“Not a problem, Mr. Bates.” Marvin settled back into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
After I got out of the SUV, I looked around and hung my head and hunched my shoulders to try and block that frigid northern air. I hurried to the entrance. The automatic doors slid open, and at once the smell of sterile cleaner and sickness hit me in the face.
I despised the smell of hospitals. I was sure it was the true smell of death. The walls were bland, filled with meaningless art and pale-yellow paint. The woman behind the front desk seemed overworked and underpaid, judging from how tired she looked. Her hair was in a messy bun, dark circles graced the skin beneath her eyes, and someone on the other end of the phone was yelling at her. I could hear it, yet, she didn’t seem to care. I supposed not a lot of people do when they are used to it.
“One moment, please,” she said, placing the call on hold when she saw me. “How can I help you?”
“Hi,” my eyes averted to her name tag, “Beth. I’m looking for my brother, Charles Bates.”
The keyboard under her clicked as she typed and then pointed to the elevator door behind her. “Go to floor five, take a right, straight back, room five−zero−four.”
“Thank you. Have a good day,” I said, hoping my kindness would help her day.
She gave me a tired smile, but a smile, nonetheless. “You too, sir.”
I followed the used tile floors until I got to the elevator and did what she said. Not five minutes later, I stood in the doorway of my brother’s room. The machines beeped a steady rhythm. That was good. At least he was still alive. An old movie played on the TV—hanging in the corner—in black and white, and my brother’s eyes were open and alert, watching the scenes play on the screen in silence.
“I was wondering if you would show,” he said, his voice hoarse and his eyes never leaving the screen.
I closed the door behind me and placed my backpack against the wall. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no idea what will get you to stop caring.”
An annoyed sigh left my chest. “Nothing. Nothing will get me to stop caring, Charlie. You need to realize that. I care about you. I will always care about you. And seeing you like this kills me.”
“Not as much as it kills me.”
"Then stop doing what you're doing," I plead, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. When Charlie finally gave me his attention, my heart sank to the pits of my stomach. His skin was pale and thin with dry patches. Charlie looked exhausted, but not just because of the drugs; he had the look of someone too tired to keep living.
I reached for his hand, the one with the heart monitor on his index finger. I shook my head. “Please, Charlie. All this, for what? What good does it do?”
His chin quivered, and he turned his head away from me, “I don’t know. It feels good, Chris. The high. The rush.”
"For a second. Is a second worth a life of this? Look around. See where you are at. This is going to kill you. Do you get that? Do you understand that it would be up to me to bury you?" I stood so fast the chair slid from behind me, smacking the wall with a hard thud. I rubbed my hand over my stubble and started to pace, staring at his thin, sick body in the bed. Charlie looked so small in comparison to the twin-sized mattress. I gripped the railing at the bottom of the bed and hung my head with defeat. “I know you think no one cares. I’m not sure what else I could do for you to prove that I do.” I hit my hand against my chest. “Me. Not any of your other loser friends. None of them are here. I am. I drop everything to get to you, Charlie. Me. I’m here. Is that not enough? Because if it isn’t, tell me, and I’ll walk out the door right now and never bother you again if that is what you want.” It would tear me apart inside, but neither he nor I could keep dancing this dance. I knew the next time I got a call, it wouldn’t be to help him, it would be to bury him.
And to be honest, no way was I strong enough to do that. “Please, don’t make me bury my only brother.” Tears burned my eyes as I stared at him, begging him to justlive. “You’re an addict. You need help. I can give you that help. I can be your support system — no drugs in the house, not even ibuprofen, no alcohol. We will sign you up to go to meetings. We can do this. We can beat this.” I sat on his bed and grabbed his hand again. “Together.”
“Together?” a tear dropped down Charlie’s cheek, and his fear poured into the room, nearly suffocating me. “You won’t leave me in a rehab center here? I can’t do it alone. It’s easy, you know, to fall into the routine of taking pills every day. So that’s what I did.” He wiped the tear away and chuckled. “I’m angry about a lot of things, but I can’t put them into words.”
“We can fix that too,” I said. “Come home to Colorado with me. I have a resort there that I’m opening. When you get on your feet, you can work for me—away from the bar. I’ll help you every step of the way.” I knew this was a life or death battle. Trying to overcome addiction was so hard. I knew Charlie would fight me at first. I wouldn’t be able to leave him alone. I would have to hire someone to stay with him when I couldn’t. He’d try to dig through the trash, cabinets, dressers, anything that could hold a pill bottle.
The fight for him to not relapse again would be near impossible, but I was willing to join the battle.
He gripped my hand hard and nodded his head eagerly as he cried. I pulled him into a tight hug, emotions searing my chest, threatening to bubble over, but I had to be strong for him right now. I couldn’t let him see doubt or weakness. I was his crutch, and I had to hold him up because that was what family does.
And I’d be damned if I let my brother become my father.
