genetics
The morning dew was still fresh
The sun just peaking over
when I awoke to my mother’s screams
She had to take him
To the hospital
He didn’t feel well.
I don’t remember the tears
That probably streamed down my face
As I opened the door for the men
Carrying large stretchers
And grim faces
I remember the wait with my sister
silence percolating in the air
taunting us with its meaning.
She cried.
I thought about my test later in the day
I had been so worried about it last night
I remember shutting the door on my sister
As they carried him out
His face pale and sweaty
Plastic looking. Waxy. A ghost.
I shut the door.
She didn’t deserve to see this.
But then again why did I?
My mother tried to look calm.
She tried so hard. I pretend it works.
It doesn’t.
I choke the tears down in my throat
My face a mask, I open the door to my sister
I tell her it’s fine. I lie.
He’ll be fine I murmur. I lie.
A friend takes us to school
We stay silent the whole way there
Not talking about it might make it better. It doesn’t.
So I think about my test.
I sing to myself. I tell myself stories.
But all I can think about is his face
The absence of the usual glint in his eyes
When he corrects my writing
Or tells me stories
Or watches those nature programs
Or reads me more news about Brexit
Or yells at me again about how classical music is the only good music
(he’s wrong)
Or talks about my tennis match.
So I take a test.
and I tell myself I don’t breakdown for them.
But I don’t process. I don’t feel
My body feels tight. Like glass.
Like one little rock
Could shatter me into tiny shards
and they talk about genetics
that’s what they say it was
genetics.
so who knows
maybe one day I’ll wake up with a start,
clutching my arm, feeling those symptoms of nausea course
through my clotted veins
maybe I’ll be brought out
on that ghostly throne
my eyes lulled back, my face, white as the page I write on
genetics.
so simple, so scientific, tied up in a neat little bow
But I smile.
And tell myself that everything is fine.
Maybe in another world...