My Brother’s Funeral
By Thea Wright
Growing up with no dad and a mom working two jobs just to support her
kids is never easy. You learn that life isn’t fair at an early age.
And that one thing can make you strong, or it can make you not care
about anything.
My brother and I took care of ourselves. We stayed in mostly the same
circles. And even though most people thought we downright hated each
other, the truth is entirely the opposite. We just didn’t know how to
show it.
Jess was respected by the rest of the group. He was the leader. He
knew more about the streets than any the rest, even though half of them
lived there. You see, he had learned that life wasn’t fair, and it made
him tough. He cared about himself, the group, and me, and that was
about it. Because of Jess, I became the little sister of the group. I
had more than enough protectors. Everyone knew about Jess’ temper. He
could fly into a fit of rage in a fraction of a second. One time at a
club downtown he almost bashed a guy’s head in for harassing me. It’s
not that I couldn’t hold my own, I just preferred not to. And I rarely
ever had to.
When I hit high school, I began finding out about my brother’s nasty
habits. Jess had managed to keep certain things hidden from me until I
was old enough to handle them. And even then, the guys were forbidden
to have anything illegal around me. Jess wanted to keep me out of
Juvenile Hall, and most of the guys got hauled in quite regularly. You
see, I was smart. And everyone knew I had a chance to get out. But just
because I didn’t see the actual drugs doesn’t mean I didn’t see what
they did to people. I saw what they did very clearly - more clearly
than most.
Jess couldn’t keep his life hidden from
me for long. I could tell exactly which one he had taken by the smell
on his clothes, the look in his eye, and the way he spoke. His favorite
was heroin. And things didn’t stop at just drugs. There was the
dealing, and the girls. God, I hated the girls. Most of them worked
the streets or dealt.
By my senior year in high school, I knew
everyone in the group’s secrets. And not a one of them but me came by
money honestly. I’d been working as a waitress in a diner in the
busiest part of the city since I turned 15.
I was the first to know when Jess got sick. I’d known for months. We
could tell things like that about each other. I finally convinced him
to let me take him to the free health clinic. That’s when they gave the
test. The doctor said the result would take a week.
The week went by and the results came. I still remember that day like
it was yesterday. I had just gotten my acceptance letter from UCLA. I
was getting out with a full scholarship. Jess was so happy for me.
That afternoon we drove back to the free health clinic. I was floored
when the doctor told us.
AIDS. I’d heard of that before. I knew of a couple of girls who had
tested positive but hadn’t contracted AIDS yet. But still, how could my
brother have that? I loved him and needed him desperately. And now
some short little gray-haired man was telling me that my beloved brother
was dying. He said he was sorry, but it was so advanced there was
nothing anyone could do. He suggested that Jess give up drugs and
hookers, and find peace with God. Then he gave Jess some support group
names and the numbers of priests in the area who regularly dealt with
AIDS victims and their families. And that’s when I lost it. Suddenly.
Jess’ temper ran through my veins, and I hated that short, gray-haired
man that thought he knew everything. What did he know? He didn’t know
me, and he sure didn’t know Jess. I began screaming at the doctor. I
don’t remember the stream of obscenities that flowed out of my mouth.
Jess calmly tried to assure me that everything would be all right. He
was taking it so much better that me. And the doctor. He had
apparently seen this before and was used to it. And very suddenly, in
the middle of my mindless raving, I hit the floor and was surrounded by
darkness. When I woke up, I was at home in my own bed, and Jess was
sitting beside me. We talked a long time that night about life and
death, and what Jess was going to do.
Over the next few weeks, Jess really cleaned up his life. We both quit
the group. Nobody objected to that. Everything had changed since they
found out he had AIDS. We both went to the support groups - Jess to one
for people living with the disease, and me to one for their family.
Jess had made his peace with God as Dr. Craven has suggested.
About six weeks later, Jess caught pneumonia. He was rushed to the
hospital, but all they could do was try to ease the pain. I sat by his
bed for a week until he died.
The days following Jess’ death are hazy and unclear. I vaguely remember
being admitted to the hospital, because I was too weak from malnutrition
to leave. I was released from the hospital just in time for my
brother’s funeral. I stood by my brother’s grave, dressed in black, and
cried and cried. I knew Jess died in peace, and that he wasn’t scared
to die. I was scared to live in a world without him.
For months after Jess’ death, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I
graduated high school, but I turned down UCLA. I continued working in
the diner. Then one day, a Thursday afternoon, Dr. Craven came by the
diner. He had heard that Jess had died and that my life had taken a
horribly wrong turn. It was a slow day, and we talked for a while. He
encouraged me to honor Jess by living instead of staying trapped in a
virtually death-like prison. And slowly, that short, gray-haired man
that thought he knew everything, became a kind and caring friend.
I began searching for a way to avenge Jess’ death. And finally, I found
one. I started writing. By telling Jess’ story and warning others, I
am avenging his death. I traveled to high schools around the country
and told them about my brother. I regained control of my life. Next
year I’m even going to college. But I plan to continue working against
this disease, warning and educating people about its dangers, until a
cure is found.
Jess is still my best friend. I visit his grave almost everyday. And I
know that Jess is looking down on me, happy to know that maybe his story
will save even one person from suffering his fate.