NOT FINISHED YET!

 The road to hell is paved with good intentions. I know- because I’ve been walking it ever since my brother died in that damned hospital room.

    December 23rd, 2001. The night Luis Rivas, my brother, passed away. When I’d managed to reach his hospital room, a half-living corpse was resting on the hospital bed.

            The lights buzzed softly, highlighting each shadow on his face. White walls drained the life accompanying it- as if it was taking Luis, piece by piece. Various tubes moved with his breaths. I’d grown familiar with the room ever since he’d been diagnosed and somehow, it hurt worse each time.

            The IV only served as another needle in his skin as the EKG screen showed weak peaks in a bleak line. The familiar pressure in my jaw built up. My fingers flexed nervously, trying to ease up my nerves.

                                          Was he even alive anymore?

     “Marco.” He rasped. Luis held up his hand slowly, his muscles flinching before falling. I swallowed as I walked up to squeeze his hand. His skin was leathery– the imprints I left lazily returning back to normal. 

      “The doctor- she… she said there’s nothing else we can do.” My voice waned. “We just have to tough it out.” 

       Tough it out. As if that was even an option. His muscles were giving out and his brain was rotting each minute till his time ran out.

                                “I’m… not stupid. I’m as good as-,”

     I could hear the spit collect in his mouth as he struggled to swallow it down. “Dead.” He whispered

        “Don’t. Don’t say that, Luis, you still have a chance.” I held his hand tighter, trying to hold onto something firm and stable- but his former warmth was snuffed out. All that was left was bone. My stomach twisted painfully in discomfort.

         “I know you’re scared.” Luis said gently, with the same tone he’d use when bandaging my knee as a kid. He closed his eyes, his exhale shaky and uncertain. I silently counted how many seconds it took for him to breathe again.

           “You don’t need me, Marc. You’ve always been a smart kid. You’ve made a life of your own- and by the end of it, angels are ‘gonna greet you.” He wheezed. 

      I wanted to laugh. I didn’t need him? What about all the times he came back, tired, just to take care of me? Teach me? Comfort me?

      I was about to give a speech on how stupid the notion was before he spasmed again, his lungs audibly clawing for breath while the EKG screen beeped faster. I looked around frantically- faster- compressions, chest compressions before his heart beat finally picked up.

     The doctor ran to the door, about to direct the gathering nurses before Luis’s firm voice croaked. “Please. There’s no need.”

         The doctor exhaled sharply, her professionalism cracking for just a moment. She turned to me. “Are you okay with this?”

           I couldn’t answer her. My throat closed as I looked back at Luis, who gave me the faintest nod. She looked at me one last time, before I heard the soft click of the door. I could’ve called her back, demanded she fix Luis as they promised they could and get my brother back- but I kept my mouth shut. 

       I didn’t dare break eye contact as he spoke. “Tell- tell me how it is, up there. In the clouds.”

    “Why don’t… you wait for me up there? We’ll play football like old times, and- and-”, I stuttered as he squeezed my hand back desperately. My chest squeezed painfully at the gesture.

                                        “I’m not going to heaven, Marco.”

      His eyes watered, his mouth pressed firm to hide the trembling of his bottom lip. He let out a strained laugh, the once jovial sound bitter. “Not after the people I’ve hurt."

   I couldn’t breathe. Words filled my mind faster than I could say them. “Are you insane? The only thing you’ve ever done is keep me safe.”

                                      “How do you think I protected you?”

      Luis breathed, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. I stood there, dumbfounded. What did-

        “Marco- I-,”His face contorted painfully. “ My… journal. In my room. Read it, ok?” His voice trembled. I nodded numbly back, gripping my sleeve with white knuckles.

                        He continued on. “ When… you know, promise me something.”

      I glanced at the EKG once again. The line seemed consistent now, the peaks gradually getting weaker and weaker. Luis’s eyes looked off before breathing heavily. “Marco.”

                                          “Anything.” My voice cracked.

      Luis’s dirt colored eyes looked at me as his lips moved slowly with haste. “You won’t…hate me after. Promise me you won’t.”

      I felt a sob clawing out my throat.  “I couldn’t ever hate you, Luis. You know that.”                                    

     Luis smiled. And then the smile dropped, just like his pulse, his eyes, his hand- I waited for the next weak breath, for the faint squeeze of his hand, but nothing came.  The silence was painful. I’d take anything. Even the rasps I hated from him, even the rattle that came from his lungs on particularly bad days. Anything.

         I fell to my knees, and I clung to his lifeless hand like holding on could bring him back.

                                      God, why him? What did he do to deserve this?  

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                                   I don’t remember how long I stayed next to him.

       Eventually, the staff took him. I looked back. His body was so damn empty- a stark reminder that it’d never be filled again entered my mind. 

      No more long talks by the fire, no more petty fights, no more Luis. I bit my lip, walking out the room as I wiped the tear tracks from my face. Man up, will you?

      Cold wind greeted me as I opened the hospital doors. I stuffed my hands into my jacket as I looked at the empty street. 

                                             There was a time we ran here. 

     “Marco! Come on!’ Luis laughed. I ran through the rain, trying to beat him. The roads were all theirs–not even a car in sight. I was drenched head to toe and somehow warmth flooded my chest at the sight. I sped up with a grin.

     “Just watch me beat you-,” I huffed. “You’ll wish you didn’t try to race-.” I trailed off as my foot slipped over the wet cement. As soon as I made contact with the ground, pain flared up the hands that I used to take the brunt. Stupid, stupid-

    “Hey, hey, you okay?” Luis said softly. I nodded, sniffling. He held my scabbed hands and frowned. 

    We walked home, and he bandaged my hands without a word. I was well aware we were low on medical supplies and opted to sit in shame. It was stupid. I had costed good bandages for nothing.

  “Marco.” He looked at me, squeezing my hand gently. “Don’t overthink it, ok? It was my fault. I told you to run.”

   “But you have to go again. For your job, because of me.” I mumbled. Luis blinked before a smile bloomed on his face. “It’s not work if it’s for you, kid.”  

              I squeezed his hand with a smile. It was warm. Alive.

        Luis stayed up that night. He took calls and letters, writing stuff down in his journal. I’d watch him from the broken couch where I was supposed to be sleeping. He always acted older than he was, but now he looked the part. His eyebags and gaunt features doubled at night.

      His friends came over around 2 am, all of them gathering around as Luis spoke. Always too soft for me to hear on the couch.

                And, eventually, they’d all leave with Luis. I knew he’d come back; he always did. Regardless of how tired he was, he came home.

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                               I snapped out of my thoughts, finally. The world was still moving. Suck it up, suck it up. Something tugged at the back of my mind- the journal, right. 

                                 “You won’t… hate me after. Promise me you won’t.”

                I swallowed.