1
Slamming the door shut behind me, I stalk down the stark white hospital hallway, the shitty smell of cleaning detergent and sickness stinging my nostrils, making the blood in my veins rush hot.
Fists clenched as tightly as my jaw; I can hardly make out anything in my head other than the residue of shock from the past twelve hours.
It doesn’t fucking matter what I do, I can’t shake it off my skin. It’s lodged deep in my damn throat making it hard to breathe. My shoulders are strained with so much tension and anger. And all I can see in my mind’s eye is a replay in—sharp contrast of brilliant color—of last night’s events.
One moment, he was alright. My older brother was fine. He had his secretive, ‘I-know-something-you-don’t’ smile on his face all evening.
He was responding.
His eyes were bright.
He had just talked to our younger brother, Liam on the phone, who was away for summer camp.
And the next, he just wasn’t.
I’d like to blame it on the fact that Mom turned on the TV at the wrong time, because that’s where everything went to hell. I’d like to think it’s my fault for leaving him alone for those few minutes.
Whatever, we’re here now and these godforsaken doctors won’t tell me shit! Goddamn it all to hell.
Where did I go wrong? What did I miss beside chalking off Aiden’s fever for a cold that would pass?
I start pacing from one end of the hospital hallway to the other, deciding to go through last night’s events with a fine toothcomb.
See, I left Aiden in his room, which is conveniently close to the TV room where Mom was waiting, dressed to the nines for dinner with her husband; but we both knew even then, he wasn’t going to show.
Feeling sorry for her and naively casting away my responsibilities to my brother, I sat with her, driven by this stupid need to turn her constant frown upside down, not that she deserved it, but she was still my mother. Maybe I wanted her to forget about how shitty her husband really is, but she should know this. He didn’t give a damn about his son.
She decided to pass up time by watching her favorite gossip channel, E! But when she switched it on, I watched as her face paled like she was witnessing the goriest horror movie.
Mom always had a habit of watching that damn channel all day like it was her religious duty to do so. I don’t know why I thought she did it to get her gossip points for when she met up for brunch with other wealthy housewives, with too much time on their hands and nothing productive to do.
But last night, I realized something else. Mom didn’t watch that channel for other people’s messy gossip. She stalked the channel for news, any kind of news, about her whoring, cheating jerk of a husband.
Last night, she put the truth to that adage; if you’re looking for negative news with bated breath and desperation, you’ll find it. And last night, she got what she was looking for.
With a scream, she grabbed the nearest object she could get her hands on, which so happened to be her wedding picture frame, and threw it at the TV, smashing both the screen and the photo, like she had had enough and it was time to finally…break.
And why not, it’s not like she didn’t know. She did.
But the thing about living a life filled with secrets and deceiving yourself is that it’ll eventually catch up with you. I’ve learned earlier on that self-deceit is like a lethal poison that you concoct yourself, then shoot it up your veins like it’ll blind you from the extremities of a fucked up reality.
But Mom saw it coming, though.
The drunken white lies she always accepted from him. The twisted, neatly wrapped expensive apologies she always welcomed with open arms. She saw it coming and now it all blew up in her face.
Okay, and then what happened? Was there a sign? Was there a rumbling of thunderous clouds? Fuck, what happened to my brother?
When Mom threw that picture, I guess she realized there wasn’t a need to wear her ‘everything’s perfect’ mask anymore. Unfortunately, that also meant that she didn’t have to pretend to be a loving, attentive mother anymore.
All it took from her was three piercing, earth shattering screams to bring me here, in this damn hospital, exhausted out of my mind and so damn angry, I can’t think straight.
It only took three screams with short, barely-take-a-breath, intervals, like she’d been holding it in for long time. While at the same time, Aiden had been holding whatever’s wrong with him in. Like a ticking time-bomb.
It took just three screams from her to mentally check out from this fucked up world, shedding her responsibilities and surrendering to the sorrow and pain that was always there in her eyes when she looked at her husband every morning like he didn’t creep in at four am for as long as I can remember.
Three screams.
With the first scream, I heard a loud crash coming from my brother’s room. It was so loud and so sudden, my head snapped around so fast I didn’t have the time to notice, let alone catch my mother from falling as she lost her footing, fingers scrambling to tear her evening gown.
With her second scream, I quickly got up to catch her, my ears perked up to the nerve-racking distinct sound of choking.
That sound. It paralyzed me to the spot, turning my insides into cement blocks.
I was hoping Mom was listening when three seconds passed after her second scream. I shook her shoulders, begged her to stand up and come with me to check on Aiden but instead, dead eyes filled with an emptiness that’s been eating at me since I was three years old, met my gaze. I don’t think she could see me, but when she belted out the last shiver inducing, horror movie scream, I knew.
“Fuck!” I bellow, every inch of me coiled so tight, anger making my vision hazy. For a second the white walls look like they’re glazed over by bloody red stains.
Did she know? When she screamed like that, did she already know what was going to happen to Aiden?
I mean, that’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why she didn’t get up to help her son with Down syndrome, but instead sought out three bottles of her favorite wine to console her.
But if we’re being honest, Aiden hasn’t existed for my parents since he was born. How can the Fitzgeralds be so flawed?
Fuck them! Aiden’s still they’re son!
But he isn’t supposed to be in this fucking hospital. I took care of him. I gave him medicine when he complained about a headache and when his temperature shot up yesterday afternoon. I was with him the whole time up until that point.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but just like the past four or so hours, I ignore it.
If either of them can’t be bothered to be here for their son, then they don’t deserve to know what’s happening.
I screamed at Mom to help me, to come help with Aiden, but she didn’t.
I called my asshole of a father to come home, but as usual, his phone was answered by a sultry sounding whore, no doubt enjoying her after-hours work perks of sucking his dick, literally.
I shake my head, trying to erase the image of Aiden, lying on that cold floor, his body cold to the touch, his breathing short and labored like he was taking his last and the fear in his eyes…
Over the years I’ve experienced a lot when I looked into his eyes. There was sadness mixed with anticipation. Happiness and joy clouded by pain. Excitement and cleverness coupled with anxiety and shyness.