Moments Before

Ashton

I don't think I've ever met someone so unpredictable. I called out to him and demanded he come back but he didn't. If the boy wants to throw tantrums like an three year old that's his choice. I storm back in and rudely ignore Rosanna. I know that later she'll lecture me about it but right now I don't want to talk. Ramon is lingering in the hallway but the glare I send him must have warned him off. Derrick receives a similar warning look with a little less venom. 

I flop down on my bed trying to remember to breathe. Even the guys don't have all of the information about Ramon and Derrick. I didn't tell them what Ramon said. I don't tell them about the numerous crimes that they've committed. I don't tell people that the one time I did something wrong my mother fell into a depression we could barely pull her out of. Why does Noah of all people feel like I owe him that info? 

Whatever, I'm determined to not give a shit. I roll out of my bed and pad over to my vanity. Opening a drawer I take in the wide variety of nail polishes. I'm not one of those people who keep my nails up, in fact I barely remember to clip them regularly but I'm in a reminiscing mood and a particularly happy one is associated with nail polish. 

When Ramon, Derrick and I were much younger, I was about 6 at the time, we were the best of friends. Ramon and Derrick went out and bought me fourty nail polish's in every color possible. They used it to surprise me, for no reason except that I did well on a test the day before. They had pooled their saved allowances together to afford it. Mom ended up re-imbursing them for it but I was their sister and they were more than happy to risk the money loss. After a lot of begging and puppy dog eyes I persuaded the two to let me paint their nails. We couldn't decide on colors and painted each nail, toes and fingers, a different color. We were laughing and chatting and being children without a care in the world. They were tickling me relentlessly and I accidentally knocked over several of the bottles allowing the foul smelling polish to spill on the bathroom tile. 

If you look really close you can still see faint splatters on the tile that never really got scrubbed off. I could have cleaned it off but every morning when I see the used-to-be vibrant colors I'm reminded of a happier time that I just can't part with. But that was before everything. Before the jail time, before Mom's breakdowns, before the curse.  

I don't even really feel like crying right now. There's a strong pull from within that begs me to run out to the ocean, it's still early enough in the day I could safely. But on the beach there's people, people who will try to talk to me. Just the normal friendly thing that small town folk do. I don't want to smile for them, hear the small town gossip because frankly at the moment I don't care. 

Instead I pull out my phone and try to distract myself with meme's. Of course that's not really going to get my mind off of what I know I have to do tonight. I have to touch my brother, and see when he'll die. If I know than I'll know whether or not to encourage everyone to put their faith in the medications or not. Or if my brother should just start checking things off his bucket list while he still can. 

Too soon Mom is calling me down for dinner. My nails are painted maroon and my mother comments on the shade in her normal small-talk kind of way.  Both my brother's snap their heads to look at me, a ghost of a smile on their face. I sit next to Derrick and everytime he gets close to touching me I get nauseous. I don't know if I'm selfless enough to do this. Why can't I be like everyone else, blissfully ignorant. I don't talk much at dinner but when the family asks I brush it off. 

Ramon stares at me the entire dinner and it makes my insides feel like a dishcloth being wrung out. After an eternity of tense small-talk and not so subtle glances Mom dismisses us and tells us she'll cover clean up for tonight. At least there's that small reprieve. I ask Derrick to come into my room and his eyebrows shot up the same time that Ramon's did. Ramon lingers as if expecting an invitation but there won't be one. Derrick comes inside and I ask him to sit. I've never seen my brother so confused before and I'm kind of enjoying it. That doesn't mean that my stomach doesn't plummet whenever I look at him knowing what I'll do. 

Fuck. I think I'm tearing up again. A deep breath and I reach out and grab his bare hand. For a second my hand just registers the feeling of someone else's skin. I hadn't noticed it for the other one's because I hadn't been expecting it but for just a split second I notice the dry texture. And then I'm tossed into a pit of hopelessness.

It's in a hospital room and I hear familiar voices. Shallow breathing and the steady beat of a heart monitor. Outside people bustle about, walking by our room, unaware of the tragedy that's about to slam into my family. 

"Derrick? Sweetheart? I hope you can hear me, I just, I wanted to say that I love you. So much honey. We'll miss you." That was mom's voice, definitely mom. There's strangled noise that sounds like someone's trying not to cry. "Ashton, please hold yourself together. This won't be the end. Your brother will be fine." Mom's voice is a reprimand, the noise, that must have been me. Crying because I do know that it's the end. 

"I'm just here to check on his vitals. After a surgery as difficult as his we monitor him every fifteen minutes. I'll be quick. But all of you should go home anyway, get some sleep so that you're all refreshed when you see him tomorrow." A man's voice. I don't recognize. I can hear myself protesting, begging to stay. In the end I get my way, and not even two minutes after the doctor leaves I hear seizing. Screams. Doctors shouting out orders. Than a flatline and Ramon sobbing. Mom's hysterical and irrational cries. Dad's quiet and off to the side whimpers. My own protests and pleads. Than I'm placed back in front of my brother. 

Derrick is looking at me freaked out. I wasn't crying, but I'm shaking so hard that one would think I'm having a seizure. His black waves of hair drip in front of his eyes. He's demanding to know what is going on. Am I okay? What was that? Should he get mom?

The answer is no. I'm definitely not okay. It was like being stuck, forced to experience his death before it happens. But it didn't help. All I saw was the hospital curtain, faint outlines of the people gathered around. I still have no idea when he'll die. I tried, I ran to pull the curtain back, and each time I almost had it in my grasp it vanished like smoke. I felt like a cat trying to catch the light from a laser pointer. Except of course, that it's about my brother's life. Not some stupid game. I don't know when I'll lose him, but it feels like I already did.