The next afternoon, I was sitting with my feet up on my balcony trying to decide where to go for lunch when my cell rang. I didn’t recognize the number.
“This is Bobby. There’s no easy way to say this. Christopher is dead.”
I couldn’t get enough air. My heart was racing and my lungs felt like they’d turned into sandbags. I stood, knocking my chair upside down, and walked like a zombie in circles around my apartment until I came to a stop in the dining room staring at my pale face in the mirrored wall.
Bobby’s voice had been talking to me through the phone, but it had seemed to come from far away. I finally focused on his words. “Gia? You there? Gia?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded foreign to me.
“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, Gia,” Bobby said. He sounded out of breath. Making this call probably hadn’t been easy for him.
Get it together, Gia.
“No, no, thank you for calling me,” I said. His words had not quite sunk in. My brother. Dead. It couldn’t be possible. I sank to the floor, holding the phone up against my ear so tightly it hurt. I was surprised to feel nothing. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to scream. But I also wasn’t sure I could move.
“Gia?”
“I’m here.”
“What’s your address? I’m coming over.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Give me your address.” His voice was firm.
I recited my address robotically.
“Okay. Why don’t you stay on the phone with me? I’m already in my car. I’ll be there in two hours.”
Oh shit. I’d just given him my address. He was serious.
“You can’t come here.”
“I’m coming if you like it or not. The question is whether you want me to stay on the phone with you the entire time.”
I didn’t answer. I had my face in my hands and was leaning against the mirrored wall in my dining room, staring into space.
“Gia?”
“How?”
“Huh?”
“How did Christopher die?”
“O.D.’d. He had a tourniquet and the needle was still in his arm.” I heard him gulp for breath. “I found him in the bathroom. I called 911 and tried CPR … but it was too late.”
“What?” None of it was making sense. I was still stuck on the first words Bobby uttered: Christopher is dead. The words were running through my mind on a loop, faster and faster until the phrase blended into one. Christopherisdead. Christopherisdead. Christopherisdead. Christopherisdead.
“Yeah. It was probably some bad stuff.”
Bobby’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away. The side of my head was pressed tightly against the mirrored wall, which felt cool and soothing so I pressed harder until my head hurt. From the corner of my eye I stared at myself in the mirrored wall. I looked deranged.
Bobby kept speaking, but I was lost in memories of Christopher as his voice wobbled in and out, growing softer than louder.
One of my earliest memories involved my younger brother. It was the day I realized he was different from other people. I was five years old and Christopher was four—we were only fifteen months apart. Our nanny had taken us that day to Bubba Gump’s for lunch. My mother, a full-blooded Sicilian, who took immense pride in her cooking, had forbidden we eat there. In my mother’s opinion, Bubba Gump was the fast food restaurant of Monterey. Not to mention, my father’s business imported seafood to the finest restaurants in Carmel. That’s probably why we begged the new nanny to take us, knowing she didn’t know any better.
It was the first time I got to try greasy and fried squid and seafood dipped in gallons of catsup. And the first time, but not the last, I would be afraid of my brother. After lunch, we all went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. At one point, Christopher wandered off, sending the nanny into hysterics.
It was a few minutes after we left the tiny manta ray petting pool. Neither one of us had wanted to leave. The gentle creatures seemed to love the attention, poking their heads above water and letting kids stroke their velvety backs.
But the nanny had steered us to the giant tank with the tuna fish bigger than my bed. A few minutes passed before a commotion rose around the corner. That’s when the nanny realized that Christopher was missing. The color drained from her face. She grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the noise. It was Christopher.
He’d caught a tiny manta ray by the tail and was bashing it against a concrete pole. Blood was splattering everywhere. Children were crying and parents were swooping them up and rushing out of the room. We got there just in time to see a white-faced aquarium worker grab Christopher from behind.
After thirty minutes of the nanny crying outside the security office, my godfather arrived, grim-faced and entered the room. A few minutes later he came out with Christopher and we all headed home.
The nanny and my godfather didn’t tell my mother. I didn’t either.
“Gia? You still there?”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Where is he now?”
“His body?”
I nodded yes, but feeling my head move against the mirror, realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes. Where did they take him?”
“I don’t know.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll find out for you, though.”
It didn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’d asked. “No, no that’s okay.”
I hung up without saying goodbye.