The rickety ceiling fan spun ferociously as I stretched across my bed. It was a Tuesday, or maybe Monday. I glanced at my phone screen to double check the date. Whoops, it was Thursday. Another day spent in my Ann Arbor apartment. I’d been here all summer. My job at the Law Quad had gotten canceled. My roommates had gone home right when the pandemic hit. There was no school work or job to distract me. The bright teal book I’d been reading lay in front of me with big black lettering outlining “Everything is F*cked”. Pretty much.
I had friends living 5 minutes away in Ann Arbor. I could see them or I could not. I could be alone or I could follow the quarantine. It was a constant struggle that was always decided by not wanting to be alone. I couldn’t say no. They were parties and group gatherings, too. I didn’t even like to drink but I’d choose a Whiteclaw over sitting alone with my thoughts. I picked up my phone right as a group message from “SquAAd” popped up.
“Party on Elm tonight?” my friend Lauren suggested.
We had already gone to two the past week. My fingers started to type “Sorry I’m staying in…” before immediately backspacing. I wanted to be invited in the future. My friends would think I was lame for staying in. The thought of being alone sounded worse than socializing with strangers. At least strangers had a pulse and could carry a conversation.
“Yeah! Pretty sure I can come but I’ll let you know…I have to take my brother to a doctor’s appointment but should be back by this afternoon,” I sent back.
There. They thought I was coming but I could still back out last minute. Exciting. I had two plans today.
At exactly 2:00 pm I walked to the car and pulled up Maps. I routed Ann Arbor, Michigan to Wixom, Michigan which was a 45 minute drive. Not bad. I’d be back at 7:00 pm latest and could still make it out with my friends. The words “Mom” flashed across my phone screen and I immediately picked up.
“Hi cutie, how are you? Are you sure you don’t mind taking your brother to the doctors? I can try and reschedule my appointment,” her voice weans off.
She sounds stressed and I automatically want to make everything better. It sucks. My oldest brother had been feeling weak and had begun losing feeling in his body to the point he had reached out to my parents. That’s how I knew it was bad. The last thing my brother wanted to do was ask my parents for help. My parents insisted he go to the doctors where he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.
The day I found out I curled into a fetal position and cried like a baby. The Google searches said neurological disorder, lifelong lesions on the brain, loss of function of body, no full cure. I cried for my parents. I knew they were hurting and felt helpless. I cried for my family. I cried for the uncertainty of death that seemed so imminent. And most of all, I cried for my brother, these were angry tears, at his choices and lifestyles that could have helped prevent this. I cried while my family followed my dad’s stoic lead as they proceeded like robots outlining the next moves in a logical and rational manner. The worst part of it all was I eventually stopped crying.
“No! Go to your appointment. I’m headed there now and I have everything under control!” I said with a cheery voice that sounded foreign even to me.
I didn’t even know my voice could jump that many decibels. It was the only booking with a top specialist anytime soon. I wanted my parents to know they could depend on me. That I was reliable and consistent.
“You have arrived,” Siri announced as the car faced a gravel entrance flocked by two large metal fences.
A half wood sign was propped at the entrance indicating trailers 1-20 were straight ahead. A wimpy, multicolored pinwheel fan and flag with a bright, orange peace sign was propped nearby to welcome anyone in. It was the last trailer at the end of the gravel road. A dark brown color with peeled shingles and weeds surrounding the base. I’d never been. The few times my brother visited it was for Holidays and he’d make the drive home. None of my family had been. He had never asked. Walking up the wobbly wooden stairs, I pounded on the door with the force of an eviction knock.
“Come in…the door’s unlocked” a barely audible voice from inside called.
Inching the door open, a mix of cat urine, cigarettes, and vape all mixed into a heavy perfume coated every inch of the enclosure. The front door from the trailer to the bedroom was a mere two steps before I saw the shape of my brother lying on a mattress on the floor.
“Mom brought you a box of food,” I offered.
The box I’d been holding suddenly felt heavy and I went to unfill its contents. The bright blue and yellow outprint of the Kraft Mac and Cheese boxes I laid out contrasted against the scattered pots and pans encrusted in dark, grey grease. The chaotic mess and disheveled look of the trailer felt too intimate to be in there. It felt like I had walked into someone’s private moment and I needed to keep myself busy to not feel the second hand embarrassment.
“Oh thanks, I’m going to need a little help getting up,” my brother called from the cluttered bedroom.
A lit up computer screen illuminated the room as my brother laid slumped over on the mattress. Like a limp, crumpled doll, there was a lifeless essence in the shadows of the room as his license, wallet, and livelihood was scattered around him within arm’s reach.
“Wow…you should really be on Hoarders, it’s pretty bad in here,” I joked.
I pulled the loose fabric of my T-Shirt over my nose as I shuffled to the farthest corner of the door frame.
“My walker’s right over there,” my brother gasped as he made a slight move to stand before defeatedly falling back on the mattress.
The only walker I’d seen in real life was my Grandmas. My siblings had laughed when I pointed out the bottom legs looked like fidget spinners. And yet I set one in front of my brother where he collapsed his weight on it.
“What have you been up to this whole time?” I asked nonchalantly.
The innocent question was loaded with accusations. I knew he had been doing nothing which is why I was here. My brother didn’t care. He didn’t take the diagnosis seriously and was only going because of my parents begging.
“Nothing,” he agreed, “I just sit in bed, watch TV and play video games…did I tell you we just got new streaming services?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I had watched TV. I was disgusted. He found contentment sitting in his trailer all day rotting away in a metaphorical hell.
The lineup of cars, bumper to bumper, at the Neurological Disorder Center amassed at this brown stoned building. I looked over at my brother who was resting his arm against the window with his eyes closed. I sighed.The long ramp leading up to the door looked like Mount Everest. The closest spot to the front was one with a Handicap spot. A 21 year old and 28 year old parked in the Handicap spot. The outline of the symbol stared me in the face.
3:05 pm. We were going to be late if my brother tried to walk. I got out of the car to grab the first wheelchair at the entrance and brought it besides the car door. I wheeled the 170 lb frame of my brother up the long ramp. I went on my tiptoes to peer over his head towards the sliding doors. So much had changed. I wondered if he remembered. The way he used to push me in the metal grocery carts at Costco while my mom shopped. How we used to go sledding and he’d pull me in my sled back up the hill. And yet here I pushed the wheelchair into the waiting room. I walked up to the receptionist desk.
“Hi honey! What can I help you with today,” the receptionist kindly asked.
“I’m..I’m here to sign my brother in for his appointment. We got in the schedule last minute which is why my mom couldn’t make it, so hopefully it’s okay I go in with him to talk to the doctors and write stuff down,” I responded meekly.
My voice sounded uncertain even to myself. As if I needed to defend why my 4’11 frame was standing here instead of a grown adult.
“Okay, I’m just going to need him to sign these forms and then we’ll call you back!” she said as she went back to taking a phone call.
She must deal with this everyday. I’m not special. This is an everyday occurrence. As I sat next to my brother I handed him the clipboard with the pen. He grasped the pen before his arm turned limp, and the pen clattered to the tiled floor.
“Can you fill them out for me? These arms are good for nothing!” he chuckled and looked at me to share the joke.
Here he was sitting in a room of elderly folks, immobilized in a wheelchair, and he laughed. Behind my mask, my lips twitched up to offer a half smile grimace. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the ignorant bliss of the situation.
“Yeah but I need to go to the bathroom first,” I replied before I bolted.
The tears came streaming down my face as soon as I locked eyes with my reflection in the mirror. The black charcoal line I had scrawled across my eyelid that morning now smeared across my cheek. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looked like a phony playing dress up and using makeup to look older. Hardly someone who should be filling out insurance forms and listening to treatment options. A loud text message from my phone popped up from Lauren.
“You’re still coming to Elm tonight, right? I was thinking of wearing my jean skirt with a cropped tank. Also, I was going to buy White Claws to pregame with before we go if you want to Venmo me for half,” Lauren excitedly typed.
Drinking at a party. I was rushing back to Ann Arbor to go drink alcohol while my brother sat in the waiting room. My brother sat in the waiting room and couldn’t even drink a glass of water himself if he wanted to. I would have had to get him that glass of water. The 40 miles between me and Ann Arbor suddenly seemed so far away. A utopian world compared to the small, tiled bathroom I stood in now.
I looked back in the mirror. I reminded myself I was standing in this tiled bathroom because I was the reliable and dependent child my parents could count on. That’s why I was here. And now I could be that for my brother.
I wiped away the last tear and typed back, “Sorry, count me out.”
I took a deep breath and smoothed my wrinkled shirt as I pushed open the door. I walked back to the waiting room and sat next to my brother right as the nurse called us back. Placing the clipboard under my arm, I stood up and pulled down my mask to give my brother a smile.
“Ready? We have a doctor we need to talk to,” I said confidently.
This time my voice didn’t waver. I stood tall as I wheeled my brother down the long corridor. In that moment, there was a sense of comfort knowing I was right where I was supposed to be.
Anonymous || Ann Arbor, MI–Farmington Hills, MI || July 10th, 2020