“You’re welcome, Rami. Want me to clean your glasses?”
She nodded once, and I reached for her glasses and then hurried to the kitchen sink. I rinsed off the smudges all over the lenses and glanced around the countertops. After I made sure Rami was situated, I’d clean up the kitchen so when Dad and Nic got home from work, they could relax for a while before they needed to be ready to help Rami.
The four of us lived in a two-bedroom apartment not too far from campus. When we first moved in, Dad slept on the sofa sleeper, and Rami had the smaller bedroom while I shared the bigger bedroom with Nic. But by the time I’d graduated high school, Rami was nearly bedridden. So to keep her out of the seclusion of a small bedroom and with the family, Dad took the smaller room, and the sofa sleeper became Rami’s.
I took the glasses back to Rami and sat beside her while she worked on the rest of her dot-to-dot picture.
“Does … it … look … good?” she slowly asked.
I felt so bad for her. Thirteen and she could hardly talk much anymore. Just a few words at a time were all she could manage. She couldn’t walk without the help of one of us. Her motor skills were failing. She’d get angry and aggressive when she struggled to do something, or when she’d fall. Rami would punch or kick at us randomly. The doctors said personality changes, including aggression, were common. And what was worse and scared Dad the most was she was already starting to show the signs of some sporadic memory loss. When we came to the U.S., my brother and I both took on American versions of our names so we’d fit in better in high school. Dominykas became Nic, and I went by Justin. But Rami no longer remembers our Lithuanian names. Nor does she remember Mom.
Since the semester didn’t start until Monday, I had the weekend to spend with Rami and go to campus to get my books and supplies organized. With any luck, the books and supplies might not cost as much as I expected.
“Hey, I have tomorrow off and so does Dad,” Nic said when he came into our room that night. I looked up from the online supply list for each of my classes, making sure I had my list ready. “Let’s go get your books and supplies tomorrow and then get lunch,” he suggested.
“You have tomorrow off, man. You should do something you want or spend time with Rami.”
“I spend lots of time with Rami. I want to spend part of the day with you. I don’t get to do that much.”
Nic and I didn’t get to spend much time together anymore. We did while we were in high school together, but it was only for one year before he graduated.
“Okay, that sounds good.” I accepted his offer and looked forward to our Saturday.
The next morning, we took the bus to campus to begin our day. Nic and I both had driver’s licenses, and we had a family car, but Dad needed it in case there was an emergency with Rami. I didn’t mind the bus; it was better than driving in L.A. traffic.
Since it was the weekend before the start of the semester, the campus was busy with the back-to-class fair. Tents and booths lined the grassy areas between the student union and the bookstore.
“Man, I hope you eat up this college life,” Nic said as we walked along the sidewalk and glanced at each of the booths.
“I don’t, much. You know that. My job is to learn and get a degree so I can get into labs and help find something to battle Batten disease.”
“I know, Justin. But you need to live too,” he said as he flung his arm around my shoulders. I flinched and moved out from under his arm. Thankfully, he didn’t give me any crap about it.
“Woo! USC social is tonight!” some peppy girls cheered and forced a flier into Nic’s hands as we walked by.
“Look, Justin.” Nic put the flier in front of me. “You can go tonight and meet some people. Might even hit it off with some girl or guy.”
My stomach dropped. I wanted nothing to do with anyone. Nic knew this. My messing around back home basically caused four deaths and for our home to be burned to the ground. I would never forget seeing the hate-filled words and phrases that were spray painted on our home.
“Justin.”
“What?” I semi snapped.
“I support you with whomever you want to bring home.”
“I’m not bringing anyone home. Ever.”
“Justin, this isn’t Lithuania. Relax.”
California had been an amazing place. High school here was the complete opposite from school in Lithuania. There were freedoms and acceptances here that weren’t even spoken out loud about back home. Classrooms not only taught academics but tolerance. It seemed that if people here lived in an alternative way, it was accepted, and they didn’t live in fear.
But still.
I watched a man be murdered mere feet from me. My mom died in a house fire brought on by retaliation for my “sins.” My best friend and his father died in a burning inferno. I wouldn’t be the cause for any more deaths or violence.
“Look, t-shirts,” I pointed out and headed toward the tent with the free t-shirt banner. If you signed up for a credit card, you got a free t-shirt. Nic and I each picked up a clipboard and began to fill the forms out. I did this last summer before the start of the fall semester and obtained a student credit card with a thousand-dollar limit. I ended up using it for books and supplies and then paid it off during the semester. That way I didn’t have to dip into too much of the summer job savings. After we turned in the clipboard, we were given our choice of shirts. I immediately picked the gray one that said USC Trojans on it, but Nic took his time choosing.
“Which one do you think Rami would like?” he asked.
