Six Feet Under The Stars

Two weeks felt like five. The time seemed to pass by at half its usual pace and then slow down even more as the last few days came into play. I went from not wanting to know how my life would pan out to it being the only thing I thought about. It was the first thing that crossed my mind in the morning and the last thing I fretted over before I fell asleep.

It was doing me absolutely no good but I just couldn’t help it.

Colby however seemed fine; he hadn’t lost his appetite, he could still hold a conversation for longer than two minutes and our father did not bug him twenty four seven about his erratic behaviour.

I didn’t think my behaviour was erratic. Sure I was having mild mood swings but that was only when the subject of my health was brought up; I might have been thinking about it non-stop but that didn’t mean I wanted to talk about it.

My feelings were easier to keep under wraps that way.

When I only had a few days left I had to physically force myself out of bed every morning. I simply dreaded waking up for the fear that two letters could be waiting in front of the door just under the letter box, one with my name on. I would sneak out of my room on tiptoes before either of the men of the house awoke to check, my heart thudding loudly against my rib cage.

The anticipation to get it all over and done with had turned into full blown nervousness, a symptom I could not hide.

“Bracken, are you okay?” my father would asked me every morning as I nervously nibbled at my toast whilst glancing at the door every few seconds. I would nod and try to regain my focus on the newspaper but to no avail.

Colby could tell that something was up too. He called it a twin thing, whereas I just put it down to the fact that he knew me better than I knew myself and when I was acting out of character he would instantly know about it.

As the due day crept closer the atmosphere in the house grew tense. Family times such as breakfast and dinner were almost silent; the only sound heard being that of cutlery scraping against plates. Colby and I had stopped talking to each other and conversations with our father were as minimal as we could possibly make them.

None of us wanted to bring up the dreaded subject of terminal illness.

By the time the day had come I had once again decided that I didn’t want to know the result, I was happy living in the dark.

Once again I sneaked out of bed and crept to the stairs, cringing at the sight of the two white letters that sat on the door mat. I could see the postmark clearly as I reached the bottom steps and it became perfectly clear that these were definitely our letters from the hospital.

I picked them both up carefully, flipping them both over to read who they were addressed to. I knew I had no right to open Colby’s so I began to ascend the stairs, carrying myself as positively as I could. I didn’t knock before entering my brothers room so he didn’t wake up until I coughed loudly, tossing his letter onto the pillow next to his head.

It didn’t take long for it to register in Colby’s mind and by the time I had reached his bedroom door once again to exit it he had bolted up right and had the letter grasped tightly in his left hand.

“Aren’t we going to open them together?” he asked me quickly as I shook my head and closed his door gently.

I needed to be alone to compose myself.

Besides if I stayed in his room that meant I had to open the letter, which I had n intention of doing.

I waited outside Colby’s room anticipating the sigh of relief I was bound to hear. The one I hoped to hear. I didn’t want Colby to have the defected gene; in fact it was the last thing I wanted.

A little over two minutes passed before I heard the deep exhale and his bedsprings creak. I imagined him flopping backwards with a huge smile on his face, the letter still clasped in his hand. I rushed over to my room and closed the door almost all the way, waiting to hear the click of my brothers as he opened it.

With the letter I had forged late last night placed inconspicuously on my desk I stuffed the real one behind my wardrobe and took a deep breath, plastering a relieved smile over my face. Careful to keep a small part of my expression curious I wrenched open my door at the same time as Colby and raised an eyebrow with a hopeful smile.

He grinned back at me and almost as though I truly believed I had read my letter I let out a shaky breath that I hadn’t been aware I was holding.

“I was seriously not going to open it for a moment,” Colby admitted and I nodded pushing back the feeling of guilt that settled in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about how my actions were going to affect my family in the long run, I had only thought about myself and my own well being.

I thought that if I knew I had a sixty percent chance of dying before I even reached sixty years of age I would only rebel against my father and that was the last thing he needed.

I knew that in twenty, thirty years I may have to face the consequences of my decision, but in that moment in time I knew I’d made the right choice.