A Different Kind of Brave

When we first saw Cynthia Bales, she was screaming.

She raced into her room, her mouth opened in the awful noise as tears streamed down her face.

The salt water mixed in with her heavily applied makeup.

Contrasting incredibly, came Cynthia Bales' mom.

She didn't look old enough to be Cynthia's mom. But she was.

She walked in slowly. Her thin blonde hair hanging from a messy bun.

Cynthia Bales punched her pillow as she screamed and cried.

She took deep shuddering breaths, sounding as much of a hiccup as a cough.

Her mother sat calmly, running a hand through her daughter's hair.

She stood up, eventually, and moved into the bathroom.

When she came back to Cynthia there was running water.

Mrs. Bales took Cynthia gently into her arms and led her to the bathroom, not saying one word.

James, Derrick, Grace and I followed.

Politely- even if unrecognized- Derrick and James turned away as Cynthia was undressed and got into the tub.

She was still sobbing, but the screaming had subsided.

Her mother slowly squeezed some shampoo into her hands and started massaging her daughter's head.

I blinked slowly in recognition.

My mom had done the same for me.

I covetted the feeling of her fingers scratching against my scalp.

I returned my attention to the scene in front of me.

Cynthia was only sniffling by the time her mother was combing the suds out of her hair.

"Thea, honey," she said. I thought that this was when she'd ask her daughter about what had happened to her. But no. Mrs. Bales had something else in mind. "Do you want me to wash your face now?"

Cynthia's head jerked up and down. A nod.

Once the whole bathing was over, Mrs. Bales wrapped her daughter in a blanket and sent the promise of tomatoe soup and grilled cheese sandwhiches later.

Cynthia sat curled up in her window seat.

She glared at the inside of her room.

"Why?" she whispered.

I was thinking the same thing. Why? Why had she been screaming and crying? Why did she need this help if she had such a wonderful mother? Why did she want to die?

"Why are you going to die, mommy?" she continued just as quietly. Her voice barely a breeze in the otherwise still room. "Why isn't the chemotherapy doing it's job? Why won't you leave dad? We both know he's cheating on you."

She started crying again. "Why? Why? Why? Why!" she screamed the last word.

Grace moved over to her and mumbled, "Shh. Don't scream, Cynthia. It's okay."

Cynthia's head snapped up. "What? Who's there?"

"Just us," Grace soothed quietly wrapping her arms around the girl and taking her down to the floor where Cynthia could be held.

"Who?"

"You don't want to know," Derrick settled himself on her other side.

"Can you feel me?" Grace asked quietly.

"Yes," she whimpered. "I'm going crazy right? I hear voices. I feel arms wrapped around me. I'm insane."

"Just like the rest of us, love," I told her.

"You aren't going to ask me questions, are you? You won't make me do things, will you?" Cynthia whispered.

"No, why would we do that?" Derrick frowned.

"I've been to the mental hospital. There's people there. I've talked with the doctors."

"Why would you do that?" James narrowed his eyes, confused.

"I wanted to know."

"What'd you want to know?" I asked.

"I wanted to know what would happen if I didn't succeed in killing myself." She stated. "I don't want to have to live through my mom dying. If I don't succeed-"

"Then you should be happy," I told her, "You're lucky."

"Lucky?" Cynthia snorted. "You don't live my life! You don't know what I'm going through! Try living in my shoes!"

I wanted to tell her, I wanted to say, try living in mine. But I didn't.

It wouldn't help me help my brother.

He needed me.

At two in the morning, I found out what Cynthia was planning on doing.

There was a rope, in her closet.

It was on the bottom right side, covered in all of her dirty clothes.

It was already tied in a noose.

Once I saw that rope in Cynthia Bales' hands, it was all I could see.

When I saw that rope, I saw me.

I saw me as my brother did.

The first thing he saw was my feet.

They were hanging off the ground.

Kind of swaying.

Then he saw my left hand.

It was moving.

The wind from outside blew on it a bit.

And then, my little brother saw my face.

My mouth was hanging open. My eyes were wide.

They were pointing to the ground. My eyes were.

They were darker than I ever remembered them being in my reflection.

They were dead too.

You know how people always say that when someone dies, the life leaves their eyes. Well it's true. It happened to me.

My light was gone.

But I was still moving.

My hair was twitching, as it hung dead.

My neck was bruised and broken.

And then I saw Cynthia.

She was hanging from the rope now.

Her hair was stuck to her cheek where she had cried for the last time.

I shook my head.

Cynthia was not going to die.

She couldn't.