Brother's Keeper

I still remember the day our family shattered.

It came like an unexpected wave — so sudden and so unbelievable that I was left completely lost with my life, without a mom, without a dad, and only a detached helpless twin sister who I deem will amount to nothing to keep me company.

It was Dad who broke the news. He said he’s splitting up with Mom. I was only sixteen back then, but it struck me with such ferocity that it changed me forever. And as if that wasn’t enough, child custody became a problem. Dad wouldn’t take us. Mom wouldn’t take us. In the end, my sister and I ended up living with our aunt.

Dad left our family business to me. We were rich, but it was our affluence that made both my parents insensitive. Dad went on to other countries for business, but we heard no more from Mom. Probably she’s off gambling her wealth.

My sister succumbed to depression, and most of the time she would retreat to her room and play her piano. The music radiating from her door is usually sad.

I busied myself with keeping our business, but soon life had no more meaning. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

.....

Six years later, I was a miserable wretch.

I have long left home and gone on with my own way, along with my car and much of our family’s wealth. I squandered our money with anything I want—girls, parties, things. Our bank account never seems to deplete. Perhaps my sister has taken control over our business, and I am free to withdraw as much as I want. This is my life, anyway, and whatever I want, I get.

With my rebellious ego, it’s no longer a surprise if I find myself behind bars. I usually stay only overnight, with two days being the maximum. As if by some mystical intuition, my sister would always appear in an unexpected moment to bail me out. I think it’s because we are twins and there’s that bond that still connects us, despite the fact that I have literally ruined my life and had no care whatsoever for her anymore.

Our reunions are frequent, since I would once again be in jail within a week. Delinquent, they have labeled me. Drunkard. Maniac. War freak. Thug. A shame to my family’s name. I pay no heed to their words. I don’t belong to anyone except me.

Yet, during those few moments when I find myself alone in my car, I couldn’t help but reflect. Why do I still continue on living this damned life of mine? Suicide had never crossed my mind, and I never plan to kill myself anyway. So why do I still hope that perhaps someone would at least reach out to me and take me out of the dark abyss I have placed myself in? Why am I still looking for someone to help me break the chains of hopelessness that I have so foolishly bound myself with?

Girls come and go sooner than I wanted. My relationships would last no longer than a month. I knew I could never truly earn their love. I have money and looks...that’s all they want from me. And yet I can’t stop myself from looking for more in bars and social places. My desire for love and acceptance can never be satisfied no matter how hard I try, and the emptiness lingers as if to consume me from the inside.

But then I asked myself, “Am I looking in the right places?”

One night, I was drunk and mercilessly destroyed a car for fun. The police came to arrest me, and after a struggle with me trying to escape, I eventually found myself in prison once again. An hour later, my sister appeared to bail me out.

As I thanked her, I noticed something different. We don’t look the same anymore after all the devilry I have done with my life. But I noticed she looked stressed and tired, and her eyes, though tinged with genuine love and affection, appear to be screaming out in pain. I know she had made herself prominent during the years that I had turned my life into a wreck, but I never remember seeing her so old and so tired. I reached out for her hand and noticed she looked pale. I asked her, but she evaded my questions, and since I was still slightly drunk then, I forgot about the matter.

The next time, I found myself behind bars longer than usual, and it was my aunt who finally came and bailed me out. I devised in my mind to ask her, but since she despised me because of my messed-up life, she immediately left without a word.

By then I have slowly shifted from reckless to depressed. I saw my friends slowly fading away while still trying to siphon off my money. I found myself always staring into space, lost in thoughts I couldn’t remember. Everything around me became gray, and I further found myself drowning in an irrational fear.

One time, purely by accident, I came across Mom in a casino. For a moment I didn’t recognize her, but once I did I thought she’s fighting in her mind whether to hug me or not. Thankfully, she didn’t. A shadow passed over her face, and she looked as troubled as I am.

It was only two days after I met Mom when the same irrational fear gripped me with such newfound intensity that I found no way of fighting it and I allowed myself to give in. What surprised me is that it was mixed with extreme sadness. As if drawn by some unexplainable force, I found myself driving recklessly toward our house...the home I had never returned to for years.

It was empty when I got there, but a neighbor directed me to a hospital. Confused, I asked him why. His answer broke the remaining spark of hope that I have been holding on with my life.

I paused outside the hospital door. Defiance is something very much native to me, but right now I couldn’t muster a single ounce of courage. After what seemed like eternity, I opened the door and stepped inside.

My sister was lying on the bed. Surrounding her were needles and tubes and for a moment I felt the pain she’s going through right now. Draped around her hairless head is a piece of white cloth.

Our eyes met, and I saw joy spring up inside her. Uncomfortable, I advertently broke the gaze and examined her room. Mom was there too, and she was having a conversation with my aunt when I entered. It was then that I learned my twin sister has leukemia way back before our parents separated, which explained her usual silence and timidity, but it had only finally taken a heavy toll on her right now. A toll too great for her to carry. A toll that would ultimately take her life.

I found out how she had sacrificed her education when I left home, and had taken into her shoulders the burden of running our business. So that explains how our money never ran out. I felt guilty. All this time that I’m playing the role of the Prodigal Son, my sister was making sure I have enough provision to sustain me, even if it had cost her her own ambitions.

I discovered how she had tried several times to contact Mom and Dad, and withstanding all obstacles had finally succeeded to mitigate their indifference toward each other. Even as I listened to my aunt telling all the sacrifices my sister had done, Dad was on his way from Singapore.

I remembered how she had tried to talk sensibly and lovingly to me everytime she bailed me out. How she had sometimes invited me to go out for dinner with her. How she had greeted me on my birthdays and sent me cards. And all those time that she had been trying to weave the family together again, I ignored her.

I was foolish. I’ve been looking for someone to pull me out of the dark chasm of my life without realizing the hero is right in front of me...my own bloodline and twin soul. The guilt that washed over me was strong enough to erase all memory of my past life. I scolded myself for being insensitive. My mom was apathetic. My dad was a workaholic. I was a mess. My sister was the most detached of us, but she made it her life’s mission to keep our family together. And all those time, she was fighting for her own life.

Dad finally came, but my sister’s condition did not show any promising sign of recovery. It was then that the hard truth was finally laid bare before us. The cancer will kill her. Mom and my aunt cried heavily, and Dad spent his time inside our old house. I retreated to my introvert shell, but I silently promised my sister that I will never drink, smoke, or destroy my life again. I vowed I will repay her for the good she had done to me and our parents.

Her last wish was to play her beloved piano for the last time. We arranged for a show, and with her remaining strength she walked up the stage in proud composure. Before her were all her loved ones, and, by her special request, several other cancer patients.

She played a slow Christian song, which seemed appropriate to the situation we’re all facing right now. She followed with classical music, and her fingers moved expertly on the piano keys, as if the sickness had failed to spread its mission of death to her hands. She was a good player, and despite my prideful heart, I felt moved with her music. I saw her eyes glisten with joy of tears even as life slowly ebbed away from her. At last she stood up to meet uproaring applause and cheer, made a graceful curtsy, and went to the microphone. She talked of her life, her struggle, and most of all, her family. Mom and Dad were moved to tears, and even I felt somber. I was sure that on that day, she had touched the lives of everyone in the hall.

Five days later, she finally closed her eyes forever.

After the funeral, I retreated to my room. It had been a long time since I had set foot inside it, and upon my return, I realized that though it had been kept tidy and clean, nothing was moved. I found a stack of letters and presents on my desk. Everytime we share a birthday, my sister leaves something for me. I opened a letter and began to read.

I remember how once we were united as one, and though separated by the thorns of the world, our connection was never severed. She vowed to keep the family together, and her dream was realized only in her death. For so long I have been searching for the right path. Blinded by my own arrogance and irresponsibility, I never realized she had all the answer. The moment I did, it was too late.

How I wish I could undo all the hurt I have caused. How I wish I could go back, tell her I love her, and help her reunite our family. How I wish I could have spent more time with her. We are the same after all, and nothing else could beat the joy of being in mutual warmth with each other. She had proven herself a good sister to her brother, but her brother never realized it.

Tears started to flow down my cheeks. They felt hot, and I felt ashamed of crying. But my emotions prevailed over my bravado, and I finally let it all out. It had been more than six years since I last cried, and the tears tasted sweet to my lips.

I thanked my sister for never giving up, for believing, for sacrificing, for yielding, and finally for succeeding in bringing me and my parents out of the depths and into the light. What she did will never be forgotten.

I wiped my tearstained face and went to her room. I hesitated at her door. I thought I heard her music, and for a foolish moment I half-expected to see her playing her piano. Of course, she wasn’t there.

Her room was tidy and too girly for my taste, but at the moment it was the only place that held a memory of her. I went to the piano in the center of her room. Slowly, I lifted the lid and began to play. I may not be a good musician, but every note that I struck held a living reminiscence of my life with her. The music filled the room with a heavenly ambience, and I was lost in the deep melody of another world.

I looked and in the deep recesses of my mind saw my sister playing the piano beside me. I did not feel scared. In fact, I felt secured. She smiled at me as if to assure me that everything is fine; our family is back again. Incomplete, but at least united.

Then the phantom was gone, and I was once again alone in her room. I was maimed to the heart, but a hope sprang up inside me...and I owe it all to my twin sister. I stopped playing and opened her window. The breeze of twilight that wafted in was kindly to the skin. The last notes of music left the room and were carried to the winds of the earth, bringing with them the story of a girl who sacrificed all for others.

Yes, my sister may have departed, but in this family that she had worked for, her legacy of sacrifice will remain very much alive.

~end

Author’s Note: This was written when I was in College and was first published in The Central Echo Literary Folio “Hero.” The Central Echo is the official student publication of Central Philippine University, Iloilo City, Philippines.Brother’s Keeper also won first place in English short story during the Central Echo Literary Awards of the same theme.