Power of Attorney

It was an accident.

That was her excuse. It was an accident she was drunk off her ass. It was an accident the bar tender let her behind the wheel. It was an accident she ran a red light. It was an accident she broadsided your car.

Do you remember her, baby? She had dyed hair, sluttish eyes, and lacked curves. The drugs and booze took her from a pretty teen to an old hag in a matter of months. You were always worried about her; protective of the girl your family shunned. Your older brother instincts never faltered, even on that night.

You remember that night, right baby? We were curled up on the couch, watching Robin Hood: Men In Tights and you weren’t laughing as they sang the “Men In Tights” song. It caught my attention. The way they said “yes” always drove you crazy, and you’d make me imitate it before you’d let me get in bed. That night, though, your eyes were clouded and you found more interest in the coffee table.

“What is it babe?” I asked, nudging you out of your trance.

“I think… I think Abbey’s in trouble,” you mumbled, chewing violently at your lip ring.

“Aw, sugar,” I murmured against your ear, my arms finding their way around your waist. You barely responded to the touch. After a moment of taking in your scent, I asked, “Do you want to go look for her?” Your nod was slow and I could see the tears seeping from your eyes. You knew everyone hated your sister, that they thought she was throwing her life away, and that everyone thought you were wasting your time by trying to help her. Even I felt that way sometimes. I had told you that once; I said she was a useless piece of shit and you were wasting all your energy on her instead of being happy with what you had. The way you stared at me let me know I’d gone too far. I knew that every time you brought her up you felt guilty; you felt like you were neglecting me, shunning everyone, and only paying attention to being the responsible older brother you so desperately wanted to be.

I kissed your cheek and laced our fingers together, turning off the TV and stopping the DVD player while you chewed your nails into oblivion. You were so nervous. It was like you could feel something hanging in the air. Your footsteps were tentative as we made our way to the car your parents gave you for your sweet sixteen.

“You drive,” you nearly whispered, clutching the handle to the car door desperately while you waited for me to unlock it. Your car was always a piece of shit; the paint was chipping, the seats were ripped, and the automatic locks were broken. I wish I could’ve given you something better, but money was tight with the bills and saving up for a house. We pulled away from the concrete of our driveway and began the search.

As the hours rolled by, you started getting desperate. Your nail biting was getting so bad that your fingers were bleeding. I finally laced our hands to help you calm down, countering your erratically nervous spasms with gentle squeezes.

“Baby, I don’t think we’re going to be able to find her,” I said.

“Just a few more streets,” you begged, eyes desperately searching every face you saw.

“I’m serious, honey. Vegas is a big town. I think we should give up.” You glanced at me, pleading with your electric greens. I sighed as we pulled the car up to a red light.

“Abbey’s a big girl. She can take care of herself,” I muttered, scanning the stoplights for my cue to drive. Your glare burned holes through my temple.

“I’m paying for the gas. Just drive a little further,” you countered, eyes turned away from me again.

“Baby, I really don’t think – ”

“Just do it!” Your tone made me jump. I had known my comments would cause a fight, but you were never one to raise your voice first. It was obvious by the way you seemed to shrink into the seat that you regretted being so demanding. I set my jaw and waited as the lights to my left and right turned yellow.

“You don’t have to be so loud,” I muttered, glaring through the windshield. You stared out your window as the lights changed from yellow to red.

“Baby – ” you began, a hint of panic seeping into your voice as the lights changed and I began to drive.

“You’re the one who wanted me to drive,” I continued, oblivious to your fear.

“Babe – ” you tried again, but I wasn’t listening.

“Maybe next time you should go by yourself,” I added, crossing the second lane of traffic that could hit the passenger side.

“William!” Your voice was so strained, so desperate. I’ll never forget how you sounded, the way you said my name as though it would be the last time. I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. I couldn’t speed up; my reflexes were shot as I looked toward you, biting comment at the ready. The rest comes in flashes: your hand tightening on mine, you turning toward me with scared eyes, your tangible fear filling my stomach, the headlights behind your messy hair. There were no screeching tires until the crunch of metal and glass had already filled the air. The noise was too loud, and I found myself yearning to be back at our shitty little apartment, memorizing the way you looked when you were wrapped up in my arms. Pulses of memories are the only things left; knowing I was upside down, seeing the street as the sky, feeling the chair beneath me, wanting to know that you were okay, realizing the airbags hadn’t deployed.

Eventually, there were sirens, then lights flashing against my suddenly tired lids. I remember glass crunching beneath feet and someone pulling me away from the wreckage of you and your shitty car. Then there was something almost soft that I was lying on, and when my eyes opened for a few seconds, I could only see sky. Everyone was so loud – the voices, the sirens, and the bystanders. Incoherent verbal vomit spilled from my lips until the black in the sky consumed me.

When I woke up at the hospital, the first thing I did was ask about you. The nurses looked at each other wearily when I did, all three of them seeming to want the other nurse to tell me whatever was on their minds. Although countless questions slipped from my lips, they seemed to stop listening after the first few. I wasn’t thinking logically. I didn’t realize they weren’t responding because you were gone. That was just the thing; I didn’t know. I never knew when something was staring me in the face.

Finally one girl with a clipboard nestled in the crook of her arm told me what had happened.

“The boy you were driving with is in a coma-like state. His brain isn’t functioning the way it should.” My face fell as I listened to the specifics. They seemed to go on forever, but after the first few sentences I was absorbed in my thoughts.

You laughed.

“Will, stop. You know I’m ticklish there!” I grinned and continued my attack on your ribs.

“That’s the point!” I replied, straddling you on the floor. You knew exactly how to stop me. You pulled me down and kissed me – soft, loving. I couldn’t help but melt into you.

“I did something today,” you mumbled against my lips.

“Oh, and what might that be?” I asked, teasingly hinting at hidden innuendos that could’ve been infecting your statement as I trailed kisses along your jaw line.

“I signed my power of attorney over to you.”

“Oh?” I murmured against your skin. “Does that mean I can be your lawyer?” You laughed again.

“No, baby. It means if I’m going to die, you decide what happens. Like, if I’m unconscious and I need surgery but it’s risky, you choose whether or not I have it.” I stopped kissing you and moved to stare at your face.

“You’re serious?” You nodded. I pulled away from you and stood up. “Jeez, babe, that’s a lot of pressure,” I muttered, threading my fingers through my hair.

“I trust you with my life, Will. Literally.”

“I know you do. What if I make the wrong choice, though? This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“Babe, do you know what blind faith is?” you asked. My mind didn’t follow.

“Of course I do. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You know I’m not religious, and I don’t trust very many people. But I have blind faith in you. I trust you, Will. I know when it comes right down to it, you’ll make the right decision.”

“But what if..." I scrambled for an example before coming up with, "what if you’re in a coma? I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Will, you know how I hate needles?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know how technology likes to malfunction around me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you really think I want to be hooked up to a bunch of IVs and machines?”

“I guess not…”

“See? You know exactly what to do!” You grinned and pulled me closer. “And just for knowing that, you’re getting a reward.” With that you kissed me.

I groaned as I realized the importance of what you said. You would rather die than be hooked up to life-support.

“Mister Beckett? Mister Beckett!” The nurse was trying desperately to get my attention.

“Huh?” I replied dumbly, visions of you still clouding my mind.

“I said you have his power of attorney. What would you like to do?”

“Hayden hates needles and technology likes to malfunction around him,” I mumbled, repeating what you said.

“So…?” I glanced up at her, mouth dry, eyes glazed.

“Pull the plug.”