Free Hugs

by Odi Welter

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I give the dying man a hug. Then I take his money.

He walks away. Healed. He’s gained a few more years in exchange for a sizable dent in his bank account, and I’ve lost a year of my life in exchange for a sizable increase in my bank account. My hugs certainly aren’t free.

People come to me from all over; politicians, celebrities, royalty – anyone dying with enough to offer to justify the trade.

I’ve lost eleven years.

I’ve saved eleven lives.

I could save more, but I’m no heroine.

***

Back at my penthouse, a teddy bear stares at me with plastic eyes as I sit at my desk. I spin away from it to escape its judgemental gaze. I should just throw it away, but I can’t. It belonged to the first person I ever saved. My parents always taught me to avoid hugging others, but when my niece was born with her heart missing a piece, I couldn’t sit by and watch. I hugged that little, helpless baby, and now she’s eight years old, making friends and playing games. 

I pick up the bear and walk to the window separating me from the stretch of the city. A city full of people who are dying, who don’t have a few million to part with to keep the inevitable at bay. My phone rings, so I drop the bear back in its place and answer.

“You’re coming to family dinner tonight, right?” Mother asks.

“Yeah, I was just on my way over.”

“Perfect. Do you mind stopping by the store and grabbing some limes? Your papí forgot them again.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say, pulling on my coat and descending down my building. “Did he forget the cilantro too?”

“Alejandro! Did you forget cilantro?” she hollers.

“No!” My dad yells from the kitchen.

“Surprisingly not,” my mom tells me.

“Great, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Hasta luego, mija,” she says before hanging up.

***

I step out of my apartment building as an ambulance blares past. A small group hands out flyers for a marathon to raise money for a children’s hospital, and a young woman in a wheelchair passes by with some friends. I lower my eyes, stuff my hands in my pockets, and make my way to the nearby grocery store.

Behind me in the checkout lane, a little girl with a hat covering her bald head helps her father load their groceries on the belt behind my limes. I try to pretend that they aren’t there as I shove my credit card into the machine and wait for it to process my purchase. A tug on my sleeve pauses me before I can punch in my pin.

“You’re really pretty,” the girl tells me with a wide smile that shows a missing tooth.

I smile back, the sinking feeling in my gut dragging me downward. “Thank you. So are you. I love your skirt.”

Her smile widens and she spins from side to side, causing her puffy blue skirt to flare. “Thank you. My grandma made it for me.”

“Your grandma must love you very much.” I type in my pin and take my receipt and limes from the cashier.

“She says I’m her treasure,” she beams.

“Can I give you a hug?” The words fall out of my mouth before I even think about what they mean. Her thin arms wrap around my legs before I can take them back. I lower to her height and hug her. My year flows into her. When I rise again, I don’t feel like I lost something, in fact, it feels like I gained something.

“I’m sorry,” her father says. “She loves hugging people.”

“It’s alright,” I tell him. I feel like I’m floating. “Have a nice day.”

“Daddy,” I hear the little girl excitedly say as I leave the store, “can we go on a bike ride after dinner?”

***

My heart pulses warmth around my body, lifting my shoulders and brightening my smile. I’m still smiling when I enter my parents’ kitchen.

“Tía!” my niece and nephew yell, clambering off of stools, their interest in Abuelo’s chopping stolen by my entrance. I kiss both of their foreheads, ruffle Matias’s hair and tug on one of Alaina’s pigtails. They grab my hands and drag me into the kitchen.

“Here are the limes, papí.” I kiss my father’s wrinkling cheek and hand him the plastic bag.

“Gracias, mija.” He returns to chopping the cilantro for his world-famous guacamole. Famous in our world, at least.

“Tía! Look!” Alaina exclaims. She and Matias pull me into an intense analysis of their newest school projects. My mother, sister, and her husband join in from outside, where my mother had enlisted my brother-in-law to inspect her ancient car. I’ve offered to buy her a new one, but she refuses. I’ve offered to give them everything they could ever want, but they all refuse. They don’t want the money I’ve lost pieces of my life for. They don’t say it, but I know they don’t approve of the way I make my living.

Soon, dinner is lost to full bellies, the dishes are washed and dried, and the children are beginning to get cranky. My sister and brother-in-law pack them up into the car and drive home, leaving my parents and me to enjoy a cold beer together on the back porch.

“Why do you think I have this?” I ask, the little girl from the grocery store returning to my mind.

“Have what?” Mother asks.

“This curse.” I trace my thumb through the condensation on the bottle. 

“Curse?” Father sits up. “I wouldn’t call it a curse, mija.”

“Then what is it? I can’t hug anyone I love without risking losing a year of my life for something as little as a– a paper cut! I live every day knowing that I could save so many people, but if I do…” my head drops. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Oh, mija, I’m sorry.” My mother’s hand squeezes my arm and she kisses my temple.. “What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know,” I choke as the tears roll down my face.

“You should do whatever you believe is right,” my father tells me. “We’ll love you no matter what.”

A hiccup of air comes up my throat, but no words – what is right?

“Te amamos,” my mother whispers into my hair.

“Los amo,” I whisper back. I kiss them both and pull myself unwillingly out of their arms. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll see you later.”

“Adios, mija.” My mother says, wiping the tears off my cheeks. 

***

The teddy bear is waiting for me with its usual plastic stare when I return. I pick it up and rest my chin on its soft head. My feet pull me to the window, where the lights of the city blot out the stars. A tear trails its way down my cheek – Mother must have missed one.

The next morning, I leave my penthouse with a letter in my pocket and a handwritten sign under my arm.

Mi maravillosa familia,

I love you all so much. You are the reason I have been trying so hard to keep going. But I can save people, people who need it. I hope you don’t hate me. But I’d rather live one day making other people’s lives better than a full life like this. Never forget that I love you all.

Mis abrazos son libres.

Los extrañaré,

Reselda

I approach the desk at the children’s hospital and head straight for the elevator before anyone can stop me – not that anyone would with a handful of balloons and presents.

As the doors slide shut the elevator, I pull out the sign with the big, bold, colourful letters written on the front reading: FREE HUGS.