OBSIDIAN: Birth to Venus

2069

The next morning, Jai stared at herself in the mirror. She’d passed out sometime after 4 a.m. Her eyes were filled with angry red veins, and her skin was dull and caked with tear stains. Looking at her face, she feigned a smile, which only served to weaken her resolve. How could Darin believe me? She wondered how this face could give him strength and hope when she felt empty, like someone had carved her insides out? Three times now, she’d thrown up. Despite her mother’s efforts to cajole her, she couldn’t keep anything down, not even the jok, the rice porridge, she loved to eat on Saturday mornings.

“Jai, you have to eat. Now that your brother’s napping, we have a few more hours. That doesn’t give us much time to ready ourselves. Why don’t you take a nice, hot bath?” Mom implored.

Jai soaked in the tub. It normally rejuvenated her. Now, it made her sink like the heavy stone her body had become. She tried to remind herself: many, many children survive this. She said it over and over again, but, still, the mortality rate screamed at her. She plunged her ears under the water, hoping to silence the fear escalating inside.

As they arrived at the hospital, Mom wrapped a shawl around Jai and squared her shoulders. “Remember, Jai: strength, for your brother.” Jai nodded and strained to walk, one foot in front of the other. The hospital reeked of disinfectant. It reminded her of disease, not cleanliness.

They opened the door to his room. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. Her brother, already small for his age, was a doll, hidden in a cluster of blankets. The bed looked oversized around his tiny body, so thin and frail-looking. Tubes tied him down, held him there, against the beep-beep-beep of the monitors.

Dad turned to look at them. “Jai,” he whispered. He wrapped her in his arms, hugging and holding her close against his chest. He smiled down at her. “Come, be with your brother.” She could see the pain in Dad’s eyes, feel the hurt he felt at not having been there, when Mom had given Jai the news. But, now was not the time for airing apologies or I-wishes. He leaned down, taking Jai’s hand, guiding it to Darin’s.

Darin’s round eyes slowly blinked open. “Jai?” His face, normally full with a fat chubby smile, was sunken, but no less beautiful. A few thin strands and a downy tuft of golden brown hair rested in bits and pieces on his predominantly bald head.

“Yes, it’s me, Darin. It’s Jai. I’m home, here with you.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, and forced a smile.

“Jai.” Darin’s voice strained to whisper. “Where’s my sweet?” he asked immediately, the same as always. His little hand fell open.

“Ta-da!” she said softly, and handed him a bracelet with a tiny bell attached to it. “No way you can hide from me now.” He laughed as she placed it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. The bell rang a soft, delicate chime.

“I love it. Thank you,” he beamed at her, a cough escaping from his lips.

“Are you chilly, love?” Mom swooped in with another blanket.

He smiled and laughed at her. “Mom, I’ll need a sign pretty soon. You can barely find me, hidden under all these blankets.”

From then on, they passed the days in chapters. Normally, a rambunctious child, Darin was far from home, forced to lay in a stark room, with only one window to let in the light. It was not like him, to be trapped in bed most of the time. Even when he was sick in the past, he’d whine his way out. Bed was only for sleep, or to curl up and read with Jai. In the hospital, books were his only escape. Jai read him three chapters a day. Then two, then one, until only a few pages in and he’d fall asleep. The time between bouts of nausea and vomiting were fewer and farther between. Soon, the book became an hourglass; the fewer pages turned, the less time they had to spend with each other, the less time Darin had left.

Closing the door behind her, Jai followed her parents out of the room. Anxiously, she whispered, “What do the doctors say? It’s been months since his admission. He’s no better. Aren’t the treatments working?”

Mom walked her down the hall before answering. “They are, Jai. Problem is, when chemo kills cancer cells, it can affect normal cells, too. They’re trying to keep it in check, to keep the cancer from spreading and slow its growth, but your brother’s body is weaker now.”

Months later, Jai had to force herself to take a deep breath before walking into his room. It was hard to suppress the anger and frustration she felt, especially when his condition was compounded by an additional diagnosis: acute myelogenous leukemia. It was affecting his bone marrow now. Vast numbers of abnormal white blood cells, myeloid blasts, were developing into leukemia, rather than normal white blood cells. The doctors moved him to a specialized pediatric cancer center, but they were wary of overstating what they could do.

Back at home, Dad talked to her over breakfast. “Jai, I know it’s hard,” he said, “and I appreciate your strength.” He smiled at her, his blonde hair unkept, his once sparkling eyes a pale blue. “Your mom’s having a hard time.” He motioned his head upward, toward Mom, who’d fallen asleep upstairs. “I stayed with Darin last night, so she could be with him tonight, but she never showed up. I finally came home at 3 a.m. and found her asleep. I didn’t wake her. She’s up all the time now, trying to find a research article, something, anything to save him.”

Jai wasn’t surprised, and she didn’t let Dad off the hook. “You are too, Dad. What’s it been now, the third night in a row that you’ve come back long after midnight? Only reason why I’m not doing the same is your 11 p.m. blackout period.” She’d rolled her eyes at the new curfew they’d instituted. “Others in this house could benefit from it.”

He smirked. “I know, I know. It’s a bit silly to ask you to honor a curfew at your age. We’re just trying our best, to look after both our kids.” He hugged Jai close, and let loose what he’d found. “There are some interesting studies, new combination therapies some colleagues have sent to me. I’m reading them this afternoon, before I meet you guys at the hospital.” His cell rang. “Hello? What?” He walked out of the room and came back shortly. “Quickly, Jai. Wake your mother. Your brother has an infection.”

They rushed to the hospital. A multidisciplinary team entered the room twenty minutes later. Jai couldn’t help but see the doctors catch her parents’ eyes, a warning that the news may be better discussed in private. But, Mom guided Jai closer. Dad placed his hands on Jai’s shoulders.

Dr. Mitchell looked briefly at his colleagues and took a deep breath before beginning. “Darin’s white blood cells have dropped in number, making him far more susceptible to infection. It’s bacterial.”

“Antibiotics?” Mom asked urgently.

“Yes,” Dr. Mitchell assured her. “We’ve given him antibiotics, but, with a shortage of red blood cells, anemia’s weakened him significantly.” His speech was slow and steady, as if to brace them. “His underlying leukemia has remained somewhat steady. But, it’s not where we had hoped it to be. It hasn’t progressed any further. But, an infection is a serious treatment complication, especially with the rise of extensively drug resistant strains.” Dr. Mitchell didn’t say anymore, likely because Jai was there. Still, the message was clear: stay close because Darin might not make it.

The next week was a blur. Jai was beside herself, sitting beside Darin as he lay motionless, rarely opening his eyes. She read to him anyway, hoping, willing her voice to reach him, to beckon him home. Mom encouraged it. It seemed to help her drown out the worry. There was so little to do but worry in that room. The doctors offered little to no reassurance. In fact, they had the unenviable task of delivering bad news after more bad news. First, the infection was not responding well to the cocktail of antibiotics they were giving him; then, tests showed the infection had spread to his lungs. Dad, who was normally so outgoing and cheerful, seemed to retreat into himself. Mom was abnormally quiet. The worry had drained them both. They huddled, disappearing into the corner, while Jai sat beside the bed. She didn’t know what else to do, other than read to Darin. It was the one thing she was capable of doing: filling the room with some sound to drown out the blaring silence.

Eventually, Mom and Dad forced Jai to go home, to eat a proper meal and rest in her own bed. She pleaded to stay, but she knew better than to burden them with protests. Like wet tissue, her parents were fading, barely themselves. She couldn’t bear to see them like that. She’d never seen anything deter or sway them. They were her support, her pillars. Now, they were shrinking before her eyes.

After a few hours of fretful sleep, she walked down the stairs, surprised to find them sitting at the kitchen table. Immediately, she knew. One of them always stayed with Darin. Now, they were both at home with her. Darin had had a sudden and severe cardiac arrhythmia. They’d been rushed out of the room before they could even kiss him goodbye.

The funeral was a foreign affair, not because they’d decided to hold the ceremony in Chiang Mai, but because of the strange stoic expressions Jai and her parents wore. Weeping, exasperated cries and buckled knees were kept private for the three of them, and every attempt was made to remain calm for the friends and family who’d flown in for the ceremony.

It was a beautiful wake, with abundant flowers and all of Darin’s favorite dishes and desserts. They’d even taken turns, reading a line from his favorite poem, before they closed the public ceremony and walked into a private space.

Jai walked to the casket and saw his angelic face peering back at her. The mortuary had done a good job with the makeup. He looked serene, nestled against a satin pillow. But, it was unlike him to be so still. Stillness was for hospitals, not the Darin that Jai remembered…not the Darin she wanted to remember. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her nose prickled. No, not now, she thought. She knew, if I start now, I’ll never stop crying. She admired the last sweet she’d given him, still on his wrist: the bracelet. The bell chimed as she caressed his small, delicate hand.