Orange Coat

I felt the outline of the letter through the pocket of my bright orange coat. Wasn’t it strange that the information in this letter was so important to me even though I had never met the person it was about? And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to open the letter that would tell me whether my twin on the other side of the world had survived the last year.

The train slowly started moving so I took off my coat and carefully placed it on the seat beside me. Sitting down after a long day felt nice. I had visited my best friend after my day at university and it was a bit darker than when I usually took the train back home. She and I hadn’t seen each other in a while and after studying a bit for a linguistics class we were both doomed to fail, we gave one another updates of what was going on in our lives at the moment. “The usual family drama, you know”, Alathea concluded her monologue about a complex family situation that I still didn’t fully grasp. I took a sip of my mug of orange tea she had brought me and told her that there was nothing new to report on my part other than that my parent’s cat had caught flees. She seemed amused but also a bit disappointed in the lack of shared news. After analysing the smiling but at the same time brooding expression on my face for a bit, she suddenly asked me: “Did you ever hear back from your stem cell transplant?” I was a bit perplex and I got a feeling that I often get around her; it’s like Alathea can read my mind. I first murmured that I didn’t know but then confessed to her that I hadn’t opened the letter yet that would tell me what happened after my surgery last year. I carried it around in my coat’s pocket after I got it out of the mailbox three days ago and I hadn’t touched it ever since.

“Well, you gotta open it someday…”

“Do I?”

“If you want to know what happened, yes. Isn’t that why you told them to keep you updated about the patient’s health status?”

I did give my consent to that to the hospital, she was right. But now it felt surreal to physically hold the answer to something that I speculated about so much in my head. I thought many times about how the second surgery on that November day went after my bone marrow was flown to the other side of the world. When I woke up from the anaesthetic, still kind of dizzy, the doctors visited me and told me that the surgery went absolutely perfect, without any complication, a perfect match. But what happened after the infusion bags with my blood packed carefully in a big suitcase crossed the Atlantic laid neither in mine nor in my doctor’s hands. I waited for so long to find out if I was able to help that person who I know so little about, and now I am scared of bad news, how ironic.

“Führerschein und Fahrzeugpapiere, bitte!”

The sudden raspy voice next to me caught me so off-guard that I actually searched my wallet for my driving license for a second before remembering I was still on the train. I looked up. The elderly woman was grinning, she obviously liked having some fun at her job. I showed her my student ID. She nodded and I watched her walk up to the next passenger to make the very same joke. I relaxed into my seat again without being able to fully relax my mind. My genetic twin lived in the US and was a child. That was all the information I got from the doctors, more than that they weren’t allowed to tell me. I learned that the parents preferred a donation in the form of a bone marrow transplant over a peripheral blood stem cell transplant. “The stem cells in your bone marrow, located in your hip bone, aren’t as ‘specified’ yet as the ones in your bloodstream. Especially with young children, the chances that the recipient’s body accepts them are higher”, the woman in her white doctor’s coat explained with a calm voice. I thought much about the parents, how their child’s illness changed and shaped their life, and which decisions they were faced with. I cannot imagine what that must feel like.

The train passed through a tunnel and my ears went numb from the change in pressure. I reached over to the other seat and slipped my hand into my coat’s pocket to feel the letter again as if I could somehow feel the answer through the paper. No, I wouldn’t want to read it on the train, I would wait until I got home. If I would read it at all, I thought. I sat back up and looked at the coat. It was such a vibrant orange colour, it screamed life, energy, and optimism. My grandma bought it for me right after my surgery. She gave it to me in the car when she picked me up from the hospital. I said that really wasn’t necessary, but she insisted on telling me that I deserved a little reward now and pushed the light and flowy coat into my arms so that I had to grab it. And there is really no arguing with grandmas when they give you presents. Now I proudly wore it every single day.

The train slowed down and the next station came in sight. Only a couple people got out here and no one stepped in. It was now even darker and the mountains of the Harz in the distance were barely visible anymore. Together with the fresh summer air that streamed in through the open door, they reminded me of days in my childhood when me and my sister played outside all day long running up and down the hills. I loved these mild summer evenings at the end of August when the air smelled like freshly cut grass, dry soil, and peace. As a child, every little thing in the world feels so vivid and exciting and you are never aware of how finite these days are. You never worry about anything. I wish you could grow up to have the same carefree childhood, I hoped for my little twin.

The trees behind the dusty window now went by faster, and I looked at them without actually looking at them. No matter what the letter says, I tried to calm my racing thoughts, I did everything that I could have possibly done. The three days I spent in the hospital gave me the feeling that I was able to make a difference in the world. And it’s easy to forget that you can do so. I am lucky to have Alathea to remind me of it whenever we meet. Whatever negative outlook I have on something, she finds a way to counter it.

“We can’t really make a difference and that is what frustrates me”, I said after we had finished our tea and gotten into a deep conversation about the depressing state our world is in.

“Is that so? I don’t think you actually believe that.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Why don’t you eat meat? Why don’t you buy any dairy products and recycle everything? Because you feel like your choices matter, even if you’re just one small person.” She paused for a second. “And you are a very small person”, she added eyeing me up and down which made me laugh.

I smiled and turned away from the window. I would text Alathea when I got home and ask her if the family drama had resolved itself. A screeching voice coming from the speaker on the ceiling announced my station. I didn’t even notice that I was almost home. But our train came to a hold before we reached the station, something about a broken signal that I didn’t understand due to the poor quality of the microphone. A few grumpy voices in the rows in front of me started complaining about the delay but I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes.

I felt less scared to open the letter than I did the last few days. But still, do I really want to know the answer? What if the letter starts with: “Dear donor, we thank you again for your stem cell donation. We are sad to inform you— “

“Ausstieg in Fahrtrichtung links”

I quickly opened my eyes. The train had moved so softly that I didn’t notice we were already at my station. I hurried out the train before the doors wouldn’t open anymore and soon after stood at the platform breathing heavily. The train promptly started moving and I watched it vanish into the darkness. I shivered a bit but didn’t quite understand why, yet.

I decided to make my way home. My steps echoed in the hallway of the station building and I stepped out of its tall doors. How chilly it had gotten all of a sudden. I looked to the right and to the left and crossed the wide street, my mind still busy with what I would find out this evening. That is, if I could finally bring myself to read the letter. The letter! I stopped right where I stood in the middle of the street. How could I forget my coat on the train? What should I do now? I would need to go back to the service centre in the station and ask them how to get it back. Like my grandma always says: better ask for help immediately than ask for help when it’s too late. Maybe I should also apply that advise to my letter situation. Alathea with her positive mind will help me with whatever might be written in there, I will ask her as soon as I get my coat back.

Right as I turned around and made a step into the opposite direction, a car, with squeaky tires and way too fast, raced by where I stood just a second ago. With my eyes still wide open and my knees feeling like jelly I sat down at a bench near the doors. My whole body was shaking. The only thing that just kept this car from running me over was the letter and my beloved orange coat. *Pling*. Someone texted me. I got my phone out of my pocket and opened the message with shaky fingers. It was Alathea. “Hey! If it helps you, we can open the letter together. And if you decide that you need more time, that’s great, too.” Again, as if she can read my mind. I started texting her: “I don’t know if I saved my twin's life, but they for sure just saved mine.”