I think I would have enjoyed the tiny horse.
Sincerely,
Jacob
That was it. No more letter.
I was starting to wish I had his number—well, I did and I didn’t. Part of the fun was the letter thing. But then it was over so fast. Just a couple of minutes and then nothing for like a whole day. I wondered if I would have this much fun talking to him on the phone or texting him. I bet I would.
Benny was still sleeping. I had to wake him up for dinner and do his dialysis, but I decided to wait so I could write Jacob back really quick. If I didn’t deliver a letter tomorrow, it would be longer until I got one from him again.
I was about midway done when Benny came dragging into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding so out of it I wondered if he’d even understand the answer.
He looked like a sleepwalker. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. A gray wrinkled T-shirt and checkered pajama bottoms. He needed to shave.
I’d known moving him here wasn’t going to be a quick fix, but I was hoping he’d be doing a little better by now. He was taking his medications. At least he was this week. I’d been handing them to him myself. And he was back with his therapist now that I was here to make sure he went. She said he’d missed several weeks leading up to his ER visit, which explained a lot.
He wasn’t alone anymore, and he was in a safe place. I was doing all the right things for him. But I wanted a sign that he was still in there. That some of this, any of this, was working. Even a little.
I cleared my throat and looked away from his haggard body. “I’m writing a letter.”
He dropped into a chair at the kitchen counter.
I set down my pen. “Hey, what do you think about watching a movie tonight?”
He didn’t answer, just stared into the kitchen.
“Benny?”
He didn’t reply.
I reached over and put a hand on his wrist. “Hey, let’s go for a short walk after dialysis. Just around the block. Yeah?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just…stop nagging me,” he whispered.
I had to swallow the lump that bolted to my throat.
There was this mother who came into my ER once. She’d ridden in on the same ambulance as her son after he made a suicide attempt. We weren’t able to save him.
When I came out to tell her the news, she was so…resigned. Like she’d known this was coming for ages. Like she’d already cried about it and grieved him and this just made it official. She looked up at me with bloodshot eyes and said in the most sincere way I’d ever heard, “I did everything I could.”
And it terrified me that now I knew what that meant.
There was nothing else I could do for my brother. There was nothing else to pull from my arsenal except for pleas to get him up and moving. He was already in therapy and on depression meds. I couldn’t get him into an inpatient program unless he agreed to go, which he wouldn’t. He couldn’t be forced unless he was a danger to others or himself—which he wasn’t. I didn’t worry that Benny was going to hurt himself. Not directly, anyway. He was just going to give up on trying to stay alive.
He didn’t want to live in this body. Not broken the way it was.
I knew many, many patients with disabilities and chronic illnesses who lived their lives with dignity and joy and purpose. I knew people in end-stage renal failure, just like Benny, who didn’t even slow down. They took vacations and raised their families and had fun and made memories and plans. Jacob was right about dialysis. It was a gift. It gave you time. And I had hoped that Benny would get there, that he’d accept his new normal and find a way to keep loving life. But he wasn’t. He was withering. It had all happened too fast and taken too much from him. He couldn’t pivot. And the dialysis was the constant reminder that the worst possible thing had happened. Every time he sat down for it, he lost more of himself. Only a kidney could change this in any fast and meaningful way. And I couldn’t get him a kidney. I couldn’t even give him hope.
“Who you writing to?” he asked again, breaking into my thoughts. His tone was conciliatory. He probably felt bad for snapping at me.
I sniffed. “I’m writing to a friend. That doctor who came into your room that day in the ER.”
“I thought you didn’t like that guy.”
I shrugged. “I like him. He’s nice.”
“Are you trying to date him or something?”
“No. We’re just friends.” I put the letter facedown and pushed up from my seat. “I’m going to fill up the tub for you.”
He groaned. “What? Nooo.”
“Yes. I’ll grab some clothes to change into when you’re done.”
He let out a resigned noise from the back of his throat. “No tub. I’ll just…take a shower,” he muttered.
“Cool. And shave. Then we’ll go for a quick walk and watch a movie while we do your dialysis,” I said, trying to keep my tone bright.
He sighed deeply and then got up and went upstairs. I watched him go and deflated as soon as he was gone.
It was hard to be strong for us both. I barely had enough for me.
The next morning, I left the letter peeking out from under the keyboard of Jacob’s charting computer the second I got in.
Jacob,
Okay, but would you really enjoy the tiny horse? Really? I mean what do they even do? You can’t ride them unless you’re like seven or something. They’re cute, but it’s totally not practical.
It’s like those little pet monkeys that wear the diapers. They seem so cool, but they bathe in their own urine and fling poo and unscrew all your lightbulbs.
I think I knew exactly the moment that he’d read this part because I heard a laugh come out of the supply closet. He liked to take his breaks in there.
Hey, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you? It just occurred to me I never asked and me slipping letters into your locker might not be appropriate. I’m not hitting on you, in case you or your girlfriend are worried. I just want to be clear about that. I’m single and off the market, so no one can tell me who can write me letters or what kind of exotic pets I’m allowed to bring home. Might get wild and start realizing my dream of running a skunk rehab. They’re supposed to be good to cuddle once their scent glands are removed.
I’d signed it with a terrible drawing of a skunk.
I figured I should make it clear that none of this back-and-forth was in anything other than the spirit of friendship, just in case he thought I was flirting.
I didn’t date men I worked with. That was a personal rule for me—even if he was exceptionally attractive. Maybe especially because he was exceptionally attractive…
His personality really took it up a notch.
By lunch, I had a letter on my charting computer. It was on the stationery he used when he wrote from home, which meant he brought it to work just to write me. I grinned.
Dearest Briana,
I’m single as well. My ex and I broke up last year. I didn’t mistake your friendship for anything other than what it was, but I suppose it’s good we clarify, especially since we work together.
I think I could handle a Shetland pony. I have a bit of experience with hard to manage animals. Lieutenant Dan was a rescue with behavioral problems, and I grew up with a parrot. A thirty-year-old African gray named Jafar. He’s a bit of a jerk. He knocks things over and then blames the cat. He also likes the word （and you’re going to have to excuse the language here） “motherfucker,” so sometimes we’re treated to the sound of shattering glass followed by “The cat did it, motherfucker!”