever really been human.

And perhaps the worst of it all: the idea that a once living, breathing human could suddenly just...die, and leave their body behind.

Or in this charitable person’s case, donate it to NYU’s Medical Science department. It was a middle-aged man. A dull, lifeless husk of what he used to be.

Yesterday was our first day seeing the corpse. It had been easier. We didn’t have to look for too long before flipping our cadaver onto his stomach. We learned some surface anatomy before sealing the bag back up, and quickly leaving.

Everyone in the room was trying their best to feign nonchalance. That was, of course, after Mae Nakamura, my best friend and co-worker, had fainted. 

Poor girl had taken once glance at the dead body on the stretcher and dropped to the ground faster than Kanye West could say “Imma let you finish.”

Today was different.

Today we’d have to begin the cutting.

The lab was blinding white, and cold. I supposed the constant current of cool air was to stave the smells from stagnating. Even so, the formalin used to preserve the body was so strong it was beginning to sting my eyes.

Our list of muscles, nerves, and blood vessels to find and identify had been printed and laminated to prevent oil from body fat from soaking through it. I took charge of holding this very laminated sheet, in the hopes that I’d have less of the hands-on stuff to do.

It worked.

Chad Shields, resident sociopath, was delighted at the sight of the cadaver. A natural born leader (cough, Hitler, cough) he proceeded to stick his gloved hands into the guts and dive straight into his sadistic little perusal.

The squelching sounds were probably enough to turn even a cannibal off.

 “Great work Chad,” our Prof murmured, as he sauntered around our table. “The rest of you, don’t be shy! This is a special opportunity for you to gain a practical understanding of the human body. Don’t waste it.”

Swallowing, I followed as the group edged closer to the body. There were six of us in the team. I watched as each person took turns to cut, and I had to actively hold back my gag reflex.

You signed up for this, I reminded myself. I wanted to become a doctor. I was almost halfway there. Yes.  And I’d have to get used to this sooner or later, because we were going to work on this cadaver for six months.

Turned out my empowering revelation was short-lived, because the laminated sheet was snatched out of my hands less than a second later.

By some universal hex, Scarlett Vasquez, my roommate from hell, had also ended up in our dissection team. With her blue mask covering most of her features, her midnight blue eyes and brow piercing were the only intimidating things about her.

“I think we should have turns with the sheet,” she said.

Heart beating fast, I looked to the team for help, but they were too bored or distracted to care. The few who had heard Scarlett merely hummed in accordance.

I swallowed. Scarlett ushered me closer to the dissection table, shoving her scalpel into my hands. It was hard to keep my hands from shaking, to keep my breathing steady.  

A voice snapped me out of my conundrum.

“Indigo.”

It was Chad. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help us out?”

I clenched my jaw. Then unclenched. Even Mae had recovered from yesterday, and was working diligently at dissecting the body.

“Right,” I said.

I drew my scalpel closer to the open flesh, my breath caught in my throat. I glanced up to see if anyone noticed how nervous I was, then down to see if the sweat was visible through my scrubs.

It wasn’t. Even though I was sweating like an animal.

I glanced up, greeted by Mae’s soft smile. It said: if I can do this then you can, too. And that was what convinced me to apply a little pressure on the scalpel in my hand, slicing down.

It was easy to cut through the tissue.

Too easy.

It was a stinging reminder of just how fragile the human body was. How fragile my body was.

I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I forced it down. 

I was born underweight, with a heart that was a little too big for my body.  Later, I was diagnosed with a condition called osteochondroma — a benign overgrowth of bone. As a child, I’d been through more surgeries than I could count on my fingers. In summary, I was fragile.

I wanted to be a doctor for an obvious reason: to help people just like me. People who weren’t lucky enough to be born completely healthy.

So even though it was difficult, I focussed on what I had to do.

It was a long, torturous hour of cutting, and I was trying to balance stomaching the situation with concentrating on the flesh very carefully, so as to not cut straight through an artery that we had to keep intact.  

The guys in our group weren’t expressing the same sentiment. They’d even started conversation.

“Is it weird if it kind of looks like fried chicken to me?” One whose name I couldn’t remember for the life of me said.

“That’s gross, man,” another responded.

“Don’t make me hungry,” Chad said.

I’d never cringed harder in my life. Finally, the session drew to a close. Somehow I’d become accustomed to the smell, but my eyes still stung a little.

“Oh,” Scarlett said, glancing at the sheet that was once mine. She rolled her eyes. “We’re meant to name our body. Something about giving the guy respect and not objectifying him.”

“Really?” Chad said, detached, “How about...Joe.”

I just nodded numbly.

Everyone murmured an agreement which showed they didn’t really care that much about naming someone that had already died. But when we finally got to remove our gloves and leave, I found myself fast-walking to the bathroom.

Of all the names we could have chosen for our corpse...Joe.

I leaned over the sink and emptied out the contents of my stomach.

*

I didn’t think my day could get worse. I was so, so wrong.

In an attempt to avoid my friendly roommate, I decided to clock into work early. It was the last piece of my grandmother I had left. She’d passed away three years ago, leaving behind her precious flower shop in my care.

I wish I could say I owned the shop, but I’d been too young when Gran had passed away. The shop fell into my mother’s hands. But with her demanding office job, her hands were full.

So my now boss, Kathleen Federer, or as she so lovingly asked us to call her, Kat, had seen an easy opportunity. She’d paid my mom next to nothing for the shop. Mom had accepted the money, because...well, we needed it.

Now Kat was making huge profits by hiking up prices.

You’d be surprised how often people bought flowers, and how much they were willing to pay for something that was going to shrivel up and die within a few days.

One day, I would have enough money to buy the shop back. 

Buy the shop back, and clear the knee-deep student loan balance that no doubt I’d have racked up by then.

But until then, I was going to keep this place safe for her. More importantly, I going to keep my promise to my Gran.  The doorbell chimed when I entered the shop, and Mae was already there. She smiled when she caught sight of me.

“Indigo,” Kat crooned. Her nasally voice fettered down my spine. “There needs to be exactly one hundred roses in this bouquet.”

“There’s one hundred,” I said, bored. “I counted.”

“She did,” Mae piped.

I had. It had taken me a good hour, and I was now thoroughly sick of the scent of red roses.

“I don’t think so,” she said, “Count again.”

“Alright,” I huffed under my breath. “Bitch.”

“What was that?”

“Itch!” Mae yelled.

We both looked at Mae like she’d grow a third head.

“Uh...she said it...itches. Indigo may have, um, chlamydia...or something.”

I clenched my jaw, sending daggers Mae’s way. Chlamydia? Really? As if my body wasn’t already riddled with bad luck. She had to go and add an STD to the list. I got that it was a cover up, but still. Couldn’t she have come up with something better? Like stitch, or ditch, or...

Kat’s face scrunched in clear disgust. “Aren’t you a med student? You should get that checked out.”

I practiced a fake smile. You know, that one type of smile that always makes you look like a clown. “I will.”

Kat nodded, heading toward the door. “Remember to count!”

I nodded and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My boss was a giant pain in my ass. Mae started laughing as soon as the door closed. I stared at her incredulously.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Not that funny?” she reckoned, sobering. “Next time have the decency to cuss your boss behind her back.”

“Well I don’t think she’ll risk coming too close to me now that she thinks I have chlamydia. Jesus.”

Mae started laughing again. I tried to keep a straight face but eventually cracked, unable to hold back a smile. In more ways than one, I was thankful for Mae Nakamura. Because when I told her I felt alone at my shift, she’d practically begged Kat for a job and settled for the low pay.

“I need something for my resume,” she said, when I asked her about it, “It’s looking pretty bleak after high school.”

I didn’t buy it.

“Are you going to re-count?” Mae asked.

I scoffed, watching as a few customers entered, milling about the store. “No.”

Mae’s dark eyes sparked in a way that could mean no good. “Alright, listen to this one.”

I groaned. “Not again.”

“Just listen!”

Mae’s backup option if her doctor plan didn’t work out was stand up comedy. I told her to stick to what she was good at (anything but stand up comedy) but alas. For someone a good foot shorter than me, she was stubborn.

“Okay,” I sighed.

“How do you make your girlfriend scream during sex?”

I made a face, a flush creeping up my neck. “What?”

“You call and tell her about it.”

Despite my claims that Mae was very unfunny, I laughed. “You’re so lame.”

“I’m telling you, stand-up is my calling!”

“I’m going to be very honest with you, my sweet friend,” I grinned. “You suck.”

“And you swallow.”

As if on cue, the doorbell chimed. A tall shadow stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded.

I chewed on my lower lip. Kade. We’d spent five years together. At times I wasn’t sure what exactly was between us. I knew that I loved him, though. And that he was always there for me when I needed him most.

Mae and I both removed our aprons, and she winked my way.

Kade’s black hair fell across his forehead, some strands getting in the way of his green eyes. “Hey.”

My cheeks heated as we hit the summer pavement. “Hey.”

 “How was your day?”

“We started dissections.” I sighed. The sun began to grow heavy on my skin. The humidity wasn’t any good for my frizzy hair, either. “It wasn’t easy. I—”

 “Biochem is slaughtering me.”

I recoiled a little at his interruption. Right. Kade was also in medicine. But he’d gotten into Columbia, where everything was infinitely more competitive than NYU. And while I was only in my second year, he was in his fourth. I sighed. He did have it harder than me.

I turned to face him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he shot me a smile. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

Of course. Ever the A-type personality. I spotted an ice cream truck, and became increasingly aware of the sheen of sweat collecting at my forehead. “Can we get ice-cream?”

Kade’s features crinkled. “I’m not feeling it. But I’ll get you some if you really want.”

I sighed. “Nevermind.”

“Anyway,” he said, “This biochem thing’s got me in a rut lately.”

I nodded slowly, wondering why he was so high strung about this one course. Kade was smart, incredibly so, and his parents could afford to pay for extra tuition from seniors.

He flickered his green eyes my way. “It got me thinking...I need some time to work on...all of it.”

“Time?” My voice was smaller than I’d intended for it to be.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just some time, alright? A few more months and I’ll be done and you’ll have me all to yourself.”

Numbly, I nodded. He pulled me in for a hug, but it was a little colder than I remembered. And the scent of his cologne seemed to blend into our surroundings.

Only when I stopped outside my door, and turned to find him gone, did I realize.

He’d broken up with me.

❖ ❖ ❖

a/n:

hello everyone! new story alert!
this story is very special to me.

the idea has been in the works from 2018 and i have finally decided to write it, you know, since the world is ending and all.

what do we think about my child indigo?

until the next one,

stay gold,
yuen