The Question of Miracles by Elana K. Arnold Read Free Book Online Page B

string cheese, he was sending her to school with homemade mozzarella balls. Almost every morning, the warm-wet scent of fresh baked bread filled the kitchen. And there was even talk of purchasing a yogurt maker.
    â€œBoris,” she said as she unwrapped her sandwich, “tell me about your miracle.”
    Boris screwed up his mouth like he’d tasted something sour. “My mom told you about that, huh?”
    â€œShe sure did.”
    â€œI hate when she does that.”
    Iris waited a minute to give Boris a chance to process. Then, after he’d eaten two more pea soup–soaked crackers, she prodded him. “Well?”
    He groaned. “Do we really have to talk about this? While I’m
eating?
”
    Iris nodded. She didn’t point out that she had to stomach Boris’s lunching habits daily, and whatever he was feeling squeamish about couldn’t possibly be that bad.
    â€œIt’s no big deal,” Boris began reluctantly. “Well, I guess it’s actually a really big deal. See, I wasn’t supposed to live. The doctors told my parents I’d be born dead, or maybe I’d die right after I was born.”
    â€œWow. How come?”
    â€œIt’s kind of embarrassing.”
    â€œI won’t laugh. I promise.”
    He sighed. “It’s my urinary tract,” he confided. “When I was developing, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t pee, all right? And so the doctors thought my kidneys were going to be all messed up, and my bladder ruptured while I was still inside my mom—”
    â€œRuptured?” interrupted Iris. “You mean like . . . it popped?”
    Boris nodded. “Uh-huh. And also, the water that surrounded me—the amniotic fluid—it was way too low, which made the doctors worry that my lungs wouldn’t develop right, because without enough amniotic fluid, your lungs can’t grow. And if that had happened, then when I was born and tried to breathe, my lungs could have just cracked apart and I would have died within a few minutes. And there wasn’t anything the doctors could do about it, and pretty much all the babies the doctors had ever heard of who had my problem didn’t make it. They all died. So I was supposed to be dead too.”
    He stopped and dipped another cracker into his soup. Clearly, Iris thought, this story had a happy ending; here he was, alive and well, able to tell his tale and gross her out with his dripping green crackers.
    â€œSo what happened?”
    â€œIt depends on who you ask. The doctors say I must have spontaneously healed myself. That somehow my kidneys and my bladder got better, even though they couldn’t explain why. And also, suddenly there was enough amniotic fluid, even though there hadn’t been enough before. Anyway, no one expected me to live. I mean, I had to have a couple of surgeries after I was born, but not big surgeries.”
    â€œThat’s pretty amazing,” said Iris. She imagined what that had felt like for Boris’s mom and dad—to know that their baby was probably going to die, and that they were helpless to stop it. She thought about how relieved they must have been when he lived. And when he
kept
living, and growing.
    â€œSo who says you’re a miracle?” she asked. “The doctors?”
    â€œNah, they just say that I’m really lucky. But my mom’s cousin is Catholic—I mean, we’re Catholic too, but not like her, we just go to church on Easter and sometimes Midnight Mass before Christmas. My mom’s cousin Joanne is
seriously
Catholic. When I was sick and all, before I was born, and Joanne found out about it, she wrote a letter to this group of nuns down in Northern California. Near Berkeley. And those nuns prayed for me. Do you know anything about Catholicism?”
    Iris shook her head.
    â€œWell, Catholics, when they pray, they don’t always pray directly to God. Sometimes they pray to