Agony

Ding buzzed in Scott’s ears as the steel elevator doors slid open to the third floor. The hallway echoed sounds of nurses filing papers, flipping through patients’ charts, and typing documents. Walking past the nurse’s station, he turned right. The sign read Room 3201. This was where his brother, Eric, lay. Scott stood outside the glass window of Eric’s room, watching his brother’s chest rise and fall at a rhythmic pace. Scott could hear the bedside monitor beep while the ventilator aided Eric's breathing. He didn’t look like himself. He was an alien impaled with tubes and wires in his mouth, nose, and arms. The eggshell-colored walls of the hospital room amplified the paleness of his skin. He couldn’t speak, interact, or move. Just an unconscious vessel.

That wasn’t the brother Scott knew. Eric was lively, accessible, and considerate. He always listened to his problems and gave Scott great advice whenever Scott needed to talk. He was Scott’s teacher. Like when Scott was eight, Eric taught his baby brother how to ride a bicycle. Or showed him how to properly tie a bowtie before the freshman year homecoming dance. So, when he came of age, teaching Scott to drive was no different.

To be honest, Eric shouldn’t be laying in that hospital bed. And if Scott had been paying closer attention to the road, he would not be. And Scott’s right arm wouldn’t be resting in plaster. They would be home playing video games, or sharing funny Instagram memes, or pestering each other the way God had intended all brothers to do. But it all happened so fast. One moment Scott was in control, holding the steering wheel of Eric’s black Honda Civic steadily. Accelerating at a reasonable speed as Eric encouraged him.

    “You’re doing pretty good, Scottie” Eric spoke as they cursed down Pollard Street. “Just loosen up your grip on the wheel. You don’t have to clamp it.”
           So, Scott followed his brother’s instructions. Untightening his fingers on the steering wheel, he let out a deep breath to relax his nerves.
 
“Good drivers are comfortable drivers,” stated Eric.

As they came towards the intersection of Pollard Street and Hamilton Boulevard, Scott decided to unwind some more. He reached for the radio dial. Seconds barely passed by before a Ford truck came out of nowhere and clashed into the passenger side like a wrecking ball to an abandoned building. Scott felt the car begin to veer off the road. His foot rammed the brake. Hands maneuvered the wheel right and left, trying his best to regain control. He tried to swerve away from surrounding vehicles parked alongside the curbs. Ultimately, crashed into a tree. Glass from the windshield flew into the car upon impact. His head slammed into the emerging airbag.

“Eric? Are you all right?” Scott called out.

           No response. Scott attempted to lean over to Eric in the passenger side of the car. But the immense pain shooting through his arm would not allow him to reach his brother. His vision grew hazy. He called for Eric once more. Still, no answer. The last thing Scott remembered was hearing the sirens of ambulances before darkness overtook his sight.

The taste of salty tears on his upper lip snapped Scott back to the present. Knowing he could not do anything for Eric made him want to punch a wall, especially when Scott felt he should be in his brother’s place. Scott should be the alien impaled with tubes connected to a ventilator, struggling to breathe on his own. It was not fair for Eric to suffer alone. Scott prayed to any deity that he could relive that regrettable afternoon. If he had known what would’ve happened, he would have never gotten behind the wheel.