Hope & Harmony

Hope & Harmony

           What happened to my brother was the biggest cheat of all. He always was the brave one out of us siblings. If anyone would succeed at living life on their own terms, we all knew it would be him. I was not the least bit surprised when he announced to Mom and Dad that he was leaving Hope & Harmony (a misnomer if there ever was one.) I was only 11 at the time. Sammy was 20. But even then, I understood what it meant. His leaving made it a possibility in my mind to one day break free from it myself.

           Everything has a dark underbelly. When you grow up in the Christian music bubble, you learn that pretty damn quick. The shinier and more wholesome something looks, the uglier it is up close. The same is true for freedom, as it turns out. My brother Sammy didn’t know it, but he would have only one month to enjoy the life he had fought for and won. One month free from the coached T.V. interviews, the relentless rehearsals and the making nice with creepy televangelists who booked our family to perform at their lucrative stadium events. 

           On his way to a gay bar, Sammy was struck by a truck. Twenty years old with a full life ahead of him. The truck showed my brother about as much mercy as our Father always had. Sammy wasn’t given the dignity of being killed. He suffered a traumatic brain injury instead. He lives in an assisted living facility now. Not at all the same person he once was. An independent soul, made totally dependent. Everything he valued: sovereignty, privacy, stolen away, just like that. A bitter pill to swallow.

           I left Hope & Harmony the day after I turned eighteen. I knew nothing of normal life and had no real direction. Everything had been micromanaged for me. I had to learn the most basic things, like how to make decisions. All I knew was that I wanted to live near Sammy. I used the only marketable skill I had; music. Along with some money my sister Natalia had stolen for me. She slipped it to me just before I left. I got a small apartment near the nursing home. And worked toward accreditation. I teach music at Credence Valley Public School now. And Volunteer at the nursing home three days a week, playing guitar and piano for residents, Sammy included. I never play religious music. For the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed performing. Strange how things come full circle. What once was a trap, is now something I actually look forward to doing.

           I distinctly remember the first time I realized that I was happy. I looked around my empty classroom after lunch break dismissal. I reached to pick up a pile of scattered sheet music from a child-sized desk and it hit me like a slow trickle. There is a healing quality in being around children who actually had a childhood. There are other kinds of children here as well, more like me. The ones who didn’t have a great start. I find happiness in teaching them all that they can make music of their own. Just to make it, express themselves and enjoy it with no strings attached. These kids teach me what I missed out on. This gig had started simply as a way to survive outside of Hope & Harmony. I never thought of it as a long-haul thing. A career. I was only going to do it until I figured out what else to do. I hadn’t expected to enjoy teaching so thoroughly. To find fulfillment in it. I felt in that moment that Sammy would be proud of me.

           A part of me misses some aspects of my former life. I’d be dishonest not to acknowledge this. Natalia (one of my eight sisters) keeps in contact with me secretly through e-mail. And another sister, Aimee, comes by to visit when she is in town. Aimee left the group when she was nineteen and is still trying to find herself. She struggles. Freedom can be scary and lonely. I get it. Aside from Natalia, Aimee and of course, Sammy, I have no contact with any other family members. The huge happy family façade. Nine siblings and warm, loving parents. That’s pure bullshit. Dad has not forgiven me for splitting. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel like nothing but an extension of someone else. To need be a person in your own right. He is also much more a business man than a preacher, no matter what the P.R. campaign would tell you. He feels that I betrayed him and the family, just like Sammy. A part of me wonders sometimes, if Dad is disappointed that I didn’t get hit by a truck too. Then he could claim it as a “sign from above” to stay in line. Or use it as material for another hit song. That’s a terrible way to think. I hope I’m wrong.

           As for my Mom. Oh, Mom. A big piece of her died after Sammy’s accident. I watch her on T.V. sometimes, just to look at her face. I miss being near her. She was beautiful once. Full of life. Her eyes are hollow, lifeless now. Playing the role of dutiful wife for the world to see, has come with a huge price tag. Keeping up appearances has taken its toll. She has lost the ability to fight. She has no identity apart from Hope & Harmony. Natalia tells me that our Mom holds herself together with a multitude of happy pills. She’s still got a beautiful voice but she doesn’t know how to use it. Which feels like such a colossal waste. I still hope for her to find her voice again. But I’m not holding my breath. What I hope for my siblings, all of them. Is that they can find a way to be happy. Whether that is inside or outside of Hope & Harmony. As for me. Here on the outside, I’m going to be alright. I have settled into my own rhythm. It took departing from the music scene to discover that music can be a good thing. That there can be freedom in it. And I am growing to like this new rhythm of mine.

           I stand outside Sammy’s closed door, waiting for the nurse to finish changing his catheter. He is more alert than usual today. This is nice to hear. Sammy doesn’t usually say much. But today he is chatty. I hear him tell the nurse “thank you”. “You’re very welcome Samuel,” she says. “I think your sister is here to visit.” “Natalia,” he says. “No, Denise,” she says. Then he proceeds to go through the whole remainder of the list. “Aimee. Suzanne. Rosie. Ruth. Jeanette. Monica,” he says. But he stops there. He doesn’t say my name. I am slightly hurt. “Wow. You’ve got a lot of sisters,” the nurse laughs. I can tell she thinks they are figments of his imagination. She’s never seen any of the others. And she is not into the Christian music scene, which is a relief. “It’s Denise who is here to visit. Do you remember Denise?” “But she will be O.K.” he says. “Yes, Samuel. I’m sure she will,” agrees the nurse, politely. Again, he goes through the list, leaving out my name. I choke on the lump in my throat.

           “Natalia”

           “Aimee”

           “Suzanne”

           “Rosie”

           “Ruth”

           “Jeanette”

           “Monica”

           I hear the nurse peel off her gloves and toss them in the trash. She washes her hands. “What about them?” she asks, in a tone that sounds like she’s humoring him.  My brother sighs. “Tell them it was worth it,” he says. She pauses awkwardly. “I’ll tell you what, Samuel. You can tell your sister all about it. Denise is here to visit you.” “Yes,” he says. “But she will be O.K.” “I’m sure you’re right, Samuel.” “I am,” he says with certainty, “and so will I.” “Well that’s wonderful Samuel!” “It is,” he says. With that, the nurse opens the door, smiling. “Your brother is very talkative today, Denise,” she says. “But will he be OK?” I ask. I can see Sammy smiling from his bed. “I believe we have established that everyone is keeping well,” she says. She exits the room, waving. “Have a great visit folks,” she chirps. “We will be OK!” yells Sammy. “Good stuff, glad to hear it,” the nurse says, walking down the corridor. “We will be OK, won’t we?” he whispers as I close the door behind me. “Yes.” I say. “That’s what I thought,” he smiles.