Once out in the living room, I saw the usual scene; my father on the couch watching sports – on this particular night he was watching game seven of the World Series – my mother sitting in her rocking chair, next to the fireplace, listening to her tiny radio, which sat on the end table next to her – the tiny radio was playing “Mr. Blue” by The Fleetwoods – and my brother laying on the floor in front of the television, not paying attention to it, mind you. Instead he was looking over the Halloween candy, which was laid out in front of him, he had gotten earlier that night with sinful eyes, trying to decide what he should eat first.
My mother spoke up, talking to my brother, “You should share some of that with your brother.”
“I will ma. I’m just separating it into the good candy pile and bad candy pile.”
I was thinking light heartily: ‘I’m going to get the bad candy pile.’ That was all right though; at least it was something. My younger brother and I were pretty close. He wasn’t the tough type, and was always picked on at school. There were a few times that I had to go and protect him from some bully. More then once I had chased off some kid who wanted to beat him up for no good reason at all. Really, I hadn’t seen him much within those three months of my illness. My sickness, I’m sure, was pretty difficult on him; I know he felt bad seeing me in the condition I was in. Usually, we would spend a lot of time together. He was my younger brother – sure – but he was only two years younger then me. And although I knew he wanted to come into my room to see me, it didn’t happen too often. He was scared and that was all right… I was scared too.
Then my father spoke up, speaking to my brother also. “Well, you give your brother some of that candy in the good pile, you hear.”
“I was going to give him all the candy in the good pile. I’ll eat the bad stuff this year.”
When I heard that, it really felt good. It showed me how much he actually cared about me.
“That’s a good boy.” My father said. My dad was a good dad. The fishing trips we had gone on over the years were pure joy. He and his childhood friend, Ron, who owned a boat, would take me up to the lake in Bridgetown, Maryland at least five times a year; and this was every year since I was five. Even though they caught many more fish then I did, I still enjoyed every second on that boat. It made me feel like one of the guys. This sickness made me miss the last trip that him and Ron went on. My dad was going to stay home, but I told him to go, and catch a big catfish for me.
I walked further into the living room, still feeling good. Those pain pills my mom gave me must be some kind of miracle drugs, I thought. My mother was too busy with her knitting to see that I was up and out of bed. It really did my heart good to know that I had a mom as caring as she was. She had taken care of me from day one of my sickness… and before my sickness of course. Anything I needed she would be there for me. I’m very sure that it was tuff on her – waiting on my hand and foot for five months without a break – but that was the way she was; always there when I needed her.
When I was five, I had fallen off my bike, and skinned my knee pretty bad. And although it was only a skinned knee, that’s a pretty big thing to a five year old – you know, all I saw was blood. When I got home with tears in my eyes, she was there. When I was seven, and got a black eye from a baseball that I didn’t see coming because of the bright sunlight, she was there to comfort me. And I’ll never forget the time I was nine; I was climbing the tree out back of our house, and miss-stepped one of the branches, and went crashing down to the ground – although it was not that far of a drop (fifteen feet at the most) – she was there to pick me up. And then the sickness hit me; she was there to nurse me back to health the best she could, and she had done a pretty darn good job. (Always there).
I walked further into the living room; quite surprised that no one had noticed me yet. You know, you would think parents would notice their child, who has not been out of bed for three months, walk into the living room, right? Yet, walking further in the room did nothing. My dad went on watching T.V., my mother went on crocheting, and my brother was still separating all the candy he had gotten that night. Inside, I wanted to say something, but for some reason no words came to me.
So, I decided to walk further into the room… still… nothing. ‘What’s going on?’ I thought to myself. Then suddenly, my brother looked over his shoulder in my direction. The expression on his face was one of puzzlement, kind of like: ‘what are YOU doing out of bed?’ I smiled down at him, and just as I smiled he looked away from me, turning his attention back to his candy without saying a word. Now the look of puzzlement was plastered across my face.
Yet again, I walked further into the living room. In fact, I walked in front of the television. This will, without a doubt, get my father’s attention. But, what do you know, it didn’t. Was I in a dream? Maybe that’s what it was; I was in a dream. Besides, the pain pills were supposed to cause drowsiness. I’ve dreamed before, but none had ever felt like this. It was as if I were floating on air.
Since I, obviously, was getting nowhere in the living room, I went back down the hall to my bedroom. When I walked back down the hallway, I noticed something. At the far end of the hall there is a mirror, which goes from the floor to the ceiling, attached to the wall. If you were to walk into the front door of my house and looked down the hallway, you would see yourself in this mirror. Many times over the years, every time I walk to my room in fact, I saw myself in that mirror. Yet, this time I didn’t see myself. The only thing I saw in that mirror on this Halloween night was everything that was behind me – the front door, the empty candy bucket, and the entrance to the living room. ‘All right’, I thought, ‘now I’m getting kind of frightened.’ I convinced myself that this must be some kind of weird dream.
However, I realized this was no dream when I walked back into my bedroom, and saw myself lying in bed; my eyes closed. my stomach still. I wasn’t breathing. It hit me like a bullet, and I thought to myself, ‘so I guess this is what it’s like to be dead.’ My sickness must’ve been more serious then my mom or me thought.
At that moment, only one thought came to mind, and that was: ‘Boy, my brother sure is going to take this hard.’ I walked back out into the living room, trying to think of a way to get my parents attention, and let them know that I’m gone. Died on Halloween, and I never even got to eat one last piece of candy… that stinks.
The End.
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