Chapter 25

I didn't remember much from the day my brother died. The day was blurred in my memory, except for certain specific details. I remembered what I was wearing. I remembered the freckles littered on my brother's back, as I stared down at his prone body. I didn't remember my parents on that day, although they must have been there at some point. I didn't remember who took care of me right after. I was only five. Had I been older, I might have blamed myself for not being able to save him. For not being faster after I saw something was wrong. As it was, I didn't even known how to swim at the time, so I escaped the blame game. Sometimes, though, when my father looked at me, I mean really looked at me, I wondered if he was wishing that it had been me, rather than his beloved son. That was when the guilt slipped in. I felt guilty for being alive, for not being who my father wanted me to be. Luckily, he didn't look at me that often.

That day was hot, steamy. I was wearing my favorite swimsuit. It was a two piece, pink with white polka dots and ruffles on the butt. I sashayed around the house in that thing like I was one of the slutty women on one of Lupe's soaps. PJ and I begged Jane, our nanny, to let us go swimming, even though we weren't allowed to because we were being punished. Jane gave in to us, as she always did, mainly because my mother wasn't home.

My brother was 9 at the time, tall for his age, all red hair and swinging limbs. He was always running around the perimeter of the pool, no matter how much Jane yelled at him to stop. Jane yelled and PJ laughed. The only one who could ever get him to stop was my father. His voice would boom down from an upstairs window, making me want to hide behind Jane or one of the pool chairs. But my father wasn't home that day, either.

I didn't see PJ fall. I was fussing with my water wings. Jane had blown them up too tight again and they were cutting off the circulation in my arms. I looked up when I heard a loud crack, thinking PJ had gotten ahold of a firecracker somewhere. I knew he had a stash of things I wasn't allowed to play with in the pool house. Jane was in the house, getting us drinks.

When I looked up, though, I couldn't see PJ anywhere. I stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, not noticing the smear of bright red on the edge in front of me. I looked down in the pool and saw my brother, floating face down in the water. I thought he was playing a joke on me, trying to scare me so I'd scream, like he always did.

"PJ!" I yelled, but he didn't move. The water around his head was turning dark red.

"PJ!"

He wasn't moving. Usually he'd pop out of the water, laughing, at this point. Jane was now walking toward me, balancing three glasses in her hands. She looked up from the glasses and saw me standing next to the pool. Then she looked down, into the pool. She dropped our drinks, Kool-aid; I could still remember the color on the cement. Bright red, like my brother's blood on the edge of the pool.

Jane jumped in the pool, scooping my brother up in her arms. He looked so little. He wasn't moving.

I started screaming and didn't stop until the paramedics came and took my brother away forever.