Side-by-Side

I'm calm. I have no idea how. I haven't cried, thrown up, screamed, anything. I can’t tell if I’m in shock or if this is just how I feel. How do people normally react when they realize they’re dead? Pain? Relief? Probably not that- I didn't kill myself. Jesus, I had a life ahead of me. College, marriage, career- all of it down the toilet because I was being an idiot and pushed my brother. Then, as he had every right to, he pushed me back. What he didn't expect, though, was for me to trip over a branch. My head hit the stairs leading up to our door, and- well, you get the idea. If I feel anything, it's pity for Max. He's gonna be haunted by this for the rest of his life: the vision of my body, crumpled, lifeless. The blood, the bits of brain sticking out. It’ll all be there when he closes his eyes. I’m watching now as he starts screaming and crying (you know, what I should be doing). He has two options: go to the police and turn himself in, or hide the body. The thing about my brother is that he reads murder mysteries a lot, so when faced with this choice, he does what every single character did in their stories- hide the body. God, he’s always been such an idiot. You’d think a sixteen-year-old would’ve learned by now, but nope. He grabs my corpse, slings me over his shoulder, and starts running into the woods behind our house. I watch, hollow, as I’m laid against a tree and temporarily abandoned while Max gets bleach and a mop. He can’t see me, of course. I can’t even see me. I don't know if I'm a ghost or if I'm just waiting to get into heaven or hell or the underworld or whatever. I’ll figure it out later. For now, I have to watch over Max.

My brother- my murderer, in a way- returns finally after a few more trips. He scrubbed the blood from the stone outside, burned his stained clothes, dug a hole deep into the forest, and threw me into it. I wish I could feel the dirt as it falls against my blue skin, smell the moist air. It seems I pissed myself post-mortem, which I hope is normal. I look... strange. Sickly pale, with purplish-red skin in the places blood spilt from. My skin sagged a bit, making my cheekbones a bit more prominent and give my eyes a sunken look. I look a little bit like a wax figure, which nearly makes me laugh. I’m honestly doing okay, emotionally speaking. Max, on the other hand, most certainly is not. He's vomited at least twice and is currently cradling his knees whilst rocking back and forth. I try to hug him, because that's what sisters do, but he doesn't feel it. I don't know what I expected.

A missing persons case is filed the following morning. Max is silent all throughout breakfast, and our parents assume it's because he's scared something bad happened to me. I follow them into their bedroom and listen in on their conversation- concern for me, mostly. They should be more worried about Max in his current mental state, to be honest.

The police says it's a special case because I'm younger than eighteen and they're taking immediate action. They don't think any of my family did it, so they're issuing an AMBER Alert. I feel horrible for all the parents that are now scared a predator is going to take their children, but the police don't know what really happened and my brother hasn't confessed.

They're sending search parties out into the forest. I stand by my makeshift grave, praying no one comes near.

I guess God isn't real, because those prayers fall through.

One of my classmate's moms finds the patch of ground dug up and re-buried. The police are flagged. They dig it up, find me, and one of the policemen sighs. "At least she wasn't abused," reasons one at their colleague's pity. The medical examiner says that's to be determined.

They quickly identify me and state the cause of death as blunt force trauma. When they tell my family, my father sobs. My mother slams down her mug, shattering it, and stands abruptly. My brother is silent.

The police decide they'll interview everyone in more detail tomorrow. It's Jewish tradition to get my body in the ground as soon as possible, so my mother distracts herself with planning my burial. Max locks himself in his room. I sit on the bed beside him as he cries and curls into a ball.

They dress me in my go-to outfit: an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. I'm placed in the casket with my childhood stuffed animal (who I geniously named Cat Cat), my favorite book, and the mug I drink tea out of each morning. As I'm placed in the hole, I again wish I could feel the wood on each side of me, Cat Cat cradled in the nook of my elbow.

Mom, Dad, Max, and our Rabbi recite the Mourner's Kaddish and form a Shura. Everyone is wearing black except for me.

I'm trying to squeeze my brother's hand as he stumbles through the interview. They're going at it kindly, trying not to accuse him of anything. I can't tell whether it would be better for him to confess or lie.

"Did anything happen between you and your sister two nights ago?"

"N-no, no, nothing happened."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, um, we- we had a little argument..."

"What was the argument about?"

"Um, she- she- she-"

I turn away as he breaks down and starts crying.

"It's okay, Max, take your time."

"We were arguing because she wanted to- she wanted to sneak out, and I said it was a bad idea..."

"Did she end up leaving?"

"No, she- God, I'm sorry, I-"

"That's alright, Max. Take me through the conversation."

"Okay, Caro said she was, uh, she wanted to go this party. And I said, 'Mom and Dad will kill you-' I meant figuratively! Figuratively, of course-"

"Alright, Max, that's okay. What did she say next?"

"She told me to leave her alone, and she pushed me- she- she pushed me, and I pushed her back, and-"

He's really weeping now, ugly, heart-wrenching sobs. He's going to tell the truth.

"It's okay, Max. Can you show me where on your body she pushed you, and vise versa?"

"She pushed my shoulder, like a light shove, and I guess I didn't realize how strong I was because- because I pushed on her shoulders, too, and she- she tripped... Jesus, she tripped, and she- she hit her head- Caroline-"

He can't even form words now. The police officer nods knowingly.

"Alright, Max, just one more question, okay? When she hit her head, did she die?"

He's clutching his stomach and practically screaming. He manages to nod.

"I'm going to need a verbal answer, Max."

"Y-yes- she-"

He's gasping. He can't breathe. Is it possible to die from crying too hard? He's shaking, I can't watch, I'm yelling at everyone: can't someone help him?! But they can't hear me.

The detective sits up and brings him a glass of water. "I understand you've dealt with panic attacks in the past, Max. Would you like your PRN?"

He nods rapidly. He's barely able to swallow two Xanaxes. I watch, helpless, as he puts his head down, still shaking and howling, waiting for the meds to kick in.

The trial is scheduled to take place in three days. Max is placed in a holding cell. My father is the only one who visits him; my mother isn't ready yet. Her son killed her daughter, how on earth could she face him?

On the day of the trial, my brother looks worse than ever. He's in a suit that hangs over his shoulders. Apparently he's been starving himself, overwhelmed with guilt.

I stand over him as he pleads guilty of involuntary homicide. I stroke his hair while he is released with no charges. I sit beside him as he finally attends therapy. I watch as, decades later, he marries his husband. I'm there when his daughter is born and he names her after me. And as he dies of old age, I finally hug him as he cries into my hair. Me, Max, his husband, and eventually his daughter stay side-by-side, forever.