Rootlines
“A remarkable story of hope and determination passionately recounted”
“Fascinating, engaging, and moving . . . on the level of Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, with the immune system taking the place of the motorcycle.”
—Richard S. Marken, PhD, author of Controlling People: The Paradoxical Nature of Being Human
Synopsis
TWO SISTERS - ONE LIFE
They are not speaking when Linda emails. She has lethal abdominal tumors, and her only hope of survival is a total bone marrow replacement. Linda claims Rikki is too old to donate, and explains there’s only a slight chance she is a good match anyway—but Rikki refuses to accept. Despite the wounding between them, Linda’s email ignites a wild aspiration in her sister: she will become the perfect donor, the perfect match, with the healthiest, most vigorous cells possible. She rises with intent to heal herself, her sister, and their rootlines.
Excerpt
Moment of Clarity
The main thing with magic tricks was to tell a story the whole time that would distract your audience from the real thing going on. The story was called the “patter.” You could say you were traveling in this strange, foreign land when you came upon this magical wand, or mirror, or deck of cards. I came across my disappearing wand while wandering among the camels in the hot sands of Egypt.
Meantime, Linda was training me to be a prince. I must have announced once to her that I wanted to be king of the world and fix everything. Linda convinced me that before I could be king I had to be a prince, and princes had to learn a lot of stuff—English and history and math and things Linda knew.
Linda prepared study sheets of things I had to learn. Names of countries and their capitals. Works of famous people like Shakespeare. Addition with carrying. She wrote out the lessons by hand. At the end of my study period, she gave me a test. Ardent in my desire to be a good king, I did well on each day’s exam.
After a while, we had to decide whether to play clubhouse with our stuffed animals, read books, or do other stuff. I wanted to play outside, so I got my Winchester cap rifle and ran into my front yard to join a band of cowboys who were chasing bad guys through the wild canyons there. I ran out of ammunition, so I had to fashion a bow and arrow from the sticks I found in the yard. Under a willow tree, I broke off a good, strong stick that I could bend into a bow. I used a simple string for my catgut bowline. I stole a knife from the kitchen to whittle my little arrows to points. I left out feathers, as I had no idea how I would add those. Anyway, the string didn’t really launch the arrows. But I was able to defend myself until I got back to the saloon.
On Sunday morning, I watched TV quietly in the den beneath the built-in bookshelves, hoping my parents would sleep in and we could skip Mass. You had to adjust the rabbit-ears antennae to get the best picture. I loved Timmy on Lassie, and The Little Rascals, Adventures of Superman, and The Swamp Fox. I wished Linda would come in and watch with me.