Brina
IT WAS no use. There was nothing we could do. We stood quietly outside of the ICU hanging on a thin thread of hope that there would be news. We had been there for three days straight just waiting and watching. Finally, the parents came out. The father shook his head and the mother fell into the bosom of her sister. She sobbed quietly and I watched. A tear trickled from my eyes as I sat down on a hospital chair in the hall.
I realized that he wasn't going to make it. It was too late and there was nothing anybody could do for him. The doctors were just keeping him comfortable until his last breath......
The circumstances surrounding the injury of my cousin Issac or Issy weren't comprehensible. It happened so fast. I received a call from my father that worried me one afternoon when I had just left lessons. His tone of voice was solemn but shaky. It sounded like wavering hope. From the tone of his voice I thought that someone had died. But when he proceeded to talk I thought it was my mom or Zoya, that was in trouble. But when he said Issy, I felt a little better; not knowing how serious it was.......
Now I regret ever being happy that it wasn't mother or Zozo that was in the hospital, I feel terrible for even thinking about his unimportance that day. More tears fell and I quickly swept them away hoping that uncle Vince would hear better news than the thoughts I had swirling in my head.
He slowly headed up to the group of family and friends who were concerned about Zac's health. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles. He looked like a tired bandit. His brown skin has an unhealthy look. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall placing his hands behind his back.
"So," he began, " There will be no Martinique. We can't move him. If we do he is going to die. His eyes have stopped responding to light and his brain activity has significantly decreased. He is bleeding from his ears, nose, mouth and anus because his body is not accepting the blood. "
He paused for a minute trying to console himself and look strong. But I knew he wanted to cry hell I wanted to. Right now I just wanted to wake up from the horrible nightmare that was unfolding before my eyes. He pressed both lips together and batted his eyes.
"The doctor says there's nothing they could do for him anymore. They're just keeping him comfortable until they can't anymore. It doesn't look good. The doctor said to prepare for the worst."
That was it I looked into the distance. Castries below were lit up brightly and shine as usual. Life doesn't stop when people are dying or dying. Nor did it care. I walked over to the railing overlooking the Castries basin and I let the tears flow. I cried as the realization but me like a tidal wave. Issy was dying and I'll never see him again.
I cried, cried and cried for hours. I moved from place to place. My mother didn't want me crying by her so she shewed me away, for fear she would start crying. So I resorted to my father for comfort and cried in his arms.
"I-t's n-not fair!!!!" I sobbed softly while he rubbed my back in soft circles.
I could see he wanted to cry but he sucked it trying to be strong for all of us. I hugged him tighter as I rested my head on his chest and spotted my sister seated down on the hospital provided chairs with her head down. I knew she was crying but she didn't want anyone to know. My little sister was like that, sometimes private, sometimes loud and boisterous.
We stayed at the hospital for another three hours then we decided to leave. It was midnight. On the way to the jeep I was feeling a little better, still sad but alive. I decided to share my theory with Daddy.
"Dad..remember when Mike died along with the three other people that Easter weekend? Or when the two girls from Sir Arthur Community College died? The Three Winds were there. Something just isn't right about these two situations."
He was silent for a split second. He stopped in mid key turn and then watched me.
"You know Brina. I was thinking the very same thing."
"Yeah. This is too strange that the boat is always there when something bad happens."
"Brina that's so true," Mom said to me.
My eyes filled with anger as I opened the door to the left side and slid into the jeep. My father got in and said a prayer and then started the vehicle. It came on with a low rumble and it vibrated. After the car was warm enough, he turned the wheel and drove down the slope through the tunnel back to the city.
_____
I glanced at the clock hanging on the far wooden wall in my bedroom. I couldn't sleep at it was three minutes to one. I batted my eyes on the darkness, breath steady and slow. The night was silent, only the sound of clack-clacks, rustling trees and falling mangoes could be heard. In the background I heard my mother's phone ring the ring tone that I had set for her when she first received the phone.
She answered the phone casually as usual but then her tone of voice went from casual to frantic and shock. That's when I knew. I sat up in my bed, ears sharpened and I tried to focus on my mom's voice, ignoring the sound of the t.v, and clack-clacks, my sister snoring; my mom was silent, I could imagine her with her hands over her chest and phone pressed to her ears. The silence broke with the sound of her voice.
"Oh My God! Benjy! He's gone! Zac! Zac die! He die!"
I flew out of bed in a panic and rushed to the living room, where my mom sat staring at her phone and my dad staring at her shaking his head sadly. I stood there, watching them my eyes dry as ever, my hand on my chest, holding it. I was silent, just like when mom told me that my aunt had died.
After a while I stole away to my bedroom listening to the words of my mom waste texted her friends telling them the news, telling them don't bother coming to hospital and give blood today; because it was one in the morning. I rolled into my bed with my headphones in one hand and my phone in the other. I put on the headphones and started the music. Not wanting to hear my mother talked about how Isaac waited until we left to die. Inside my head I screamed.
Why Zac? Why?
Taj
I was at my desk doing my physics. It was late, after one in the morning. My brother was asleep but my father and mother were up. I was tired of yawning every five seconds but it was due the next day so I had to work. I pushed some scrunched up paper aside and stuck a photo to a bristol board.
I yawned again.
I was nearly finished when I heard my mom scream. I got up from my seat and ran toward her in the living room. I saw her sitting on the couch legs slowly uncrossing, her hand clutching the phone that was pressed to her ears.
”You sure? Mmm. Okay. I'll be there tomorrow alright.”
She clicked off the phone and threw it on the couch. Her face was pale, her light skin became whiter.
"Mom? What's wrong" I asked, hearing my father's footsteps behind me.
She sighed, twisted her body, squirming on the couch, dad stood next to her staring into her eyes, waiting for her to tell us what she'd screamed about. Looked up at Dad pressing her lips together and staring into his eyes.
"It's um, it's Vince," she stuttered, "It's...Isaac.....Isaac's gone."
My father's expression was stuck, it didn't move from concern. Slowly he lowered himself into the couch then pulled her into a tight embrace as she sniffled quietly. I knew what she was thinking, rather than who she was thinking about. That made her cry, tears trickled from her eyes and slowly it began to fall from mine too.
I walked away from them as the years began to flow more freely. A chill came over me and I shivered for the sake of it. The memory was inexplicably clear now, the fog lifted and dust settled. I saw her.
Junella
My sister Junella was in a terrible freak accident when I was ten and my mother had just given birth to my little brother Joshua . It was a Sunday afternoon and we were at the Darren Sammy Cricket grounds in Gros-Islet (Grows l. She was seven years old and full of promise, bright, elegant and playful, but unlike most girls, she preferred to play with cars, climb trees, run around in the fields, and ride the bike with the boys in the neighborhood instead of playing with dolls.
That is exactly the thing that we were doing that day, riding our bicycles. I could still see her now, speeding ahead of me, passing with a huge smile on her face. Suddenly as we approached a corner. I saw she began to wobble and shake and suddenly, she let out a loud scream, she screamed my name.
“Taj!”
Next thing I knew, she flew off the road into the pond. I remember hopping off my bike and running toward her. I ran down the slope to the pond. She was face down, pinned down by her bike, her long Indian hair that contrasted her "shabine" or "molato" completion was now blending with the dirty brown water. She was obviously unconscious. Without thinking I ran in the water after her. I pushed through the water, getting to her pulling the bike off her and caring for her back up to the road. Bye then my father had already reached the place. When he saw me climbing up the slope with her limp body in my hands he immediately ran up to me and told me to call the ambulance.
They managed to ressetate her but she was in a coma for about three days. Before the beginning of the fourth day she had a seizure and passed away. The doctor said it was an infection caused by the water she breathed in and ingested. Either way, it was the saddest day in the world.
The loss of my sister made my parents more protective of their children, over protective really. But I don't blame them, I blame someone else. No matter what people tell me I don't believe my sister's death was natural, it had speed way too fast and strangely. She didn't die a natural , accidental death. She was murdered.