He looked at his note. It was one of many. He never knew which one would be his last. He lay in bed talking on the phone while he waited for his brother's painkillers to take effect. She told him to die, he took her advice. The closest weapon at his disposal were a bottle of blue pills his brother took for his slip disc surgery. Fortunately, he wasn't home.
He remembered the last time he lay in his brothers bed paralysed, the first time wasn't drug-induced, it was all natural. The serotonin levels in his brain went haywire because his brain's thoughts were trying to kill him and he was too weak to fight them off. The woman on the other end of the line was the trigger. She told him he should die and he told her it was good advice.
The last time he lay in his brother's bed unable to move, he thought it was time. So did his brother, not knowing he was asleep, the younger sibling snuck into his room and sat in a chair across from the dressing table mirror. He left the lights off. Both didn't want to know the other was wide awake and waiting for death.
His brother picked up the guitar that was on the floor. It was a cheap acoustic one with scratches all over the back of its brown heart. He strummed the first few chords of Only God Knows Why, more for the title than it's musical quality. It provided him with an answer that his mind could not. He didn't know why his older brother, the golden child, the life of the party, the dirty joker stopped speaking for months. All he could communicate was in gibberish and barely understandable snippets of song lyrics. He was like Rain Man, if Dustin Hoffman had a stroke instead of Tom Cruise for a wingman.
He saw the sillouhette of his large brother's body and didn't say a word. He couldn't if he wanted too. His brain's chemicals went haywire and didn't allow any communication. He often told those closest to him that he couldn't stop talking when he was happy. And if was quiet, they should call a doctor. They always laughed and thought he was kidding. And so did he, until the time came that he wasn't.
The last time he jokingly told someone they should call a doctor if he was silent was right after he ended an fast-talking barrage of random information, recollections of passages from books that touched him and half-sung song lyrics. He wasn't sure if they noticed or were too occupied by the traffic they were cursing. After a while, he stopped talking and looked out the car window.
They passed by tropical green bushes than flashed by as if the air itself held up invisible green crayons. An hour ago he walked by the train station and noticed the wet grass next to a full river and saw the roots of trees drinking fluids from the Earth. Whenever he saw a large tree's outline, it always caught him by surprise because it seemed like they were always there but he couldn't see the forest for the trees. They reminded him of his brother in his room in that chair, a large round living object that provided him with breath.
Walking past the wet grass, he stopped for a moment and looked at the sky and remembered something Camus said. "In the depths of winter, I discovered in me an invincible summer." He felt lucky to be alive in the wet rain on the way to see someone he loved. When she ignored his voice in favour of oncoming traffic, his lips fell silent and the song in the car reminded him of the last time he stopped eating.
His guidance counsellor didn't recognize him when she saw him in her office. His cheeks were sunk in and his pants lay low over his waist. He lost several inches and forgot what hunger felt like. He was hungry but the pain in his stomach had grown into a comfortable numbness, like an old relative that simply didn't leave after Thanksgiving. It was a nuisance he tolerated, even if it was slowly killing him with his own acid. If he could hasten the pace, he would have, but good things come to those who wait and death comes for us all.
He remembered that time when the song played in the car and his mind grew silent. Before his brain chemistry started to silence kill him, he remembered the wet grass and trees he saw earlier that day and the prayer he spoke out to the sky like crazy person. "Thank you God for bringing me here." He smiled to himself glad that despite his best efforts, the pills did not work for some unfathomable reason and he woke up simply sleepier and drowsier than before.
The next day he went about the day as if nothing happened and was smiled inside his face whenever he remembered than everyone he saw that day had no clue that the day before he thought he would never see them again.
For some reason, he was still alive and in the passenger seat while an impatient driver was complaining about punctuality and traffic. Maybe someday they'll know. Maybe they never will. He hoped they never have to find their summer because not every heart survives the winter. But his did and it beat strong inside his chest. For what, he knew not why, but looking at the angry driver, he was glad that it did.
