“Hey Ben. It’s me.” I looked out the window. It was a beautiful day outside. I find it strange how the world goes on as if nothing happened. Beautiful days like this remind me that just because I’m miserable, doesn’t mean that the whole world is. I moved my eyes away from the window, back down to my unconscious brother.

“How are you doing today,” I asked him, not expecting any answer. “I’m fine I guess-” I stopped myself. This was stupid. The nice nurse whose name I could never remember told me that it would help if I sat down and talked to him, although I have no idea how. It’s not like Ben could hear anything I was saying, it’s not like talking to him would magically fix him and get him out of this hospital. Yet, everyday for the last week I’ve been here, in his hospital room, talking to him. Even though I know it’s all bull. I guess I do it more for me than for him. It’s nice to actually talk to someone, even if they do happen to be unconscious. Unconscious. I let that word sink into my head. Unconscious. My brother was unconscious. My parents were certainly not happy when they got the news. They were at a lecture about the Battle of Bunker Hill at the New York Historical Society. My parents are really into all that American Revolution stuff. In fact, they first met at a lecture on the Boston Tea Party. After that, the New York Historical Society became their favorite place to go together, and they always make sure to go there at least once a year, which is a lot easier now since my dad got a job teaching at NYU, and we had to move from Connecticut to New York City. It was in the middle of the lecture on “one of the most interesting battles of the Revolution,” according to my father, when my mom’s phone started ringing. My mom always keeps her phone on, which I guess was good, because if her phone was off then she would have missed the call from Lenox Hill hospital saying that her son got into a car accident, and was currently unconscious.  When my mom saw that a hospital was calling her, my mom ran out of the lecture hall, with my father in tow, and heard what was happening to her son. Then she called me.

At that time, I happened to be at the library closest to my house on 79th street. I answered my phone, quite annoyed that my Emily Dickenson was being interrupted, but my annoyance quickly turned to fear as my mother told me the situation. People around me were whispering for me to be quiet, but I didn’t care. I was told to go to Lenox Hill immediately, and that’s what I did. I parents said that they would meet me there.

   When I first got to the hospital I felt so out of place. I haven’t been to the hospital since… well since I was born. I’ve never broken a bone; I’ve never needed to go to the hospital before. The only place I’ve seen a hospital before is on TV. Let me tell you that actually being in a hospital is so much different than looking at a hospital on your TV. In real life, hospitals give off a strong feeling of sadness, a feeling of grief. People are crying, people are scared. No one wants to be there.

I stopped thinking about that day. I made me too upset to think about. I grabbed Ben’s hand. They were big. Our ten year age difference was always clearest when we were holding hands. His hands are giant, while mine are small and delicate. I looked at his face. It looked so calm that it made me smile. Then I frowned. What if he didn’t decide to go to that stupid party. What if he hadn’t had so much beer. What if he had decided that he was too drunk to drive home. What if… I stopped. It was dangerous to ask those types of questions. You can’t change the past. I sighed. I wish I was at the library. I haven’t gone since I got the call about Ben. The library is one of my favorite places in the city. It’s a place where I can relax, and just focus on my reading. Except, after what happened, I just can’t seem to focus on books anymore. I can only focus on Ben.

I got up. I had to go. I didn’t want to look at my big brother like this anymore. I walked toward the door, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave him, so I sat back down on the chair that the nurses had put right next to his bed. I put my head down on the blanket and breathed in and out. I didn’t cry. I hardly ever cry. I just breathed in and out, and thought about what was going on. I thought about mom. She thought I was at school right now. She doesn’t know that for the past week I’ve been skipping school so that I could see Ben. So I could talk to him, like the nurse told me I should do. My mom’s going to figure this out soon enough. Maybe my school will call her, maybe she’ll come during the day to visit Ben, and she’ll see that I’m here. I’m not sure yet, but she’ll find out. Can she really blame me though? How can she expect me to focus on school when my brother is in the hospital? Wouldn’t she do the same thing if-

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I know that sound. It’s the same sound that I hear on TV shows. I know what that sound means, but I don’t want it to be right. I lift my head up and see a group of doctors and nurses running into the room. None of them look to happy. One of them tells me to leave, they need space. I understand, but I don’t want to leave. The same doctor yells at me this time, so I guess I should listen. I slowly walk out of the room. I stay just outside of the door. I hear one of the doctors say “Time of death: 0900.”