The term hero is so rarely used that when it comes, it sounds odd. It doesn’t quite fit the picture you have presented before you. We hear hero and we think of capes, superpowers and bravery. An eight year old girl doesn’t exactly fit the picture. I didn’t exactly fit the picture. I don’t intend on calling myself a hero now, because I’m not. I’m just simple me. I’m the simple dark haired, light eyed girl. I’m the girl who sits home all alone, and studies rather than invites friends over. I don’t go around helping everyone for the sole purpose of leaving behind some kind of imprint in their memory. I am absolutely normal in the most unusual ways. However, all those years ago, on that warm day in the meadow, I became someone I would have never compared myself to. On that day, I became a hero. On that day, I saved my brother.
Every weekend my brothers and I would go to my grandmother’s house and stay for the two days. She had a small house neighboring a large meadow. We loved that meadow. It stretched as far as our eyes could see. The golden colors of the wheat mingled with the tall blades of green grass. The trees on the edge of the country road bowed before us. Their branches reached out to kiss the tops of our heads. The leaves left small caresses on our cheeks and foreheads. The butterflies flew in circles around us almost as if they were trying to play a game of catch. They would flutter close and then escape again. We could never quite reach them. They were always amazingly out of our reach.
Often we would walk on the road in between that meadow. My grandma and brothers would walk in the front and I would walk in the back. Once in a while I would slow down and let them walk ahead. I remember walking into the tall blades of grass and sitting right there in the middle. I didn’t mind the dirt or the little bugs. I liked the yellow and black bees flying in front of me. I liked the way my heart would skip a beat and pump just a little bit faster every time it neared my skin. Its buzzing tickled my ears and its tiny wings left little bursts of wind on my hands. They, unlike the butterflies, were always so close. That was my little world. It was a world which consisted of only the buzzing bees and the green colors above me. Right there under the tall grass I sat and I listened. The grass hid me from the world. No one could see me there. I loved it.
Yet after a while, the outer world would come and knock on my silence. It told me that I had to come back. It told me that we can’t stay in our fantasies forever. So I would get up and run out onto the road. Out there I felt so exposed. I was vulnerable to the eyes of others. I would follow the voice of my grandma and run quickly to her. She always told stories of my mom’s childhood and her meadow adventures. As I ran I could almost hear the words of the story. It sounded like a memorable one. I wouldn’t want to miss a single part of it. So I ran faster.
When I would catch up, my grandma would smile down at me and I would smile up at her. I could tell she was in the middle of a story. My brothers were walking fairly close to her, and their eyes were sparkling with amusement. My youngest brother, Marcin, who was four years old at the time, always laughed the loudest. It didn’t matter that the story wasn’t funny. He would find some type of word to laugh at. He was always smiling and when he wasn’t he was walking around the house trying to find someone to play with him. He clung on to people like they were his lifeline. He was in love with everything and everyone. At this exact moment his blue eyes were shinning in excitement and his blond hair was waving around his ears and falling slightly into his eyes. His skinny arms were waving back and forth with every step. Chris, my other brother, was a bit calmer. His darker eyes sparkled with less joy and his dark hair was a bit more controlled than the wild mane Marcin had. He was happy nevertheless. It was him that usually came up to me and cheered me up every time I was distressed. He understood a lot more than a seven year old boy should.
My secret spot in the grass would have to wait for me to come back another day. Right now I was there with my grandma and my two brothers. Everything seemed so perfect. The sun was beating down on our faces and the breeze was running through our hair. The butterflies came back to continue their dance and the pebbles jumped beneath our feet. The clouds flew above us and protected us from whatever monsters stayed up there. I was so naïve to think that nothing would go wrong that day.
Somewhere ahead my ears were greeted by the splashes of water. The splashing was followed by laughter. The sound of conversations proceeded the joyous screaming. I would always cringe at the noise. Out here in the open the only thing we were supposed to be greeted by were the birds. The little chirping birds which fluttered their wings above us and sang a lively tune. So many times I envied those wings. I too wanted to fly and sing. Instead I was nearing a stream which would soon turn into an enemy rather than a relief for the sweltering summer day.
The stream which ran along the tall blades of grass was manmade I presume. One side was deep enough to swim, but only up to our waists. It was deeper for Marcin. He always stayed near the bank though, so we never really had to worry about him. The other side of the stream however, was totally different from this one. We were never permitted to go there because it was too deep. We didn’t know how much of that was true since we never saw anyone swimming there. There was a kind of mystery surrounding that part of the stream. We were always curious about it, but never curious enough to go and check. On this day however, something was different. I think we felt different too. We went to that other side while my grandma was setting up the picnic. I think that what we felt was bravery. On that sunny morning, three little kids decided that they will feel brave. We scampered over to the mysterious part of the stream.
Marcin went first, and maybe that was my first mistake. I didn’t know it then. I followed behind him and behind me came Chris. We leaned over the steep edge and down to the water about a foot below. Little waves hit the walls of the one-foot cliff. Our eyes didn’t catch any movement of fish, or any sight of the bottom. The sun glittered and shimmered on the water’s undisturbed surface. Our reflections smiled back at us and radiated the joy we felt inside. The stream didn’t seem dangerous then but I still felt uneasy. I started to move back indicating to my brothers that they should do the same. I haven’t even made three steps when a shrill scream pierced through the air followed by the splash of water rippling somewhere behind me. I looked back to see what happened. I knew however. I knew the moment I heard the scream. My youngest brother had fallen into the water. My little brother who didn’t know how to swim had fallen into that bottomless pit. He was drowning.
Frantically I looked down at the little head screaming for my help. I was his older sister. He counted on me. At that moment he put his life into my shaking hands without even realizing it. At that moment I became his lifeline. I became one of the people that he always clung onto. His life now depended on me. I needed to jump in and save him. I took one step forward and then another. One more step coming faster, and suddenly the wind came fast and the ground escaped my feet. Cold water hit my legs first and then rapidly climbed up my body all the way to the top of my head. I was in the water. I was in the water and my feet didn’t reach the bottom.
I saw Marcin’s eyes. How was it possible for his eyes to hold so much hope and fear all at once? Those were the eyes that not so long ago sparkled with laughter and curiosity. His hand frantically fought the water to find mine. I fought the current to find his.
His head barely stayed above the water and for the first time fear nipped at my heart. No, not nipped. It gripped my heart. The numbness I felt before was now replaced by an ache. It crushed my heart nearly to pieces. His strangled scream forced my body to automatically fight the water and swim towards him. I could see his tears now. It’s funny how I was able to tell his tears apart from the water. They were childish, innocent, young, and pure. The water was dirty, furious, vicious, and evil. It was trying to take my brother away. It wanted to leave me with only one brother. I couldn’t let that happen. So I fought harder. Yet with every move of my body, he seemed to be pulled further away. Somewhere behind me I heard Chris calling to my grandma. His voice was stained with tears and fright. Yet at that moment I didn’t care. For at that moment my eyes held my brother’s eyes for the last time before he went under. My heart exploded.
His eyes held the saddest tone I have ever seen. The hope which was shining only seconds ago was doused by the icy water of the stream. His eyes looked like a goodbye. He had told me goodbye without even moving his lips. It was written all over him. That was his last expression.
Something within me broke, and something within me grew. With every torn piece, something new and stronger grew back. I was done with waving my arms and body in the water aimlessly. I dived deep into the water before the first teardrop rolled down my cheek and into the water. This stream would get no more tears of sorrow. My heart had turned to stone.
The water was even colder underneath but I didn’t mind. It numbed down the fear burning my every fiber. I had to find my brother. Somewhere in the murky water was the little boy that never did the world any fault. I wouldn’t let the world treat him this way in return. It all happened so fast. One moment my hands were reaching and grabbing the empty water, and next I was holding his arm. Never did I feel such joy while holding his teeny hand. It was so little I could wrap my entire hand around his tiny fist. I never noticed that before.
With sudden strength flowing in my veins I pulled my brother towards the surface. It was so close. I could see Chris just above. Just one more second, just one more push. Finally my head, along with Marcin’s, broke the surface. We were free.
Chris reached down and took a hold of Marcin. I helped to get him on the edge before I myself got out. Coughing up water, I scrambled to my shaking legs and stumbled to where Marcin lay on the grass surrounded by people and my crying grandmother. I heard clapping and felt someone embrace me. Yet my eyes never darted away from my brother’s figure. I didn’t want to be called a hero. I wanted my brother back.
Right at that moment I just wanted to go and sit under my grass and pretend I didn’t exist. I wanted to hide away forever where no one could find me. Or maybe I wanted to be that bird. Maybe I just wanted to fly away. Whatever I wanted however, I wasn’t getting. At that moment my heart stopped its rhythm. My eight year old heart was too heavy to beat. I wanted to cry. The little boy who brought so much joy to my family was lying on the grass unmoving. This was worse than anything I had ever felt. All I wanted was for him to sit up, smile, and laugh it off. I wanted him to get up and say that this was all just a joke. Oh how I wanted to hear that laugh! How I wanted to see his eyes look into mine again! I couldn’t even begin to think that I would never again feel his embrace or see him walking around the house with his toys. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream at him to get up and open his eyes. Hot tears started to roll down my face. A scream was building up in the back of my throat. I felt myself losing control. My legs felt a horrible ache to run. The only thing that stopped me was the little cough that escaped my youngest brother’s lips.
He was alive. Marcin was alive. I got to keep my brother. The cheers that came from all around were too loud to forget. The amount hugs that went around were too high to remember. With a smile on my face I went over to my brother and held him. His blue lips pulled into a smile, and his tired eyes sparkled at me. For a moment I thought he was going to laugh. I looked into his eyes and I understood. I understood that he came back because without him the world would change. His lips tried to form words but I hushed him and held him close. He didn’t need to say thank you. The silence between us was loud enough. We both understood. We both understood that without each other we wouldn’t survive.
It’s a funny thing to be called a hero. The pain you have to go through to be categorized under that name is almost unbearable. Without capes and superpowers, the tasks of a hero become overwhelming to the heart. However it also teaches us a lesson. A lesson taught in the harshest of ways. Sometimes we have to be a little frightened in order to realize how much we love and need someone. Sometimes our hearts have to be torn apart and crushed. But that’s okay. It’s okay because at the end of the day someone will put it back together. And as they hand our hearts back to us, they smile. And maybe, just maybe, that one smile, is all we ever needed.
