Shame On Me

My hand massaged between his shoulders as my brother spit savagely into the bathroom sink. The blood red glob slowly slid down the porcelain, leaving a faint red trail in its wake.1

"Robbie, I hate them," he said, with a distinct hatred inhabiting his voice.2

"I know. I know, Harrison, but there's nothing I can do, unless you tell me what happened," I consoled. 3

He looked solidly into the mirror above the sink for a few moments as he thought about what had just happened. I stared at him, watching him scrutinize within himself on how much to tell me. 4

It was the most fearful I had seen him since our parents died. He hadn't thought that I would've been able to take care of both of us, and he certainly hadn't thought that I would've finished high school just in time to start supporting him through those four long ass years.5

And yet here I was, comforting my little brother, and supporting him, now as he was a sophomore in high school. The tiny bathroom reflected the dimmed lights intensely and my brother's beaten face relaxed.6

"I was walking home after rehearsal. A few of the football players were also walking home and they saw me, and, well, one of them shouted out. The next moment all of them.... They turned on me, Robbie, they flat out turned and started hitting me." Harrison stopped and looked at me in the mirror.7

"Harrison, did you try to fight back?" I asked, knowing the answer already. Harrison wasn't a well-built kid, but he wasn't exactly scrawny either. He had some muscle definition, but he certainly wasn't a body-builder. 8

"No. There were four of them. They kept up, calling me names and stuff," Harrison said, turning to me. I wrapped him in a hug and shushed him.9

I was fairly sure I already knew what names his assailants had called him, but I needed to be sure before I could file a report on it. Not that Harrison would want me to file the report in the first place, but at least the school can be let know about it and I could rest soundly with the knowledge that the delinquents could at least be given a lecture. 10

"What'd they call you?" I murmured into his ear. He sobbed into my shoulder.11

"What do you think? They called me 'fag' and 'homo', and I think I vaguely remember being called 'gay-ass loser'." He broke away from me and wandered down the hallway to the kitchen. 12

My coffee mug still sat there on the table, from when I got home from work. I had started to drink some hot chocolate when I had heard Harrison throwing up. I hadn't even known that he had gotten home, but then, he usually didn't let me know when he got home.13

"Harrison, don't worry about this, okay? I don't think any less of you, and I certainly don't think that it's not worth reporting," I commented. He whirled around to face me. 14

"Hell no, Robyn. I don't want this to go any farther than it already has." 15

"Harrison, it's already gone to far, and it'll just go farther if we don't report it," I insisted. Harrison glared at me.16

"Robyn, I am fine. I'm still living. I'm still gay and nothing they do will change me. I don't need the publicity of a police report. So forget it," Harrison said forcefully. 17

I stewed over his words for a second before being jerked out of my thoughts by Harrison dropping to his knees, vomiting red onto the carpet. I rushed to him and put my fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. 18

"Harrison, how long was it before I got home that this happened?" I asked, speeding to figure his pulse.19

"I don't know," he coughed. "Two or three hours." Oh, damn.20

His heart was beating so fast, and his skin was cold to my touch. I fumbled for my cell phone. 21

"Hello, 9-1-1 emergency, how may I help you?" the dispatcher said.22

"Hi, my brother was assaulted, and now he's vomiting blood. His skin's really cold, and his heartbeat's very fast.... Please, help, I need help," I gushed.23

"Alright, honey, what's your name?"24

"Robyn, and he's Harrison," I stammered quickly.25

"Okay, Robyn, here's what I need you to do...."26

***27

Hours later I was still sitting in the waiting room outside the ER. I couldn't sit still. 28

I kept beating myself up, because I had known that he was in pain, and that spitting blood up isn't good. Why hadn't I called 9-1-1 then? I could've saved him then.29

The triage doctor walked out the ER doors with a saddened look. "Ms. Logan?"30

I rose, and extended my hand. "That's me. Is... is Harrison alright?"31

He shook my hand and smiled very sadly at me. "I regret having to tell you this," he said, "but unfortunately the bleeding was to profuse. He died in the midst of us trying to stem the bleeding. I'm sorry, ma'am. I wish we could've done more." I let go of his hand and sank into my chair. What had I done?32

My tears fell rapidly, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed.