It didn't start out this way. With me being depressed. No ones life ever starts out that way. I started to become depressed when my brother died.
He was older than me by eight years. He was eighteen and I was ten. My brother was, in a way, my best friend. When we were growing up my dad wasn't there. He left when I was three. My brother, his name is Andy, said that he wasn't there much when he was younger. He was always out drinking, or getting high. And our mother, she wasn't home much either. She had an almost 24/7 job. She was a waitress, it wasn't the highest paying job. When she was home she would sleep or go out. So my brother and I became close. He cared for me like my parents never would. Everyday after school he got permission from his own school to leave early to come and fetch me. All the work he missed he would catch up. I would always think that he tried so hard to get noticed by someone. People at his school noticed, but the only person he wanted to care was our mother. Soon enough he stopped trying, this is when I knew for sure that he wanted her attention. His academics dropped and got threatened to be kicked off his sport teams. The school called in meetings for the teachers to talk to our mother, but she would never come. I remember, one day, when I was eight, I waited for six hours at my school. I started to cry when the school called my mother, saying that she doesn't care and that my brother would be here soon. They phoned her anyway. She came to fetch me. We got home and found Andy lying on the couch. My mother started shouting at him. I tried to block my ears but it didn't work. I couldn't stand the fact of her shouting at him. I started screaming for her to stop. The tears running down my face as if it were a race. I clung on to my brother but he whispered to me that it would be okay, everything will be okay. He sent me to my room and I obeyed obediently. I put my head under my pillow to block the noise out. Soon Andy came in.
He looked at me with sad eyes and took my small hand into his big one. "I'm sorry," He said, "you know I would never do that on purpose. Please forgive me?"
I looked into his hazel eyes. They were tired and sad as usual. "It's okay Andy," I had said. "You're here now. But why did I hear mommy say that school is more important that your own life?" Andy still looked sad, not like he was a minute before that though. He looked a different kind if sad. Only now that I said that. "She thinks differently to everyone else. Sometimes life gets in the way of school. Its hard to understand but my grades aren't good right now. Not like they used to be. It's because of something happening in my life. Now I can't tell you what that thing is. You won't understand. But you will someday. I promise. And today I broke a promise, by not fetching you. But I will never break another promise again, okay?"
I was scared by what he had said. It was a lot to take in and at that time and I didn't understand most of it. But I did remember it. I never forgot what he said that day.
I nodded and replied with an okay.
My brother was right, he never broke a promise again. He improved his grades but I don't think it was for our mother that time. He never spoke to her much after that fight they had. He tried to ignore her, for four years until he died.
He died in a car accident. He was coming back from a job interview where a drunk driver fell asleep by the wheel and swerved into his lane. It happened fast. Andy's interview lasted thirty minutes, half an hour. That's all it took. There was a phone call at home. My mother wasn't there so I picked up. The man on the other end of the line asked to speak to her. Since she wasn't there and I didn't know her work number, he asked for my neighbour to come. I didn't understand why but did as I was told. I knocked on my neighbours door, who I only ever met once, and a young girl about my age opened it. I recognized her, she was from my school. Her name was Megan. We would sometimes play together at breaks. Her mother came over and listened to the phone with her hand over her mouth, she looked at me the whole time with sad eyes. When she got off the phone, she knelt down and broke the news to me, she told me that my brother was in and accident and was badly hurt and in the hospital. The woman hugged me, I wanted to tell her that I didn't know her and that I would rather be left alone to cry, but her hug was warm and comforting. I held onto her and cried.
The lady walked off and made a phone call. She came back saying that my mother was going to try get to the hospital as fast as she could. She offered to take me, as I accepted. The nurses let me into the room where my brother lay, lifeless. I asked one nurse why he isn't having an operation, but he just looked at me with sad eyes, and said that she was sorry.
He died that day. My mother came in for a bit and when the line wet straight she put her hand over her mouth, made a loud sobbing sound, and ran out.
Our neighbour took me home and .stayed with me until my mom came home an hour later. My mothers eyes were red from crying. She came closer to me and hugged me. I didn't hug her back, which made her cry more. I wanted to talk to her but what I didn't realize then, was that I had never actually had a full conversation with my mother.
The woman from next door invited us to supper that night because she felt sorry. We went over only because my mother didn't know how to cook. The neighbour lady, Angalene, talked with my mother in the kitchen while I sat awkwardly at the table. The girl, Megan, came and sat next to me. Her eyes were a dark green colour. She looked at me with sad eyes.
"If it makes you feel any better, I had a puppy once that also died." I nodded my head and kept looking down. "You go to my school don't you?" I nodded my head again, "You're my friend. We play at breaks. If you want, we can be best friends from now on?" This is how I met my best friend, Megan. Whenever I got lonely, which was a lot, I would run the the forest to a treehouse that my brother built for when when I was five. We would always go there and look at the stars through the gap in the canopy. We would lie there on cushions and he would tell me stories. He would always have the best stories. Although now I realize that every little sister says their brothers have the best stories.
I am seventeen now. I am in my last year of school. Nothing much has changed. Nothing with my dad. Nothing with my mom. Still have the same best friend, and still go to the same treehouse that my brother built. And of course, I still miss my brother. But life moves on.
By the way, my name is Dakota Maine
