I hated winter—or no, it was the snow I hated.
Since I’ve been living in Seattle my entire life, snow was something I rarely saw, maybe six times in my entire existence. I loved watching snowflakes fall to the ground and form an endless layer or white on our city.
I loved it…until two years ago.
It is laughable how everything you ever knew and had could be gone in the next second. I still remember that night like it was yesterday: rows between my parents and me, my little brother crying, my father turning around, and the crash.
I was driving with my parents and my four-year-old brother, going out for a family dinner I didn’t want to go to, so I couldn’t keep quiet. I had to protest. Even now I wonder had I done something differently, had I kept quiet about it or something…would they have survived?
Mom and Dad.
I’ll regret my actions for the rest of my life, for they died because of me being a stubborn brat. They say that when rain falls, it washes away your burdens, everything you didn’t want. But what is the meaning behind snow then? On that snowy night, I had a feeling that every single snowflake falling down on the ground brought along chains that would tie me to my burden for eternity. The scene was sickeningly beautiful and hollow, terrifying and painful.
The cries of my brother were the only thing telling me that it was real, my parents long above my reach. Everything seemed monochrome, shades between black and white, nothing too distinguishable except for the red. Red blood.
Their blood.
It was all my fault.
By the time I had lost consciousness, I didn’t even feel pain anymore. All I could remember were snowflakes and light of sirens from help that arrived too late. I could no longer even hear my brother cry. I could not think as I pulled him closer to me, trying to protect at least him in case something happened. I truly believed that I wouldn’t survive.
It wouldn’t be fair, anyway.
Why would I survive while they died? Why would the one responsible for the car accident survive and they die? I couldn’t imagine that happening. I couldn’t live with it.
But I have.
My little brother, Ayden, and I survived. I don’t know how we managed, but we did, and he has become my life ever since. Nothing mattered to me but him. I buried the regret deep in my heart until the day he could live on his own arrived. Then, I could continue where I left.
I had cried. I won’t say that their death didn’t affect me at all. They were people who raised me up, who took care of me, who loved me, and whom I loved back. I had cried so hard until their funeral was done that I forgot how to do it anymore.
When I first woke up in the hospital after the accident, the police detectives investigating the crash informed me that case was closed. There was a witness and a video evidence that a lone drunken driver caused the accident; he had also lost his life in that collision. Both our car and his car had completely crashed.
Blood. Their unmoving bodies. Ayden crying even more. It was the everlasting nightmare I couldn’t get rid of even after two years.
It’s been a long two years after that. Having turned eighteen two months ago, I became Ayden’s legal guardian. I skipped a grade, graduated early, and temporarily shelved my dreams of going to college. My focus was on providing Ayden a loving, stable, and happy home.
My teachers used to tell me that I had great future in art. I used to paint with a passion, but all I could think of when concentrating were the lifeless bodies of my parents. I was applying for college scholarships that give students with no financial security a yearly bursary to live on, but I doubted that I was going to make it.
I never met my grandparents; Mom and Dad told me that they died in war and both my parents were orphans when they first met. But I don’t want you to think Ayden and I were all alone in this world. We had loving aunts.
Or so we thought.
When Mom and Dad were still alive, they used to come by all the time. They even brought generous gifts for special occasions. Which was why I thought that when our parents died Ayden and I were going to move in with them…But they had other plans. They convinced social services to leave us in their care so that they could look after us at home. They arranged it so the bank and insurance companies gave them full control of our legacy. And as soon as my aunts got their hands on our money, like magicians, they disappeared into thin air and have been living it up since then. They shopped in the most exclusive designer shops, skied in Aspen, or went on cruising for months on end in the Caribbean.
Betrayal.
I couldn’t say a word. I was still a minor with only sixteen years, and I feared what they would do had I complained. They would’ve given us to social workers, and I would’ve been separated from Ayden. I could take anything but live without him. Without him, I was as good as dead. I had no best friends, only the people I was convenient with and to whom I was convenient to have around. Ayden was the only person remaining I had a bond with.
Since my aunts have sold our house and rented us a single-story house, it had become our home. For some reason, social workers never bothered to visit us. It was better that way, perhaps; that would mean that no one would take Ayden from me.
Selfish, but the only thing I could do at that moment. I was young and stupid. I had lost much but didn’t want to lose everything. I want to embrace what was in front of me. With my small hands, I tried to protect the last that was left of my family.
Now that I think of it, maybe it would’ve been better that way.
As of our new home, Ayden has had the only bedroom in it. It also had a reading desk and a cherished old computer that he played games or learned English on. We couldn’t afford much. I hated that he had to live that way. Our living room doubled up as my bedroom at night, but it was more than enough to appreciate having my brother alive by my side. It’s was not perfect, but I could manage the rent and the bills and have learned to live within my small income.
Ayden and I have settled into a routine. My mom used to quote someone and explain us the meaning of those words. Both Ayden and I loved the game we played with her when she was still alive.
Had she still been around, she would have reminded me that the sea is always calm before the storm.
That indeed was very true, and I had to learn it the hard way.
The way that would leave me either with nothing to embrace or with acquiring the true joy of being alive.