I am Silent
I wander down the hallway searching for my big brother. The house feels so empty. Boxes that were once scattered around the house, half-packed, are now stacked neatly by the front door.
I’ve already been in his bedroom, so I go into mine. It’s completely empty. Even the hearing aids I’d left on the nightstand are gone. Not that I mind. I’m so glad I don’t have to bother with those scratchy things any more. They never even helped, really.
There’s a presence behind me. It’s a strange feeling. As I turn around, I see that I’m right. Brian is standing in my bedroom doorway. He turns away before our eyes can meet. He’s got his shoes and sweater on, so he must be heading out again. I rush to catch up as he heads down the hallway, towards the front door.
We step out into the crisp autumn air.
I try to signal to him. To tell him something. But he’s walking so fast with those long legs of his, and looking straight ahead. I can’t catch his eye. He’s in such a bad mood today, I’m not sure I should tap him on the shoulder.
So I give up and follow behind.
We take a shortcut through the dog park. I gaze at the giant oak trees around us, and at their golden leaves covering the ground like a blanket. It’s because of all this that I think autumn is the best time of the year. Autumn used to be Brian’s favorite season, too. He said he loved all the vibrant colors. He said he wasn’t joking when he told me he loved raking leaves. Mostly because I would jump in the piles he made and he would have to start all over again. I never understood how that would make him enjoy it more.
I know where we’re going now. Mrs. Richardson’s house is near the park. It appears behind the oak trees, a little one-story house among condos and apartments. Brian walks up to the front gate and, after checking to see it’s unlocked, swings it open. I decide to wait for him.
He rings the doorbell. Several moments pass and no one answers.
I raise my hands. Check…..the……back. I signal. But of course he doesn’t see. By the time I’ve finished, he’s already heading to Mrs. Richardson’s garden, around the back of the house.
I wish I knew a way to cheer him up. Maybe Mrs. Richardson will be able to. I like her. She’s a nice, smiley lady. But I like her especially because she never tries to talk to me. It saves Brian the trouble of re-explaining my deafness to her, or playing translator.
Mrs. Richardson appears from behind the house. She has her gardening gloves on. I look closer and see that she’s talking to Brian, though Brian’s still behind the house. She glances in my direction, still talking, but she doesn’t smile at me like she usually would.
Then Brian stepped into view, holding a bunch of flowers. Mrs. Richardson was a sort of florist in her spare time, and she knew how to turn her garden flowers into beautiful bouquets. That’s what this was — a bouquet. There were vibrant red and yellow poppies and delicate drooping lilacs, tied together with a satin bow.
The two of them talk some more. I watch Brian’s lips.
….to…you…thank you……
I’m not very good at reading lips.
I move away from the gate as Brian approaches it. He turns back one more time to say something, probably “goodbye”, then steps onto the sidewalk with his bouquet.
The sky’s getting dark. Either it’s late, or it’s about to rain. You can never tell during the fall.
But Brian isn’t going back home. He’s crossing the street. I watch him for a moment, longing to look him in the eyes. Then, seeing no other choice, I follow. It feels like all I’ve seen is the back of his head, and even while he walks he’s always looking down at his feet, as if the whole world exists at the tips of his shoes. It’s been too long since we’ve talked.
Suddenly I realized he’s stopped moving. I almost bump into him.
He’s standing in the middle of the street, his head ducked down, his face buried in the flowers.
This again.
I look around us. The street is clear of cars for now. It’s not a very lively neighborhood. But someone could still drive around the corner any minute.
What’s wrong with you, Brian?
When he gets like this sometimes it’s better just to be with him. To be by his side. He’s not exactly the type to talk about his problems. So when something’s wrong you just kinda sit there and wait for him to talk himself out of a bad mood.
But there was no time for that in the middle of the street.
I glance down the road again. Then back at Brian. His shoulders rise and fall, as if he’s taking deep breaths. I want to reach out to him.
Then, finally, he lifts his head and takes a step forward. We cross the street the rest of the way. He heads down the sidewalk as if nothing happened.
For awhile I don’t really care where Brian is going. I stare at the trees above us, glancing down only to check that he’s still ahead of me. I see birds here and there, little ones speeding through the leaves. Brian told me once that those kind of birds could get loud when they wanted to. Brian absolutely loved birds. Whenever I got him to chat with me he would either talk about his day at work, or he would talk about birds.
At some point the sidewalk turned into a shaded dirt trail, winding under the oaks. Soon the bush thins, and the trail dips. I look up to see Brian crossing an iron bridge.
Brian is acting strangely, almost as strangely as he did the day I caught him staring down at the river bottom. I’d followed his gaze to see that the river was shallow, and that he was really staring at the jagged rocks. But now, we cross the bridge without incident. Once we’ve made it to the other side, I know where my brother is going.
It’s a tiny graveyard by the river, guarded by oak trees. There’s a wiry metal fence, too — the type that pricks you when you touch it — with a gate that’s always open. Weeds are everywhere. This isn’t the town’s main graveyard, so no one puts much effort into maintaining it.
Brian steps in, and before I know it I’m following him. Only this time, I go beside him. We wade through the long grass. When he stops, I stop.
Sara Emily Roberts.
My grave.
I watch Brian’s face. For now it’s expressionless. He bends down, placing the bouquet in front of my gravestone. Then his lips start moving.
I move around him, to stand on the other side of the gravestone, so I can look him in the eyes.
He’s talking to me. I wish I could hear even a little of it. I know it’s no use trying, but I try anyways.
Just when I’ve started to give up, Brian stops. He lifts his head, almost so he’s looking straight at me. Then his hands come up. He speaks my language, and I’m finally able to understand.
I…love…you.
I love you too, Brian.
And I’m…sorry…about…what happened to you. It’s been awhile now, and…I still hate myself for not being able…to save you.
But…
I lean in close.
Tears roll down his cheeks, and he ducks his head for a moment before looking up again to continue.
It’s time…to say…goodbye.
So…
Goodbye, Sara.
Slowly, he stands up. He wipes his tears away, and takes a deep breath. I watch as he turns to leave.
My big brother is walking away from me.
But I won’t follow him this time.
