Jump day

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in February 1999, when my brother got up off the couch and announced that he was going for a walk. I felt relieved; after all, this was the first time he had gotten off the couch to do something other than work in at least 6 weeks. I encouraged him saying, "I think a walk would be good for you." He looked good today. His hair was combed; his clothes were clean, and he looked somewhat happy for that brief moment in time. I had to drop my friend Dana off at his job downtown soon. We had just eaten a pizza. Having spent all our cash on drinks last night. Chris generously paid for our hangover buffet but without eating any of it - not even one slice. I should have known something was wrong.

On my way to take Dana to the mall, we noticed Chris walking in the snow along the icy street. He looked lonely, sad, even possessed . And yet I was so excited to see him outside and walking for a change. We waved to him as we passed but he didn't seem to notice. Laughing with each other at the mall, before Dana had to go to work, we looked at clothes together. I teased him about the guy he flirted with the night before. I called him GI Joe because of his tight camouflage shirt. GI Joe had red hair and fair skin. "He's pretty hot for a ginger," Dana explained as I laughed and asked if he was from good stock. We laughed a lot that afternoon.

Once back home, I noticed Chris hadn't returned from his walk and I checked for new voicemails. I sat on the edge of the bathtub in my drafty run down bathroom and listened as a nurse calmly stated that my brother had fallen and to return her call to the hospital. "What the fuck now?!!!" I thought. My brother had been in an emotional wasteland for the past several months, and I didn't know how anyone could help him now, especially me. I had taken him to a free clinic last week and the little blue pills they gave him was a feeble attempt to place a bandaid on his troubles. "He needs help," I remember pleading with the woman at the front desk. Defeat filled my body and I hesitated returning the nurse's call.

With a deep breath, I repeated the number aloud, trying to keep it in my memory as I dialed. Another female nurse answered the phone. I remember how calm she sounded. I figured the situation must have been under control, but she immediately knew who I was. She didn't place me on hold; she didn't need to find my brother's chart. "Your brother fell from a bridge" - as she continued to talk, my mind immediately pictured him tumbling down a hill, covered with flowers and long grass to help cushion the fall. In my mind, he looked graceful, but perhaps his tumble had bruised his body and caused this need for medical attention. My thoughts swirled around in my head. It's funny how your mind can soften the cold blow of shock.

I had never been called to the hospital for an emergency before. I didn't know how to act or what to do. Instantly, I wondered what does one wear to the ER? In my 22 years of experience, my only frame of reference came from watching Days of Our Lives during my unproductive lunch breaks in college. It was by lying on the couch on those lazy afternoons that I learned that it's generally accepted to look and dress well no matter what's happening. In soap operas, everyone is well dressed and groomed, as if they were attending a party, even in the midst of chaos. It was as if they had anticipated emergencies, which, of course, as actors, they did. Moments later, I was lathering up in the shower planning my 'brother just jumped from a bridge' wardrobe. My reaction was completely absurd, but my mind was now on autopilot and rational thoughts seemed to be hijacked. In retrospect, perhaps I was creating a suit of armor; an existential effort to protect myself. I figured that if everything else was going wrong, at least I could look good, which is one of the reasons I still make my bed each morning. Given what I was about to face, every little bit of armor would help. You know it's strange how a person responds in a time of crisis - add a pinch of panic, and a large helping of disbelief to create a pasty goo of complete and utter helplessness. My brother was in desperate trouble. He needed me, and I was making my way towards him as fast as I possibly could.

In my car, I drove as calm and collected as the nurse who delivered the news. As I drove, I felt the dark shadow of the day catching up to me, but it wouldn't find me. I could outrun it. But it found me at the corner of Third and Long. No one impatiently honked a horn as the light turned green; they simply began driving around me. It's as if they knew "don't bother this guy, his twin just jumped from a bridge." I remember feeling grateful for their patient respect. I tried my best to get my car off the rode. I couldn't drive any further.

Fortunately, I was close to a familiar bar, the Eagle, where my brother and I had been known to let loose and dance at all hours of the night. I knew Joe, one of the bar-backs. Although it was early afternoon, I thought he might be there, perhaps setting up for the evening. I remember my slow pace as I walked into the bar. In the daylight the dark bar looked strange, the black walls were dirty, and the smell of stale smoke hung in the air. Seeing me, Joe came up to say hello. I asked him to take me to the hospital and that my brother had been in an accident. My voice monotone and emotionless, sounded strange even to me. Joe ran to grab his coat and explained to his manager that he'd be back later. Letting out a sigh of relief, I gave him my keys and followed him, walking with my head down. I felt like a prisoner, captured, defeated and dragged against my will. We didn't speak much during the ride to Grant Memorial. I think I was afraid that if I spoke, I'd have to admit what happened, and then it might be true.

Joe knew where to go. He pulled into the hospital and followed the signs to the ER. He found a parking spot in the trauma section and parked the car. I swallowed hard and felt my heart sink. I was still on autopilot. I wasn't sure what to expect but I became increasingly aware of the seriousness of my brother's accident. In the elevator, I turned to Joe, remembering the day in high school when I learned about lobotomies. While watching One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, I nearly blacked out at my desk at the thought of cutting someone's head open. In a matter or fact tone of voice, I stated, "I'm going to black out up there. Please hold me up. I don't want him to see me struggle." Joe looked at me with conviction, "I won't let you fall," he said reassuringly.

Once upstairs, the ER nurse rushed us through a series of rooms. "Your brother jumped from an overpass onto the freeway. He fell on his tailbone and has seriously injured his back. We're prepping him for surgery. It's very important that you see each other before we take him into surgery," she explained. She spoke and walked quickly. In the back room, I saw my brother lying in a bed next to a large window. He had a long white sheet covering him from the waist down. There were nurses working under the sheet; they didn't seem to notice me. I walked to his bedside; the sun was bright behind me as it lit his face and body. Eyes closed, and on a heavy dose of morphine, he lay peacefully. One of the nurses spoke in a pleasant voice, "Chris, do you know who this is? Do you know who's come to see you?" My brother opened his eyes slightly, moving his mouth slowly he tried to speak. I took hold of his hand as he started to say my name quietly, and repeatedly. The room went dark, but grabbing my arm tightly, Joe held me up. I couldn't see, but I could hear my brother gently repeat my name.