Melange Magazine

Fiction

I can see from my high-rise window the street lamps flickering out one by one across the city. It is a terrible blackout: an entire city of twenty million devoid of artificial energy for an uncertain length of time.

Does the world stop turning when New York City becomes as dark as death, when the city that never sleeps finally lays down to rest, even for just a moment? No. Not for me, at least.

In the darkness I sense movement behind me, slow steady breathing that reminds me of a life hanging by a thread, like a flickering candle threatened by the smallest gust of wind.

I sigh and turn from the window to see the outline of my brother, Jay, coming towards me with unsteady steps.

"Sit down," I whisper into the thick blackness. "Try not to bang your knees on anything."

I move from the sofa and feel my way blindly to the kitchen cabinet, reaching for the waxy cylindrical shapes of the candles and the strewn, slender pieces of matchsticks in which to light them.

In a moment, little bursts of light spring forth from the wicks as I arrange them on the windowsill. In the new light, I see Jay's young thoughtful face.

"I have another headache," he says to me, rubbing his forehead with his fingers in distress. I ache for him, wishing to somehow comfort him. But no amount of Tylenol can take the pain away.

The doctors say that he does not have long to live, and so by Jay's request, they sent him to live with me. There is no hope for recovery, but Jay doesn't seem to mind. Jay says this is how he wants it to be, that he won’t have it any other way a statement that makes my heart want to burst its tenuous seams.

After a long thoughtful silence, Jay breathes deeply and says, "I love it here."

"Yes," I smile. "New York City is beautiful." I gaze dreamily down on the streets below, the only lights coming from the sea of car headlights moving slowly in the darkness.

"I love it here with you, Vicky."

I start to cry then.

This shortage of time we have together plagues me in the back of my mind. Yet it is so easy to forget, because he is still the same little brother that he has always been. I find myself constantly forgetting and worrying about myself, saying to him, "Jay, I've got a lot of work to do and we have all the time in the world... Let's put off going to the theatre, bicycle riding, the ice cream stand. Tomorrow is another day."

But it isn’t.

I have spent months pretending this is a nightmare, and that when I wake up, his brain tumor will be gone and life will return to normal. I picture us as little kids racing bicycles down the terrifying hill on our street. He had always beaten me to the end, though I was the elder one. For as long as I can remember, Jay would look forward to each new day just for the sake of being alive, being able to breathe, to dance, and to laugh. He still does.

In this obscure quietude, these childhood memories sweep over me. I laugh aloud, and Jay looks at me, puzzled. After sharing my thoughts with him, I am strangled by their vividness, tortured by the knowledge that one day I will no longer have a best friend with whom to make these memories.

And here he sits before me in the middle of a record blackout, his strong hands folded in his lap, staring at me with intensity that drives me to tears. Even in the faint candle light, I see him very well. It is hard to believe that he may be gone at any moment months, days, or even minutes from now.

"Jay, when you leave, the world will stop turning," I tell him.

He says nothing for the longest time.
And then, with the slow movement of his lips, he forms these words:
"No, it won't."

I look up with puzzlement to see his eyes looking earnestly into mine.

"My world will stop," I repeat.

He smiles at me, as if to gently negate me, with a bravery that makes up for my cowardice ten times over. He reaches for my hand in the dim darkness, and holds it in his warm hands.

And then, in a moment, very slowly and unsurely, the lights of the city begin to come back to life. We watch from where we sit, unmoving until the lights in my own loft reappear. The candle that had once seemed so pivotal is very insignificant now.

It saddens me to see the flame dance unnoticed, surrounded by strong lamplights, and so I move to turn them off. The room is doused instantly.

I return to sit next to Jay in the shadows. We gaze together at the city lights, and I close my eyes briefly, feeling my eyelashes flutter against my skin. I sit peacefully, the tears subsiding, my fears still present but quelled for now. I hear nothing but the slow, steady breathing of my brother, still very much alive.