The unbreakable bond amongst brothers has been a common theme in literature and films throughout the ages. Such story lines often portray siblings overcoming hardships, making innumerable sacrifices, and even dying for one another. In the real world this is not always the case; there often exist bitter rivalries and feuding. In my own life it took a horrible tragedy for my brother and I to fully appreciate the value of our fraternal bond.
The relationship I shared with my brother while growing up was a constant battle. Despite being close in age, we were unfathomably far apart in personality and interests. Brad had always been outgoing and competitive, I tended to be introverted and reserved. His time was spent participating in various athletic activities and social events with legions of friends and teammates. I was happy to stay at home in my introverted world of books and music. As the years passed, Brad continued to grow increasingly popular, and in my estimation selfish. While I delved deeper into my world of seclusion and solitude.
By the time we reached high school, the hostility we felt towards one another had escalated into all out warfare. Often our bedroom was a battleground. The slightest invasion of the other person’s privacy or boundaries would lead to vitriolic bouts of name calling and insults that would at times erupt into physical violence. After a while this over competitiveness eroded away our relationship; and I no longer cared how my little brother felt about me, in fact, I no longer wanted a brother. As far as I was concerned he could die and I would be just fine alone. Little did I know, I was about to learn the meaning of the phrase, “careful what you wish for.”
At the Thanksgiving of my sophomore year, I had been driving for a few months and this newfound freedom had really brightened my outlook and afforded me time away from my struggles at home. Our house had been filled with visiting relatives and family friends feasting on turkey, and participating in the other various types of merrymaking that usually accompany the holidays. Needless to say, with all the chaos at home the tension between Brad and I was at an all time high. I wasn’t quite sure when it would happen, but I could sense that we were on the verge of a total meltdown.
The day after Turkey day, my mom, exhausted from cooking and cleaning all week, suggested that we all go out to dinner that night. Upon finishing the meal at the I decided to go to a friend’s house to get away from some of the insanity of my family life. I said my goodbyes and headed toward the door of the restaurant, but as I reached my car my brother exited the building and informed me that my Dad had said that I had to take him home first. I just knew that the real reason was that my brother had whined and complained to my father. I could feel a warm seething coursing through my veins sending jolts of electric rage to my brain.“Get in the car then!” I yelled, furious that my plans had been interrupted.
As I aimed the car down Broadway and punched the accelerator, the tires broke loose sending a shrieking howl into the night like a hawk after its prey. I began ranting about how selfish he was and how “I could care less that he had to get home to call his girlfriend, or stare at his conceited face in the mirror.” He bit into me,”You would have someone to call too if you weren’t so busy acting like your smarter than everyone!” the blood in my veins boiled as I was completely overcome by the years of hatred between us. Suddenly, it all stopped, and there was darkness and silence.
I awoke clouded in confusion, my vision blurred and face stinging. I could barely hear a thing and felt like I was waking from a long deep sleep. When I rubbed my hands over my face and looked at them shaking and covered in red, I knew instantly what had happened. I turned and screamed to my brother: “Brad, we crashed the car!” As I looked over I found his head flopped to one side, completely covered by the blood oozing from his face like a prop from a bad horror movie. My heart raced and my body tensed; I broke into tears screaming, “No! No! Why? Not now, Brad wake up!” I shook him uncontrollably until suddenly his body started to jerk, as he began coughing up crimson streams of blood.
The emergency trucks arrived and the firefighters went to work, the Jaws of Life crunching and shredding my car as I lay in the front seat bawling over my brother. While they loaded us into the ambulance I looked back at the vehicle lodged against the light pole: crumpled and shattered, just like the relationship I had shared with my brother. Once a shrine of freedom, the wreckage sat there mocking me, like an abusive father who has just taught his son a lesson the “hard way.”
I was released from the hospital the next day; I had suffered a broken my arm, lacerations to the face, and a minor concussion. Brad would have to spend the next week bound to his hospital bed. His skull was fractured and he could not leave until the doctors were sure that the leaking of cerebral spinal fluid had stopped. I visited him daily, but I was unable to speak; other than a few light-hearted remarks I just sat there, drenched in grief and feeling overwhelmed by guilt for having put him in this state after years of abuse from my hands and words.
On his last day in the hospital I sat in the hallway with Brad while my parents filled out the release forms and insurance papers. He stared at me from his wheelchair and asked, “How did it happen?” I sighed and searched my brain for an answer, but I couldn’t find one. It had been lost somewhere in the broken glass that had been smashed and scattered across the roadway. “I can’t remember what happened,” I said. I looked up from the floor and stared into his eyes, and began to tear up once again. “I can’t remember, but I’m sorry and I love you.” As he looked back at me he gulped, touched my hand and whispered, “It wasn’t your fault, don’t be sorry.”
In the years since that night I have moved around and worked at lots of different places; Brad stayed in town and became a firefighter. Although we were never able to completely reconcile our differences, and we continued to have arguments from time to time, we have come to be very close friends. When I reflect on my that night, I can’t help but realize that sometimes it’s not the relationship that gets you through the hard times—it’s the hard times that get you through a relationship.
Note: This is a short story I wrote in ENG101a while back. Some of the details and dialogue were changed for dramatic effect. I love and respect my brother very much and am very proud of him and who he is.
W.A.R.
