2011 Submissions:
Because It Plays My Favorite Song
by Rebekah
Chapter One
I remembered the day. I remembered it so clearly and so vividly. How could I not? It was a day not to be forgotten. It was a day that, if it had happened to you, you wouldn't have forgotten either. I think you get my point. It was memorable. Sorry. I tend to ramble and say the same things over and over, but in a different way. Or that's what I've been accused of from the time I was able to talk and form sentences. Anyway, have I piqued your interest yet? Are you curious what the day was? I hope so because I am going to tell you. It was the day I realized what a heartbeat was. Yes, a heartbeat. It's simple and magnificent all at the same time.
I had always been fascinated by heartbeats. Strange, right? I'm not even sure why. It's...a heartbeat. There was always something about the way it pounded, forcing blood throughout the entire body. A lot of people chalked it up to the mechanics of the heart that fascinated me. And that was part of it, I could admit. But that wasn't the main part of it. There was something simply beautiful about the way the sound entered my ears, and synchronized with my own heartbeat. It was mesmerizing. If I was to be completely honest, it wasn't any heartbeat. It wasn't all heartbeats. It was one in particular. It had ruined me forever. I had gotten into the habit of listening to it, that to not listen to it felt like a sin.
I remember when I first became aware of heartbeats; like really aware. The day stands out because it was also the day I tried to kill him. He was only a few months old. I thought he was neat at first. After a few days, I began to wonder when we were going to give him back to the hospital and the nice doctor who gave him to my mother. I didn't realize he was there to stay. Once I did, he became my play toy. I wanted to do everything with him. And because he was my play toy, I didn't understand how fragile he was.
He was crying a little too vocally for me, and I had promptly covered his mouth with my hand. This, of course, just made him cry even more. But still, I tried. I tried and tried. When my mom came into the room, I had a blanket firmly over his face, muffling his cries. I'll never forget the way my name came from her mouth. It was a shriek.
She was...upset. And it made me upset. And it made my brother even more upset. So, there we were. The three of us crying. Once she calmed down, I think she realized the gravity of the situation. Although my actions weren't malicious, there was clearly something that hadn't clicked in my almost four-year-old mind. And that's when she got the bright idea that had been the beginning of the end of me. She took me into his room later that night and began talking softly to me. She explained how I had to be gentle or I would hurt him. She told me he was real. And I didn't realize how real he was about to become to me. Then she placed a small stethoscope into my ears and placed it on his tiny chest. I remembered my eyes went wide at how fast it was.
"Do you hear his heartbeat? It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Beautiful? Didn't even come close to describing it. It was like the most amazing symphony. The most valuable piece of music my ears had ever heard. Intricate and delicate yet powerful with the ability to stop you in your tracks. It was magnificent.
So magnificent, I had to listen to it all the time. And anytime I wanted to listen to his heartbeat, he let me. He didn't think I was weird or strange like our older brother did. He didn't find it annoying like aunts, uncles, or cousins. He wasn't too busy to let me like our parents were. He always got it. He always understood. He always had time. My obsession wasn't important to anyone. It was silly and something I should have outgrown. They all told me all the time. But it was important to me. And because it was important to me, it was important to him. He made it important to him. His insistence that it wasn't silly, made me feel special. And it just made him that much more important to me. It just deepened everything I was already feeling toward him. Admiration. Appreciate. Respect. Love. It added up into everything that I couldn't shake. Everything I didn't want to shake. It was my survival.
And because I was constantly listening to his heartbeat, I was the first to hear that something was wrong. It was a slow change, but it was progressive. Our family doctor didn't hear it. So no one believed me; no matter how much I insisted. That was until he collapsed and was rushed to the emergency room. They only had to run one test to see what I heard. It didn't matter. It was too late. There were questions. How did this go undetected? What caused it? There were explanations and apologies. Nothing satisfied me though. I knew and no one listened. And then, I was losing him.
Until losing turned into lost. And with his death, I felt lost. I knew nothing would ever be able to rival it. And because I knew this, one day it was hard for me to accept. I would try to find heartbeats to replace it. There had to be something that could give it some competition; something that captivated my heart the way his did. But the more I searched, the more I realized just how screwed I was. It wasn't an easy realization to come. I struggled. I still struggle. And I had to finally admit, again, what I always knew, but came to deny. It was his heartbeat. Only.
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