Between Brothers by J.M. Snyder

Author:J.M. Snyder [Snyder, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2016-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

By the time we reach the hospital, the sun has begun to set. Short, dark shadows line the main entrance, and even though yesterday was my first visit, a strange sense of déjà vu descends over me as I follow behind my brother through the sliding doors into the crowded lobby. The people scattered around the waiting area, the nurses and doctors bustling past—they could be the same people I saw the last time I was here. Nothing seems to have changed, no time has gone by. Here too I am stuck in the past. All of New Jersey could be nothing more than a figment of my memory.

As we wait for the elevator to arrive, we stand side by side like carbon copies of each other, hands in our pockets as we rock on our heels, heads cocked back to watch the lighted display above the steel doors. We stand so close together, the people around us must know we’re related; the same little slouch of the shoulders betrays the fact that we’re brothers, cut from the same cloth. When the elevator arrives, I almost expect to see our father waiting on the other side of the doors, just as he was yesterday, but when they finally open, the lift is empty inside.

The elevator is claustrophobic—here Joey’s closeness is dangerous, like a shotgun beside me waiting to go off. I lean my back against the mirrored door to keep my distance and stare at him the whole ride. Once he gives me a tight little smile, nothing real, but I see it reflected back in two of the four walls and I nudge his foot with mine just to see it a second time. At our mother’s floor, I’m first out of the elevator, pushing my way through a small family gathered around the lift who wait to go down.

I follow the path I think leads to her room, but at some point I take a wrong turn and Joey catches my hand to correct me. “This way,” he says, his fingers ensnaring mine. I hang back, keeping hold of his hand, so he has to pull me along and not let go. His flesh is warm against my skin, strangely familiar, as if I’m touching a part of my own body. When we reach the right door at the end of the hall, Joey shakes me loose. With a glance my way, he rolls his eyes and says, “I hope Dad’s here already so we don’t have to hunt him down.”

“He’s not that bad.”

Joey shakes his head. “Ask Mom about it. You don’t live here.” Then he pushes through the door and from the change in his voice, I know our father is inside. “Mom, hey. It’s your favorite sons.”

“It’s your only sons,” I add, following him into the room. Dad dozes in a chair near the bed, and the curtain is still closed on the other half of the room. Mom looks powdered and rouged, ready for church or a day out shopping—only her bathrobe suggests otherwise.

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