I missed when their fights were about board games. Now, any words they exchanged felt cold and distant and out of character for the both of them. I preferred the silence over their fights. The fighting only reminded me how damaged we all were after Rian passed away.
I missed who my parents were before Death knocked at our door. I debated who it was harder to miss—those in the cemeteries or those who were still very much alive but felt so far away.
It was odd how school and home life felt so different fromone another, but both felt like cages of some sort. School was loud and vibrant, but I still felt so alone. Home was quiet but still lonely. I only felt connected to the world either when I was at the cemetery with ghosts or when I crossed paths with Karla, who felt like a ghost.
I thought about her more than I should’ve. It was very clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me. I didn’t take that personally, because it seemed as if she didn’t want anything to do with anyone. There were times when I tried my hardest to not think about her. I’d lie in my bed, fiddling with the toy truck in my hands, andboom—Karla would pop into my head like popcorn in a hot, oiled pot. I wanted to say that it was because we had something in common—our sadness—but our sadness didn’t mirror each other’s. Karla seemed to be sad in a different kind of way than I was. Where I missed my brother deeply, Karla seemed to miss herself. Missing your former self probably felt like missing a dream you’d never rediscover.
I didn’t miss my former self. I was an all-star basketball player who had no problem making friends. I was the homecoming king; I dated the girls that people expected me to date; I did all the things that made me fit in, but after Rian passed away, none of that mattered. I didn’t want to be who I used to be. That version of me died the same day my brother did.
Plus, it was the popular kids in Rian’s grade who bullied him the most. I wasn’t a bully when I was popular, but I knew some of my old friends could sometimes be mean to people. Kind of like Colton was to Karla. At the time, I was probably like Missy—just a bystander not sticking up for the ones being teased. I didn’t want any part of those kinds of groups anymore.
I still had a hard time understanding why people bullied my brother. He was amazing. Rian loved photography, and I loved his love for the craft. Our grandfather used to be aphotographer, and when Rian was five, he got his first camera. He became engulfed in all things photography, and he talked about it all the time, too. He was a slim guy with glasses and a vibrant vocabulary who was always talking at the speed of lightning whenever he was excited. Unfortunately for him, his excitement made him get tongue-tied whenever he spoke, and he’d trip over his own words.
Kids found it easy to mock his stuttering and his knowledge. They mocked him because he was intelligent, and passionate, and easily excited by the tiniest things. Rian could find an overlooked flower in the smallest of cracks, photograph it, and speak about the flower as if it were the most important thing on earth. He’d make a small flower feel like a field of dandelions. He praised the little things most humans overlooked.
He saw color in every single strand of life, and people ridiculed him for that. They mocked his vibrant colors because their own lives were dull. But their bullying made him think his own world was black and white.
They stole his color.
They stole his light.
I wondered who Karla had been before she lost her way, and I wondered, if I had known her back then, whether I’d miss the person she used to be, too. I wondered when she’d lost her own color. I wondered if she’d lost it around the same time that I lost mine.
As I lay in bed, thinking about all the questions I wanted to ask Karla if she ever talked to me again, I heard the front door open. I sat up, then I walked out to find Maa hanging her coat in the front hallway.
“Maa, what are you doing home?”
She turned to face me, and she looked exhausted, as always. Her eyes were puffy, and she appeared weak. As her mouthparted to speak, she ended up falling into a sneezing fit. I hurried over to her and wrapped my arm around her body to keep her steady.
“I’m OK, Ashish. Just a little flu is all. I was sent home to rest,” she told me as I led her to her bedroom. She placed her hand against my shoulder as I led her, and a wave of comfort washed over me.
“Thank you,mera beta,” she whispered as I pulled back her bedsheets and sat her on the edge of the mattress.
I bent down and began to take off her shoes for her as she closed her eyes and took deep breaths.
“I’ll make you tea and get you water,” I said.
She didn’t reply. She was focused mainly on her breaths as I lay her down in bed. I pulled the blanket over her, then headed to the kitchen. As the tea brewed, I headed to the bathroom and got a wet cloth to rest over her forehead. Dad used to do it for her whenever she got sick in the past. I also grabbed her favorite eye mask that she always used when she wanted the room to be darker.
I put everything on a tray once the tea was ready and brought it back to Maa’s room. I sat the tray down on her nightstand, then placed the warm cloth over her forehead.
“Thank you, Ashish,” she murmured. “You should be sleeping.”
“It’s all right. I’ll look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after. You’ll get sick if you stay around me too much.”
I shrugged as I placed the mask over her eyes. “I can handle it.”
Her breaths were heavy, and she sounded stuffed up. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
She took my hand in hers and patted it.
That little moment of comfort warmed up my whole body. I held her hand longer than I should’ve, but she didn’t try to remove it. She fell asleep not long after. I kept holding her hand.
I bet she wished it was Rian’s hand she was holding. He was good at taking care of others. Better than most. Rian would’ve made her tea better than I had. He would’ve done everything better than me, and Maa would’ve welcomed his help.
