BROTHER PETUNIA

Reed Purcell thought he was a good gardener. At least, in his mind, it felt like visiting his brother Bryce was like being a good gardener. After all, Bryce today had much more in common with your typical houseplant than he did with the brother that he grew up with. Reed thought about petunias, which were his mother’s favorite flower. A petunia, properly potted, needs to be watered and kept in direct sunlight for a portion of the day. The petunia converts carbon dioxide to oxygen and goes on its unsuspecting way through life until that unfortunate moment when, it’s purpose fulfilled, it withers away and dies.

Bryce, properly wheelchaired, was watered and fed three times daily. He set himself in the sunlight of the window at the VA Center and soaked up the rays during the afternoon. Then, with a nurse’s help, he was laid flat in his bed to slumber the night away. He breathed in oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide and never said a word or acknowledged his surroundings in any meaningful way and was, in almost every respect, much like their mother’s beloved petunia.

At least petunias knew when to die.

Reed parked his Lexus in the visitor’s lot, set his car alarm, squinted in the too bright July sun and walked into the lobby. There was a pretty nurse at the registration desk, she looked Indian and her nametag said “Indira.” She smiled brightly as Reed checked signed the registration book.

“You’re a little late today, “ she said. “Don’t you usually get here a little earlier?”

“Traffic was a bitch.”

Indira was puzzled. “On a Saturday?”

Reed mumbled “football traffic”, which meant nothing to Indira and then he slammed the pen down a little too loudly, in a manner designed to show that he didn’t want to have this particular discussion and didn’t need to be judged by some underpaid, fresh out of community college caregiver about the timeliness (or lack thereof) of his visits to his brother. He made sure to smile though, so that Indira didn’t think he was being rude. It was always important, whenever possible, to leave a good impression.

Reed knew the way to Bryce’s room. He knocked three times softly as was his ritual and then slowly opened the door. Bryce is indeed where Reed expects him to be, sitting listlessly in his wheelchair in a pool of sunlight with an expression on his face that could be the faintest of smiles, could be gas or could be nothing at all. Bryce turns his head ever so slightly to look at Reed and then just as quickly returns his gaze out the window.

The look reminds Reed of something his aunt had said to him not too long ago. (One of the aunts that rarely visits.) “When you look in his eyes you know they’s something in there”, she said. “Them eyes is angry. That anger is keeping him alive.”

Reed stepped forward. This is the part of their time together that he always dreaded the most. He hated the awkwardness of it. The pointlessness. But Bryce was still his brother, still somewhat human and he deserved to be addressed as such. The doctors said he needed to be talked to, that he could still hear would people said to him, even if he no longer understood all of it and lacked the ability to respond. So make nice small talk with the houseplant and get on with it.

“How are you Bryce?”

Bryce looked at him. His eyelids widened ever so slightly. They seemed to say, “How are you, asshole?”

“I heard that you’re breathing better. That’s good. You’re going longer without needing a respirator. I’m proud of you. You’ve got to hang in there.” Reed tries to say this with conviction, with feeling, but he feels like a hack Hollywood actor straight out of drama school. What’s his motivation? He wonders if Bryce can somehow sense this. Just as he is about to chuckle at his own ridiculousness for even thinking such a thing, the corner of Bryce’s lips twitch and his eyes seem to flash.

Reed blusters on. Got to get this over with. “Has Earlean been by to visit? I ran into her the other day in church and she asked about you. I told her you were doing the best you could. She said she’s been meaning to come down and visit but, well, you know how people are.”

As opposed to me. I come every week, thought Reed. I must be a fucking saint.

“I don’t know if you heard, but Obama’s really cutting down the troops in Iraq. Sending a lot of ‘em over to Afghanistan. If you ask me, it’s a big mistake, but at least that means things are getting better over in Iraq. That must make you feel somewhat good. This…isn’t all for naught.”

Reed could have never expected so sudden a movement from his brother. In one motion Bryce turned his head to look directly at Reed, sucked in his cheeks and then with all the force he could muster, he spit right in Reed’s face. For maybe the first time, Reed sees the angry eyes his aunt is talking about.

He takes a handkerchief from his coat pocket—always have a handkerchief when you’re wearing a suit, their Dad had always said—and slowly wipes Bryce’s saliva off of his face.

“Well. I guess I know how you feel about that.” Reed folded the handkerchief and put it into his pocket. He laughed softly and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say even a black president can’t give you your spine back. But shit Bryce, why spit at me? At least I’m here. At least I care enough to tell you what the hell is going on.”

Reed wondered, why the hell was he was here? At least petunias don’t spit on you. Petunias 1, Bryce 0.

Bryce had returned his gaze out the window. His breathing was becoming labored. The effort needed to express his anger had severely taxed him. Reed leaned down near Bryce’s ear. If his older brother wasn’t going to appreciate him, was in fact, going to start spitting on him, then Reed had to let him know where he stood. Maybe it was petty, he thought, but enough was enough.

“I came by to tell you that in the next election, I’m planning to run for Congress. If I get elected, I’m going to make sure that I get you out of this VA hospital and put you into a nice, private facility. Some place with a lot of grass and a lot of trees where they can take the time to take care of you the way you deserve. But for now, I need you here. See, you’re the war hero who took the bullet that saved another man’s life and you’re here rehabbing on the taxpayer’s dime with simple, humble dignity.”

“Before you came back, I was just the nerdy little brother who never had a date and went to school but didn’t know what to do with his life. Now I’m the devoted brother who looks after the war hero and stands up for veteran’s rights. I’m going to be making a lot of visits here while I’m campaigning and you’d better not spit at me, because if you do, I’ll leave you here to rot and die and you’ll never see me here again. Not me, not anybody. Do you understand me?”

Bryce turned his head slowly. The eyes were angry, but Reed knew he understood.

On his way out the door, Indira called out to him, “See you next week.”

Reed smiled and without breaking stride said, “You will. You most definitely will.”


Copyright 1992, 2009 Reggie E. Scott All Rights Reserved