One’s True Value…

One’s True Value…

Bright, blinding light, which made my head throb, was all I could see from the window to

the left of my bed as I slowly opened my eyes on this dreary Saturday morning, It was

10:27 am according to my watch, as I slowly began to rise from the cotton bed sheets.

Still half asleep, I made my way out of the bedroom, and gradually strolled to the

bathroom. It took twenty minutes for my shower to be complete, after which I got control

of my hair, a task which required absurd amounts of gel, put on blue denims and a red t-

shirt with Yankees logo on it, and quickly walked out of the bathroom. A quick trip back

to my room proved necessary for I forgot my socks, but then I was on my way to the

kitchen. At that moment I realised the severity of my hunger, so I decided to make a 5

egg omelette. I grasped 5 eggs from my Kenmore fridge, a pan from the pantry, and

began making my culinary masterpiece while my head was still aching. What was I doing

last night? Why can’t I remember anything? These questions began to plague my mind as

I poured myself a glass of orange juice. One thing seemed obvious; I was drinking.

“But why?” I thought to myself. “I haven’t drunk sine the divorce.”

This train of thought was suddenly ended by the microwave timer; the omelette was

done. While eating the omelette, my memory of last night slowly began to come back to

me. The first piece of information I remembered was that there was a phone call.

“Was it important? Feels like it was.“ I thought.

By the time I finished breakfast, I remembered that there was an important phone call last

night, one that clearly upset me enough for me to go to a bar. That was when a brilliant

idea came to mind – look at the call history. I was upset that I didn’t think of this sooner

for it seemed so obvious. I rushed to the living room and grabbed the phone which was

on my leather couch. My fingers felt numb while dialling the hospitals number; 766-5423

“I am just calling to make sure he’s still alive. Definitely not going to see him.”

were my thoughts as I dialled the last digit. Unfortunately all I got was dial tone, which

fuelled my thoughts of concern and anxiety – I suddenly remembered last night’s phone

call very clearly. These were the two moral emotions I was feeling, but I could not

prevent a third emotion from growing in the pit of my stomach. That emotion was hate.

Hate towards Charles, hate towards my life, and hate towards myself. I hated Charles for

the inexcusable act he had committed some seven years ago on my wedding day, I hated

my life becoming a smouldering pit of despair since that day, and I hated myself for

having such feelings towards my only brother.

•••

Ten minutes was what it took for me to decide to go see him.

“He won’t even know of my presence. I’ll just glimpse into his room to make sure

he is still alive.” This was the course of action I settled on as I walked to my silver BMW.

As I opened the door and descended into the driver’s seat, my eyes spotted a silver

picture frame on the windshield. The picture frame was beautiful. Made up entirely of

dazzling silver, no bigger than the palm of my hand, it was a wedding present from my

mother in law. What was truly significant about the picture frame was that it enclosed a

picture of the most valuable thing in my life. The picture was of something stunning,

something astounding, something that has kept me awake countless nights in the past

seven years, and finally something that I thought I could not live without. It was a picture

of Karin.

As I drove down the highway to the city, my thoughts of contempt began to

intensify. In my mind, I kept going over the events that took place seven years ago – the

events that ruined my life. I could distinctly picture the wedding ceremony, the pastors

maroon cloak, my mother’s joyful face in the front row, and Karin’s gorgeous face

covered by a dim veil. I remembered reading my wows, kissing the bride, and feeling as

though the love we shared would last forever. And it probably would have if it wasn’t for

my brother. He was the one I found with Karin on my bed, he was the one who took

advantage of her while she was in a intoxicated state of being, and he was the one who

took away the most precious part of my life.

“How could I forgive him?” I thought as I drove past a McDonalds. It was fairly

clear to me that I couldn’t. There was no way I could forgive for the treacherous actions

he had committed. I thought about turning back, but I decided not to. I needed to make

sure that he knew how much I despised him, that he is an appalling human being, and

finally he needed to know that he had no bother.

Forty minutes have passed before I approached the entrance of the hospital. After

parking my car in the crowded parking lot, I slowly began to walk towards the entry, my

fists clenched in fury. 305 was his room number but as I approached it, something

seemed off - the “occupy” sign on the door was switched to “vacant.” I stood there,

confounded, as a doctor advanced marched towards me.

“Mr. Delsha, how are you dealing with the news?” he asked.

“What news?” I replied blankly.

“Have you not heard?” he inquired. My empty stare must have given me away

because he continued. “Charles Delsha is dead. He committed suicide early this morning

by slitting his wrists. Here is the note he left.” The doctor handed me a note.

Dear brother, my death is nigh. The cancer has spread to my

brain and the doctors say I have two months to live. There are

many things I wanted to accomplish before my death, but the

most important one was earning your apology. I now see that I

will never earn it, seeing as to how you did not see me after the

doctor notified you of my condition. I truly hope that giving up my

life will prove to you how sorry I am.

-Charles

Since that day, the picture frame no longer enveloped Karin’s beautiful face; instead it

contained a picture of Charles.