Two sides of a memory

Rainy

Some people tell me that their childhood is blurry like they still remember it but the memories are fuzzy around the edges as if they are slowly disappearing as time passes. I can't understand this feeling though, the memories from my childhood are just as vivid in my brain as my newest experiences. I can remember every single detail, as far down as what a person was wearing when they spoke to me, or even what their tone of voice was like. I like being able to remember the happy times of my life, but I still wish that I didn't have such a good memory. It's almost impossible to forget some of the bad things that have happened to me in the past, no matter how hard I try. For some reason, those memories stick up more than all the others.

Once, when I was young something bad happened with my brother, and when I say bad I mean really bad. He got sick, so sick that the doctors told us that he was going to die. I remember it so clearly, almost as if I can hear the sobbing of my parents from the next room over, echoing in my ears to this day. Like the sound somehow got trapped in my head. I remember not completely understanding what was going on, but still feeling a sense of sadness and dread all the same. My parents had come into the waiting room, where I was sitting patiently, wiping tears from their eyes. I remember meeting my mother's gaze, she looked away immediately, probably wanting to hide her tears from her poor youngest child. Neither of my parents spoke as they sat down in the chairs across from me. Somehow it seemed like they were broken beyond repair, to this day I don't understand how a person could look like that.

I remember sitting for hours watching my parents talk to each other in soft voices until a doctor came. They had both stood up so quickly that it had startled me. The doctor looked both of my parents in the eye a look of sadness on his face that made my stomach drop. I got the feeling that he was used to this kind of sadness now, I would never want to be a doctor. " You can see him now" He had said looking at my mother as if trying to stay strong. " We think that it's best that he stay at the hospital for another night, but you should be able to bring him home in the morning. Um... we feel that he should be in a known environment for his last few weeks."

At this, my mother let out a sob that shattered my heart into thousands of tiny pieces. My father put his hand on her shoulder and met the doctor's eyes with a look of defiance that I had never seen on him before. " How long do you think he has then".

The doctor glanced at me, and my father seemed to remember that I was there. He turned and knelt down in front of me. " Rainy, why don't you go see your brother while your mother and I talk to the doctor. "

I nodded and stood up walking to the door and stopping just before I touched the doorknob. " Where do I go," I asked without looking at anyone.

" Walk down the hall to your right. There will be a door to one side with a big number twenty on it" The doctor replied. " He'll be in that room." He probably meant to be helpful, but I wasn't asking where I was to go to find my brother, I was asking where I could go to escape. To escape from the feeling of dread and fear that was now crushing my heart.

All the same, I nodded and pushed the door open walking down the hall. I remember how bright it had been, when I looked up I thought that the lights would blind me. Everything around me was so white and clean, and the place reeked with the stench of chemicals. Even the floors looked brand new like they had never been walked on, I remember looking down at my little purple shoe's feeling as if they would tarnish the whiteness of the place with the dirt that I was sure was clinging to the sole's.

I walked down the hall slowly watching the doctors and nurses pass by me, some of them glanced at me but none of them stopped. I watched the numbers on the doors as I walked. " One, two, three, four". I felt cold down to my very core. " Five, six, seven, eight, nine ten". I still didn't understand what was happening. " Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen". I was all alone. " Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." I stopped in front of my brother's hospital room and stared at the grey plastic number twenty. What was happening?

Taking a deep breath I twisted the doorknob, the door creaked as it opened. The room on the other side of the door was bright but not quite as bright as the hall. There were two beds but only one of them was occupied. I stood at the door and stared at my brother, his eyes were closed but somehow he still looked to be in pain. I had never seen him like that before and he hasn't looked like that since.

He opened one of his eyes when he heard me take a step forward. " Rainy?" He asked softly pushing himself into a sitting position and looking behind me. " Where are mom and dad?"

I shrugged my shoulders and took another small step forward. He watched me as I made my way carefully over to the chair next to his bed. I glanced at him curiously again. His face was pale, and his usually bright brown eyes were a little glassy as if he was in a daze. He looked like my brother, but I sensed none of the boy that I had grown up with.

We stared at each other listening to the beeps of the machine that was measuring my older brother's heartbeat. At that moment I had a strange feeling, a feeling that said that my life was going to change. It was at that moment that the tears came, and they didn't stop for a long time.

Peter

Back then I didn't understand what was happening. Most of the memories from my childhood are a kind of white glow, they are still there but slowly they are starting to fade. One memory remains in my head though, no matter how much I try to ignore it. It's from a long time ago, I believe I was about twelve or thirteen.

I had gotten sick, very sick, dying sick. I remember the pains that I felt in my gut almost constantly, eased only by the strong medicines pumped into my body through the IVs. I don't really remember when I got sick or exactly what happened, but I remember being in the hospital. I remember my parents standing next to me smiling in a comforting sort of way, I remember they didn't tell me that I was going to die, but I knew anyway.

The doctors came in and out of my room asking how I felt, and the kind-faced nurses stuck so many needles in my arms that I stopped feeling the prickling pain as they entered my skin. I was in the hospital for a week, but only one memory of this time is completely and totally clear. The doctor had come into my room looking at a clipboard anxiously, he glanced up at me and for the first time all week, he didn't ask me how I was feeling. Instead, he sat down next to my bed. " Hello, Peter." He said. " Busy week huh?"

I nodded, it had indeed been one hell of a week, stressful, but one hell of a week. He sighed and stood up walking to look at the machine next to my bed. "You're going to get to go home tomorrow," He said giving me what was probably meant to be a comforting smile, but to me, it just looked like a grimace. " I'm going to talk to your parents. Just came in here to check this" He pointed at the machine and turned to go. " Press the button next to the bed if you need anything alright".

I nodded again, I had felt as if I had been doing that a lot recently. The doctors always spoke to me using big complicated words that I didn't understand, when they left my parents would have to explain everything all over again in words that I could comprehend. I was surprised that he hadn't had anything more interesting to say, based on that I knew that something had happened.

I watched him leave staring at the door long after it had closed. I was alone again, my mother and father had gone somewhere earlier, probably to check on Rainy, I hadn't seen her once since I was brought to the hospital. I had asked my parents about it and they had simply said that she wasn't allowed in here at the time.

About ten minutes passed of me just laying there, my stomach was starting to hurt again but it wasn't bad yet. Closing my eyes I leaned back into my pillow. I wished that I was at home, I was getting tired of the hospital, I had been here for so long. If I was going to die, I would rather be at home.

As time passed the pain in my stomach got worse, but I still didn't press the button, I was tired of nurses rushing in to take care of my every need. I was tired of doctors asking me If I was feeling alright. I just wanted to rest.

The door to my room opened with a creak but I kept my eyes closed. Maybe whoever it was would think I was asleep and leave me alone. A step echoed through the room, guess not. I carefully opened one eye peeking at the person in the room. A girl with a long ponytail looked at me with her head tilted. " Rainy," I asked in a voice that sounded weak, even to my own ears. " Where are mom and dad".

She shrugged her shoulders but didn't say anything. Rainy looked the same as when I had last seen her. Her face was neutral, maybe even a little bit curious. For a second she stared at me then took another small step forward and then another until she was right next to my bed. I watched her as she walked, lucky little girl, no one to follow her around with looks of pity or concern. She plopped down into the chair next to my bed and met my eyes. I stared back.

She looked so uncaring, perhaps she was mocking me in her head. I wouldn't be surprised, she always came out on top, in everything. She must think it funny that I'm lying here in a hospital bed.

We continued to stare at each other for a long time, the beeps of the strange machine echoing off the ceiling and back at us. Rainy's face remained unchanging as she stared at me. Looking at my skin and then meeting my gaze again. The change in her expression happened so quickly that I didn't see when it happened. One second she was staring at me and the next tears were streaming down her face. What? Why was she the one crying? I was the one that wanted to cry? After all, I was the one in a hospital bed, close to death, even though everybody was refusing to tell me so.

I watched her as she cried, burying her face in her hands. My mother and father hadn't even cried in front of me, not once, but my little sister whom I hadn't ever really gotten along with was sitting next to me crying like her whole world was being torn apart. Looking back on it, she probably thought that it was. But at that moment I cried with my sister, I hadn't cried when I had been driven to the hospital at top speed, nor when people had looked at me like I was already dead, but seeing my sister cry pushed me over the edge and I cried until I couldn't cry any longer.

Rainy

It's been a long time since then, and though all my memories are as clear as day this one seems far more important. I remember it often, especially when I smell chemicals.

My brother survived by some unknown miracle, I guess it was a blessing, but I felt as if my tears had somehow been a waste. I know it's terrible to say but that's how I feel. I guess the experience itself is what matters in the end, but now it's just a bad memory that haunts my sleep.

Whenever I see my brother the memory arises again, and I feel like it's the same for him. I can see it in his eyes, he looks at me sadly all the time, but under the sadness, I can see gratefulness that I don't understand. I suppose that I never will, no matter how good of a memory I have.

Peter

I'm still alive, I don't really know-how. Sometimes I feel as if death hangs over my head constantly. Some people look at me as if it does. I'm grown up now and I haven't been really sick since that time, but still, I'm afraid. I've tried to get over the fear, but in the end, it's probably for the better that I haven't been able to do so.

Just recently I went home, my sister did as well. We didn't really talk but I hope that I was able to convey how grateful I am to her. During that one time in my life, she was the only one who really showed how she felt. I was probably more scared than she was at the time, but she was the only one who had bothered to cry, and that means something.

Sometimes I wonder what she was thinking that day, we never really talked about it. Actually, both of us avoid the subject. After all, it was an embarrassing situation, our parents had walked in on both of us sobbing our eyes out, but I feel like we don't talk about it for another reason. I'll probably never understand exactly what that reason is, and I guess I don't really need to.