I walk home on a crisp, breezy autumn day, the leaves brightly drifting in the wind, gliding down to coat the ground. Why drive on a beautiful fall day?

Kicking at the leaves, I turn down my block and come to the old, light blue house with the inviting porch swing. I climb the creaky, paint-chipped steps and sit on the faded yellow cushions. I sway, listening to the rhythm of the chains. The tall sunflowers sway with me.

Begrudgingly, I get up and unlock the door into the musty house. I cut through the living room, sit down at the hardwood table and drop my worn backpack. I take my binders out and begin my work.

Caller ID: Stevens Elementary School. When I read this I sigh, wondering what Andrew has done this time. Let out the class pet? Shown his classmates his ten stitches from the fall down the stairs? Yet I can’t help smiling. Despite his mischievousness, he is my favorite person in the world. I pick up the phone, prepared to hear Ms. Graller’s hoarse “Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Graller,” I’d respond. “It’s Cassandra.”

“Oh, Cassandra!” she’d exclaim. “I haven’t seen you in ages….” After babbling about her newborn granddaughter, and just how adorable she was, she would finally tell me about Andrew’s newest escapade.

I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

A voice says immediately, “Mrs. Cisia?”

This isn’t Ms. Graller, I realize. “No, this is her daughter, Cassandra,” I answer tentatively. “My mother isn’t home right now.”

“When will she be?” The voice asks, tinged with anxiety.

My frown deepens. Andrew’s school has always been content to speak to me. I look at the time. 4:43. “Not soon.” I pause. “May I ask who is speaking?”

“This is Caroline Dewy.”

Ms. Dewy. The principal of Stevens. She never calls – ever. A feeling of dread settles in my stomach. Andrew must have done something really bad. I take a deep breath and force down my apprehension. She probably just wants to set up a meeting with Mom, I tell myself. “Ms. Dewy,” I finally speak into the phone.

“Cassandra…” Ms. Dewy’s voice hitches. “There’s been an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Andrew fell off of the top of the playscape.”

I picture the playground at Stevens. A structure sits atop the mulch. A wooden, springy bridge connects the two sides. On one end is a dome, stretching far above the heads of the elementary school children. I groan softly. He broke his arm, I think miserably.

“He hit his head. He fell unconscious. He’s on his way to Oklahoma General now.”

I feel like I did when I got the wind knocked out of me at camp – the world spinning, spinning fast enough to make me sick, and sounding like an out of tune radio. “What?” I whisper.

Ms. Dewy’s voice is thick when she says, “I’m so, so sorry Cassandra.” The line goes dead.

Nevertheless, I scream into the phone, my desperation and terror getting the better of me. “Ms. Dewy! What happened to Andrew?” What happened to Andrew? I sink to the floor and let the tears fall.

Finally, I pick myself up so I can call my mother.

“Hello, Cassandra,” she answers. I hear the smart click of her heels even over the phone. “Can I call you back? I’m on my way to a meeting.”

I don’t say anything.

“Cassandra?” My mother begins to sound exasperated. “I have to go.”

“No, mom, wait!” I shout. “Something’s happened to Andrew.”

My mom takes a deep breath. “Not again. I’ll talk to Ms. Graller later.”

“Mom –” I say, my voice breaking.

“What, Cassandra?” She asks, a warning in her tone.

“It’s different this time. Andrew – he hit his head, Mom. He’s at Oklahoma General.” Tears threaten to overwhelm me.

“Cassandra, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know Mom, I don’t know!” I begin to panic. “Ms. Dewy just called me. She said Andrew fell off of the top of the play structure at school and hit his head. He blacked out. They took him to the hospital. I don’t know anything else.”

She doesn’t speak for what feels like forever. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Mom?” I whimper.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital, Cassandra.”

I arrive at the compound fifteen minutes later. I pull into the semi-circle driveway and jump out of the car. A security guard yells, “Miss! You can’t leave your car here!” I run through the large, glass doors.

The lobby is decorated with painted suns, pictures of smiling flowers and perfect beaches. A gift shop is to my left. Stuffed animals crowd the windows. I turn to the counter in the center of the big room and walk up to the man sitting there. His eyes are on the computer. “Hello?” I say.

He looks up from his desktop. “Hi, miss. How may I help you?”

I look around. “I think my little brother, Andrew Roberts, is a patient here. He hit his head this morning at school, and they said they took him to Oklahoma General. Is this where he would be staying?”

The man looks at me with pitiful eyes. “Yes. One moment, please.” He types on his keyboard. “Andrew Roberts is here. He’s in room 521.”

“Thank you.”

The elevator dings and the number five glares at me from above. The doors slowly open. I emerge into a long hallway and see nurses in light green scrubs, pushing carts of who-knows-what. A boy, about my age, sits in a wheelchair. His skin hangs loosely on his face as he looks blankly at the woman pushing him. I turn away.

My feet trudge through the molasses floor. 518. 519. 520. 521. A paper slid into the plastic slot by the door reads, “Roberts, Andrew.” I peer inside.

Light streams in from a window while a nurse fusses over something in the middle of the space, something lying on the hospital bed. When she steps aside, I see the face of a little boy. Andrew. My baby brother, Andrew. I’m jump-started into action, and enter the room.

The woman with Andrew starts. Her tired eyes widen when she sees me standing there. She steps forward. “You must be his sister.”

I nod, still staring at Andrew.

She clears her throat, and looks down at her white sneakers. “I’ll give you a minute,” she offers. She walks away and quietly shuts the door behind her.

I move towards him. His chest is bare with wires stuck to it. A metal machine beeps. I sit down in the chair by the bed. As I stare, I see myself - the circular face, button nose, and freckles. The same as ever, other than the paleness that blankets his body. Suddenly, it swamps me - the exhaustion, the fear. I squeeze my eyes shut and fall asleep to the steady beeping of the monitor.

When I awake, my mother is standing over me. Her face is drawn, her blond hair pulled into a chignon. “Come on, Cassandra. The doctor’s ready to speak to us.”

I get up, and follow my mother and the tall, balding man who is waiting outside. We walk down the hall and into a room, clearly the doctor’s office. Diplomas hang framed on the wall, and a large desk dominates the room, complete with pictures of smiling children. The man sits down and gestures for us to do the same.

He looks at my mom. “Mrs. Cisia? I’m Dr. Morris, the Director of Pediatric Neurology. Your son, Andrew, hit his head at school, and is suffering from memory loss.”

Memory loss. My head spins, my heart stops, my mouth gapes. I think of all of the times we’ve shared. Paddling on the lake together, splashing each other while laughing hysterically. Sitting at a basketball game, Andrew’s eyes fixed on the players darting across the court. Will he remember? I wonder frantically. I don’t allow myself to consider the fact that he might not remember me.

Dr. Morris continues, “We are monitoring him while his brain and body recover from the shock. We will not know the extent of the damage until he wakes up again. At that time, we can discuss further treatment.” He looks at my mother and me, frozen in our chairs. “Do you have any questions?”

My mother shakes her head.

He stands up. “Someone will be checking in with you periodically. In the meantime, you may sit with your son for a while if you want.” He pauses, and with a sympathetic expression utters, “He’s in good hands.” 

I trail my mother out of the room, numb with pain. My dark brown eyes brim with tears. I look at my mother, but she quickly moves away from me. Her head is turned, but I sense that for the first time, there’s a crack in her impenetrable exterior.

I stand and stare as she hurries down the hallway. Suddenly, I run after her, not knowing what possesses me. “Mom!” I shout. “Mom, wait!” People turn as I pass. The cold, metallic tiles rush by under my feet.

Finally, I reach her. “Mom.” I grab her arm.

She turns around, and as she does, I see tears filling her eyes. Her face is full of despair, melted in sorrow.

“Mom,” I whisper. She cares. I think, disbelieving. She loves us.

She wipes the wetness from her eyes. “Yes, Cassandra?”

Instead of responding, I throw my arms around her slim waist. I take a deep breath, feeling as if a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders.

Slowly, my mother puts her arms around me and touches my light brown hair.