Opening Night Without a Brother
By: Loukia Borrell
Rat’s Ass Review
October 2024
When your body heaved that final time,
just for a thimbleful of air, then silence,
I watched our parents collapse on either
side of you, crying and gulping in all the
air your lungs could no longer hold.
I walked to your kitchen counter, to begin
a list of mandatory calls. First, the police.
Then, the oncologist. I will say, “My brother
just died, and I need a DNR form. I’ll be there
soon. I won’t be able to stay long. Please have
it ready for me.” I will give it to the EMTs,
so they don’t try to revive you. Then, I will
call the undertaker and he will come in a
black van. We will watch him load you
onto a gurney and you will go out the front
door, lifeless, and we will know it is forever.
I look up from my notes and think I see you at the
table, eating your quiche, the slice you were too
sick to finish the night before. You are well again,
and lift your water glass to me as a tribute for
being a good sister, and maybe a half-apology
for leaving me here with the ensuing chaos.
But, you are elated the whole thing is over.
Certainly, there are fun days ahead,
with absolutely no scheduled body scans,
injections, pills, sleepless nights or soiled sheets.
Calendars filled with days of buttoning your own shirts,
swimming and casting your fishing line at the shore.
Tonight, because it is my debut as a
brotherless sister, opening night
as a soloist, sleep will not come.
You tell me to pretend my bed is a coffin,
and you are lying next to me. We will leave
open the lid, keep on the lights, and you
will assure me that the bruises we see all
over my body will eventually heal.
