TOOTH AND NAIL

I hope you know I’m trying to remember the words to the old Bee Gees song.

The one everyone knows. I’m not being hyperbolic- Everyone knows that song, and yet somehow now in
our darkened living room the words escape me with every push and pull of my arms as I try to maintain
some sort of rhythm. It’s just past twelve, I think. I’m trying to think of the lyrics but my mind keeps
going to the rain, falling as harshly as my hands do to your chest. There is no rhythm, no instructions in
the clatter of the rain or the thunderstorm- and granted I haven’t ventured a glance outside since you
collapsed, so the roar of thunder may very well be the blood rushing through my ears. Those raindrops I
hear I can almost feel as the tears trace down my cheeks and dampen my knuckles with every one of those
push and every release movements. The house is quiet for what feels like the first time in years- no
yelling here or there, and in this quiet the room starts to feel bigger. I feel smaller than ever. I used to
groan and press my pillow over my head to drown out your yelling, your fights, your loud music, but I
don’t need to now. I can hear the gurgling at the back of your throat like you’re trying not to swallow
mouthwash. I remember you swallowing it, once or twice, when we were kids and you’d get all dazed
afterward. I thought it was because of the thick odour of cigarette smoke in our house- because I get
lightheaded from it too. Sometimes when the light streams in through the window you can still see it
ribboning on the sunbeams. I remember you trying to draw them once, I remember when we were kids
and we’d try to catch them like they were fireflies while. Dad had his nose in the New York Times
crossword. He never did figure those out.

‘New York Times’ there was a lyric about that in the song. I know when you wake up and I tell you I
couldn’t remember the lyrics you’ll think I’m stupid. You’ll probably say I’m an idiot and whack me on
the back of the head like you usually do- I don’t blame you, it’s a pretty famous song. When you do wake
up and whack the back of my head with an open palm or a rolled-up magazine I’ll be sure to tell you it
sounded exactly just like how your ribs sounded cracking beneath the weight of my hands, only more
muffled. You’ll get on me for giving you crap, and I’ll tell you to let me have this one, I’ll tell you that I
was artificially creating a heartbeat for you for a whole twenty-five minutes.

I think that’s more than you deserve, honestly.

I hate you. I wanna tell you I hate you. I’m hoping you wake up soon so I can tell you that I hate you and
you’re ruining my life. I want you to wake up, I wanna feel your chest rise and fall beneath my hands so I
can beat the shit out of you so hard your gasping for the breath I gave you. I wanna tell you to stop
playing your music so loud at four in the morning, I wanna tell you that you look like crap in those ratty
old band shirts you stole from dad, I wanna tell you you’re too scrawny to be acting so tough and being mean to mom. I wanna tell you that we see the dark circles, see how blown out your pupils are- they’ve always been green but nowadays we can’t even tell. I wanna tell you the needle marks on your arm look like ants marching on a hill, and how much of a weird kid you were for trying to burn the bugs with a magnifying glass. I wanna tell you how badly you treat me. I want you to wake up so I can complain about how tired I am doing this, that I’ve been doing this too long, that I don’t know what I’m doing, and that I’m scared.

 

Wake up. Wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic, please. Let me see the colour come back to your face. Tell me I’m stupid for not being able to remember the music. Tell me that you’re sorry, that you know when it comes down to it you would fight tooth and nail for me, tell me that this was the moment you realised you were finally gonna get better. Tell me not to tell Mom like you used to when we were kids.

 

I’m so tired. My arms feel like they can’t carry my weight anymore. My hands are slipping from my own blubbering and the sweat that seeped through your pores when your heart was racing, they’re slickening the surface of your sternum as I try to keep going. Your eyes that over the course of twenty years went from green to black, are now white. They’ve rolled back into your head like I knocked them back with a pool cue, but I’m not that good at the game. I’m not that good at this. I can’t remember the words to the song, I can’t sing along, and the only thing giving me any sort of hope is that while your chest feels hollow I can feel what’s filling mine rabbiting against my chest. It’s so strong I think I might be next.

 

This doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s too empty, too quiet, too devoid of your presence because I’m starting to realise you aren’t really there anymore. You’re slipping through my fingers like sand, maybe you always were. Because even when the house was filled with noise recently it came at the hands of your violence and paranoia. You’re disappearing out from under me, but maybe you always were. I want to go home. I want to go back to trying to catch the dancing smoke in the sunlight with you. I want to go back to when our parents didn’t feel like they had to watch us.

 

I want you to tell me you would fight tooth and nail for me even though you hate me. And I wanna tell you that I would break my arms trying to pump blood back into your heart. But I think the only thing you would fight tooth and nail for nowadays is yourself- even if it were against me. And I think I’m tired. I think my arms are finally giving up after all this time, that I’m collapsing alongside you on the floor.

 

I don’t remember calling 9-1-1, but I do hear sirens, the high-pitched cry of an ambulance.

 

I want you to wake up, and I wanna ask if you hear it too.