A Life Lesson

Jerking out of my stupor, I cast around for something to do. Suddenly, a faint gurgling noise reached my ears, and I turned to see my little brother. He seemed to be chewing on something. Grimacing, I reached over to pull out a spittle covered, sopping wet duck, and looked at him in disgust. “Really?” I asked, exasperated.

It made no difference. He rolled over, stared at me from head to toe, and started burbling again. Shaking my head, I turned away to stare at my desk, wondering what I could do. It was bad enough that I had been set to look after my brother, without the addition of trying to get time to myself. Honestly, I often wondered about the glorious years before he had come into existence. Just me, and my parents.

I returned to gazing broodily at my desk, and thinking about the things I could have done had I not been told to watch Bhai. Abruptly, a dull thud echoed in my ears. Rolling my eyes, I thought, probably the baby failing to crawl. Again. And he’s nearly a year old. However, another thud followed, and a bubble of apprehension grew in my stomach. Even if my brother didn’t manage to crawl, he never made two loud thuds. Ever.

Making up my mind, I swivelled around, and nearly blanched. My baby brother was on the floor, his head just scraping the sharp corners of my toolkit, and his face was swelling inexpressibly with pain. In the split second that followed, the only thought that came in my numb brain was, get to Bhai.

I scrambled from my chair, scooped up Bhai in one motion and collapsed on the bed, his body clutched close to my heart. His face was still swelling, getting ever redder, and his heartbeat made itself painfully audible, thumping violently against my chest. Fear had lodged itself in my head, and the only thing I could think of was, he’s going to cry. What do I do? He’s going to cry! What do I do?

Bhai was shaking harder than I had ever seen him. I stared at him in alarm, taking in his clenched fists, throbbing head, and purpling cheeks. This was worse than when he couldn’t play with a toy- this was seeing a helpless, terrified person, with no idea what to do. I couldn’t keep him on the bed. Scrambling, I grabbed him and tried to tear his rigid body out of the bed, but the moment I touched him, he shuddered as if an electric bolt had shot through him. Then, he filled his lungs and screamed.

That scream will forever be etched into my head, and it’s unearthly sound still haunts me, to this day. His shrieking bore through my head, and pierced my ears. I could not bear to look at him, and tried to look for a place to calm him, as if my roving eyes could drown his pain. I didn’t even hear my mom shout “What happened? Where’s Bhai?” I couldn’t hear her scream for Dad, and had to escape her eyes, furious with a maddened frenzy, yet desperate at the same time.

The next few moments were a blurred vision of tears, as my mom ripped Bhai out of my arms, and stared, her face pale, white, and as thin as paper. “What happened?” It was not a question. I knew her face, her voice when it was soft yet dangerous. I couldn’t care, and neither could Mom. “I’ll get ice,” I mumbled, and tore out of the room.

My shaking fingers groped around in the freezer, my face too blinded to see. I grabbed an ice pack, and thrust it into Mom’s hand. The ice pack slipped into them easily, hasty to escape my cold sweat, and terrified of my wrath. What had I done? I spotted the stairs, the lead to Baba. He would help me. He would know what to do.

Before I entered the threshold, Baba had already turned to face me. His veins were throbbing, and his words pierced more than his bellows. “Go! You’ve done enough.” My throat dried, and I was too parched to say “Ok.” I did not need to say anything. I stumbled, and tripped over my steps as I ran. Down the stairs. I could not go into my room, because that was where it had happened, and that was where everyone was now.

I sprinted headlong into the only place safe from anyone and everything. My parent’s closet. The only words that pounded my ears were “coward,” “responsibility,” and “shame.” Yet, I still could not bring myself to open that door, and do something. I half expected someone to open the door and turn to me with blazing eyes, but moments passed and not so much as a whisper arose. The dark gloom started to creep in.

I stared into the mirror, veiled with shadows, and squinted deeper. Who was I? What had I done? I had not been watching him as I should have, and in a split second, everything had changed. He was only a baby. What would happen to him?

Suddenly, my phone rang. The noise reverberated around the walls, and slapped my ears. I squinted to read the white, overly bright words. It was a friend. Not now, I thought. I turned the phone over and sat with my head between my knees, in the dark. I waited for the noise to stop, for the insistent calling to cease. It was only then that I thought of my friends. What would they think of me? The thoughts that come in these moments came, and my head was dizzied by the prospect of ever going out of the closet.

When the ringing finally came to an end, the definity started to hurt more. I needed to do something. I fished my phone out again, and did something that was honestly the worst move yet. I googled it. The screen made me dizzy, and the words forced their hands over me. “Serious conditions” and “check if there is a bruise” was not what anyone needed. Yet, I fished in my memory, searching hard for a bruise on Bhai’s head, or a patch of throbbing red. The image of him shrieking with pain could not count, I thought. Even if it did, he did not have a bruise.

All of a sudden, a sharp rapping on the door burst into the silence. The sound was like a whipcord, and I blinked, startled and terrified. “We are going to Bhai’s doctor. Come out.” It was Daddy curtly, with what I imagined to be a voice dripping with contempt, even though I could not see on the other side of the door. Mom’s choked sobs were audible, and she was evidently talking to Bhai’s nurse. I gathered my composure, and pushed the door open. No one was there.

They were all in the car, so I dashed down the stairs too. We set off, and the tension in the car was palpable. Every movement was brisk, and there was not even a second of inaction after we reached Bhai’s hospital. Daddy front parked, something he never does, and told us to stay in the car. He heaved Bhai’s baby carriage, and I could just see the shadow of them, in the early dusk, Baba carrying Bhai, making it look so easy.

We waited many moments in that car, and the time stretched into what felt like hours. The sky threw on a murky yet rich plum duvet, a midnight blue swirled into a deep purple. I squinted for ages, but no one came. I expected that the hospital must be nearly empty of visitors, family members, but of course, the diligent, caring staff would stay. They were definite, while our situation was too delicate.

I had almost dozed off to sleep, when I saw the distinctive silhouette of Daddy and Bhai. It slipped between the statues of the trees, so I could not be sure if I was imagining a smile on both of their lips. When they neared, they broke into a grin, and even through the glass, the happiness was palpable. Mom went limp, and almost couldn’t understand the happiness. “He’s ok?” I cried, half yelling, half disbelieving.

“He’s fine!” It was enough for me, although I still hung on every word of Daddy’s, as he reassured Mom. I stared at Bhai, not with exasperation, but with wonder, relief, and a newfound appreciation. “Anyone for ice cream?” Mom asked, the first few words she had uttered in hours. “Just don’t drop it!” Daddy teased, making me grimace with the memory of the past moments, but bloom with relief and exhilaration at the same time.