This is how it feels to be me, on the scariest day of my life:
It was a normal Tuesday afternoon.
A high school senior shuffled to his normal parking spot, free of his daily obligations; a normal sight at the end of a normal weekday. He fumbled with his keys and managed to start his well-worn sedan after a short struggle. Rolling out of the parking lot, muscle memory took over and guided him to his normal afterschool job at the office of a local nonprofit organization.
I hope they remembered to make more coffee.
They hadn’t.
Figures.
The lack of caffeine would soon be the least of his worries.
As he finished refilling the neglected coffee pot, over-compressed rock music heralded the sudden end to this normalcy. The senior scrambled to silence his phone as his coworker smirked. Unfortunately for him, she was also his classmate and enjoyed teasing him about his musical predilections, among other things.
Whatever. She’s allowed to like what she likes, even if she’s wrong.
He glared at the caller ID as it outed the interloper who would be causing him future grief at his classmate’s hands. Annoyance turned to confusion as he read the name:
Grandma? She never uses her phone.
Not bothering to excuse himself, he answered and expected to hear someone else’s voice. Maybe he had misread the caller’s name, or a tech-savvy friend was playing a prank. His confusion grew as a voice that sounded like his grandma’s replied and got straight to the point.
His coworker had never seen the color drain from someone’s face so quickly. She only heard him say three words before he hung up and flew through the office without explanation:
“Where is he?”
Whatever she may have thought, the truth was far worse: his younger brother had been in an accident. Despite his grandma’s best intentions, phrases like “Don’t panic” and “He’s alive” are not as reassuring as one may think.
Peeling out of the lot, he sped to the highway with a furrowed brow and white-knuckled resolve. The slight shuddering of his old sedan barely holding together mirrored his mental state: a cacophony of emotions and worst-case scenarios, ready to tear itself apart. However, the conductor of this discordant orchestra would keep coming back to one melody in particular:
Why on earth was he airlifted to Boston?
What was normally an hour-long trip into the city was made in record time, and he was soon going up an elevator in one of Boston’s premier hospitals. There, in a metal box with soft muzak droning overhead, he took a breath.
My brother is a tough bastard.
His brother was the middle child of three, younger than the senior by a couple of years. Being the most energetic sibling, his brother may have had the worst of the turbulent upbringing they had experienced so far. He could be stubborn, hot-headed, and prone to ask forgiveness rather than permission; he learned by doing, and when you are growing up you often do a lot wrong. For instance, if their mom told them to not touch the stove:
The senior, the oldest, would ask why not.
His sister, the youngest, would nod and accept this restriction without question.
His brother, the middle child, would touch the stove to find out the “why” for himself.
It wasn’t exactly deliberate disobedience, but a genuine curiosity for life that had to be satiated first-hand. And despite the abuse his body went through because of this impulsive nature, he never suffered anything more than a few scrapes or bruises. No sprains, broken bones, torn muscles, nothing. He wasn’t just tough, he was supernaturally lucky; it was as if life itself was looking out for him, protecting this rare specimen of inquisitiveness.
The opening elevator doors refocused the senior’s thoughts to the present as he marched off to the ICU. Turning the corner into one of the secluded visitor rooms, he was met by a solemn yet strangely familiar display.
His grandparents stood to the right, softly talking with a man and woman he didn’t recognize. A few friends and family were scattered around the center tables, distracting themselves with cards and small talk. A few of them turned to look at the newcomer, and he saw a familiar emotion in their eyes:
Fear.
No. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not again. Not like this, not like Mom…
Grandma’s firm grip on his lower arm pulled him out of the encroaching darkness. With purpose, she guided him to where she had been standing. The unknown man wore a white coat, explaining what his team was doing to stabilize the senior’s brother. The doctor was very careful with his words as he explained the situation.
Unfortunately, he was less careful with the folder he kept with him.
In many serious cases, doctors will carry around their notes to quickly reference for their team and visitors. Aside from the patient’s medical history, these records usually contain things like notes about the patient’s current condition, descriptions of uncommon maladies related to the case, known interactions with potential treatments…
…photographs of any physical damage to the body.
The doctor opened this folder within the senior’s field of vision, forgetting these images were on top.
Is that…an arm?
Slowly he backed away, darkness swirling at the corners of his vision. His grandma thought she heard him muttering something; perhaps prayers to whatever deity would listen, or curses upon whatever demon had caused this. As darkness threatened to envelope him completely, a single thought pierced the veil and pulled him back to reality:
Where is my sister?
Pushing past the consoling adults, he frantically scanned the room for the youngest of the three siblings. Finally, he caught sight of her in a dim corner of the waiting room. She was seated alone on a sadly well-worn couch, hunched forward, hands clasped in front of her mouth. With her brown hair pulled back, the senior was able to see her normally bright eyes. Now they were trembling, unfocused, unblinking.
Fear.
He gingerly sat down next to her, unsuccessfully attempting to not shift the pillows and cushions with his weight. She didn’t acknowledge it.
For an eternity they sat like that, two statues of shared sorrow that no one dared disturb.
Eventually, he turned to look at his sister again. She hadn’t moved an inch.
“He’ll be alright,” he whispered, with a voice more confident than he felt.
Imperceptible to anyone else, the corner of her mouth shifted up slightly as she nodded.
He exhaled.
Life won’t let him go that easily.
