Read Online B000FCJYE6 EBOK by Marya Hornbacher - Free Book Online
Authors: Marya Hornbacher
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calm. He turned and walked to the living room and poured himself a drink the color of iodine. “Daddy’s just having a little pick-me-up.” As he passed me, he laid his hand on my head and kept going.
I went back to the bathroom. Esau mumbled, then let out a raspy scream. I thought his throat must be hurting by now, but if the glass didn’t hurt then maybe his voice wouldn’t either. My mother struggled to hold him, one hand around his wrists and one on his ankles, Esau’s naked body stretched and arched in the middle like a bow, trembling violently. My mother looked up and said, “Where in the hell is your father?”
“He said he’s having a pick-me-up.”
She laughed. “Oh, Jesus,” she said, shaking her head. “All right. I need you to get something out of the medicine cabinet.”
I stepped over Esau, stood on the edge of the bathtub, climbed onto the sink, and opened the cabinet.
“Top shelf,” she said. “Back behind the other bottles. Brown bottle. No, the one next to it. That’s it. Get me four of those and a glass of water.”
I climbed down. Esau opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
“Three days, I was dreaming the numbers, all of the numbers, I had the answers, are you listening?”
I nodded, paralyzed, holding the pills and the water.
He talked to me when he had his episodes because he knew I would listen. My parents said he didn’t know who I was, but that was a horrible lie. Your brother always knows who you are.
My mother took the pills. “Katie, come hold his wrists.” I knelt on his wrists, but they pulled away. I tried to be heavier, to hold myself steady as Esau’s arms shook and yanked under my knees. My mother put an elbow on Esau’s chest and pried open his mouth with one hand, pushing the pills to the back of his throat with the other. Esau gagged and spit, wrinkling his forehead. Tears ran down the sides of his face and into his ears. She poured water into his mouth. Esau coughed and gagged, but he swallowed.
We sat in silence for what seemed like hours while he screamed, then sobbed, his cries gradually slowing down.
“Now what?” I whispered. Esau’s body jerked awkwardly.
“Now we wait,” my mother replied. Her face was drawn.
I slumped where I sat on Esau’s arms. “Why does this happen?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why does he get sick like this?”
She sighed. “He has a sad-sickness.”
“Why?”
“Because it runs in the family.” She looked at me. “You know how you have red hair like mine and Esau has black hair like Dad’s?” I nodded. “Well, that’s what it means when something runs in the family.”
“Did he get it from Dad?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Why do you think that?”
I studied her face and decided she was lying. I only asked because she had told my father to his face that this was All His Damned Fault.
“Was it Aunt Rose?” I asked doubtfully.
“Maybe. We don’t know.”
“Am I going to get it?” I panicked a little and looked down at Esau. He was breathing more deeply, his eyes low lidded like a frog’s.
“No, you’re not going to get it. You’re born with it. It’s not like catching the flu.”
“I have the flu.”
She laughed a little. “I know.”
“I don’t want to go to school today.”
“No, you don’t have to.”
“I want to stay here with Esau.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Esau’s staying home today,” I told her. “Esau,” I said, watching his face. His eyes didn’t move.
“He can’t hear you, baby,” my mother said.
“He can so. Esau,” I said again, shaking him. His chest was narrow and caved in, the ribs moving under the skin when I shook him. He looked like the drawing of Jesus that hung on my grandmother’s wall. Skinny and dead. “Esau, you’re staying home with me to play Monopoly and have SpaghettiOs and take a nap. We’re not going to school. We have the flu. We have a sad-sickness. Dad has a pick-me-up. He’s not mad
I went back to the bathroom. Esau mumbled, then let out a raspy scream. I thought his throat must be hurting by now, but if the glass didn’t hurt then maybe his voice wouldn’t either. My mother struggled to hold him, one hand around his wrists and one on his ankles, Esau’s naked body stretched and arched in the middle like a bow, trembling violently. My mother looked up and said, “Where in the hell is your father?”
“He said he’s having a pick-me-up.”
She laughed. “Oh, Jesus,” she said, shaking her head. “All right. I need you to get something out of the medicine cabinet.”
I stepped over Esau, stood on the edge of the bathtub, climbed onto the sink, and opened the cabinet.
“Top shelf,” she said. “Back behind the other bottles. Brown bottle. No, the one next to it. That’s it. Get me four of those and a glass of water.”
I climbed down. Esau opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
“Three days, I was dreaming the numbers, all of the numbers, I had the answers, are you listening?”
I nodded, paralyzed, holding the pills and the water.
He talked to me when he had his episodes because he knew I would listen. My parents said he didn’t know who I was, but that was a horrible lie. Your brother always knows who you are.
My mother took the pills. “Katie, come hold his wrists.” I knelt on his wrists, but they pulled away. I tried to be heavier, to hold myself steady as Esau’s arms shook and yanked under my knees. My mother put an elbow on Esau’s chest and pried open his mouth with one hand, pushing the pills to the back of his throat with the other. Esau gagged and spit, wrinkling his forehead. Tears ran down the sides of his face and into his ears. She poured water into his mouth. Esau coughed and gagged, but he swallowed.
We sat in silence for what seemed like hours while he screamed, then sobbed, his cries gradually slowing down.
“Now what?” I whispered. Esau’s body jerked awkwardly.
“Now we wait,” my mother replied. Her face was drawn.
I slumped where I sat on Esau’s arms. “Why does this happen?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why does he get sick like this?”
She sighed. “He has a sad-sickness.”
“Why?”
“Because it runs in the family.” She looked at me. “You know how you have red hair like mine and Esau has black hair like Dad’s?” I nodded. “Well, that’s what it means when something runs in the family.”
“Did he get it from Dad?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Why do you think that?”
I studied her face and decided she was lying. I only asked because she had told my father to his face that this was All His Damned Fault.
“Was it Aunt Rose?” I asked doubtfully.
“Maybe. We don’t know.”
“Am I going to get it?” I panicked a little and looked down at Esau. He was breathing more deeply, his eyes low lidded like a frog’s.
“No, you’re not going to get it. You’re born with it. It’s not like catching the flu.”
“I have the flu.”
She laughed a little. “I know.”
“I don’t want to go to school today.”
“No, you don’t have to.”
“I want to stay here with Esau.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Esau’s staying home today,” I told her. “Esau,” I said, watching his face. His eyes didn’t move.
“He can’t hear you, baby,” my mother said.
“He can so. Esau,” I said again, shaking him. His chest was narrow and caved in, the ribs moving under the skin when I shook him. He looked like the drawing of Jesus that hung on my grandmother’s wall. Skinny and dead. “Esau, you’re staying home with me to play Monopoly and have SpaghettiOs and take a nap. We’re not going to school. We have the flu. We have a sad-sickness. Dad has a pick-me-up. He’s not mad
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