“I can help change attitudes on deafness and prove we can really do everything... except hear.” Marlee Matlin
It's us, sitting on the top of the roof, our feet dangling. On a wet night in April, but the rain didn’t matter. The cold didn’t make us shiver. The warmth from our bodies kept us warm enough. This has always been our escape point, whenever the madness in our house began. Our parents have started arguing again, and like always, it always ended badly, for either of them, and both of us. My brother is deaf, but he hears loudly when my father hits him during the fights. So, I often whisk him away from their presence and take him to the roof. He enjoys watching the stars.
I often asked myself why my father blames everyone for his misfortune. All of us have been at the end of his anger, including my baby brother. First, he blamed my mother for being his wife, then he blamed me for not being like every other daughter and lastly, he blamed my brother for simply existing like it was his fault. But my father was always never like that. There was a time he was the best father and great husband. But all that changed when he lost his job and before my brother was birthed. His inner insecurities took the better of him, but I never judged him. Even when I was angry, my mother would always excuse him. Even after the fights, she cared deeply for him, something I never understood. But I only knew one thing, and it was how to love my brother. He was my entire world.
One day my brother came home from school with a big gash on his head. When I asked him what happened, he lied. I knew it was a lie, and it kept me awake all night worried. A person had touched my brother, and I wasn’t going to let it slide. So the next day, I followed him to school. Interrogated his friends, and they confessed that a bully had been responsible. So I did what every other sensible sister would do. I dealt mercilessly with the bully, giving him a deeper gash on his head. He’d have a scar for the rest of his life. Since then, no one bullied my brother ever. The story travelled.
Father died first. I was happy and relieved, shamefully. But his death broke my mother. She had loved him too much, more than her kid. Even though he was a bad husband and father, to her, he would always be the love of her life, so where does that even leave those behind her? My mother never cared. She despised us and blamed us for everything, including, father’s death. My brother got the worse of it, all. But he never cried. Words did not affect him. After all, he was deaf. He saw my mother’s theatrics as comic and laughed whenever she insulted or scolded him unjustly. He was that kind of a child.
One morning, we woke up and didn’t see mother again. She had vanished. We never saw her again. I was satisfied. I dropped out of school gladly. And immediately took responsibility. I became both the father and mother to my brother. We did everything together. He was the diamond in my eyes.
He never allowed his disability to define him. He worked hard and excelled in whatever he did. He was also a jealous brother. That I loved about him. As an adult, he became my protector. We went through all of life’s rigours together.
My brother died. In my arms, he died old.
His wife, kids and grandkids surrounded him. He wrote on his pad that he had suspected that I was his mother. It was my secret. At the end of his life, he deserved to know the truth, and I couldn’t stand my baby brother in tears, so I confessed to him.
The night our father was fired, he had come home drunk. Mistaking me for mother, he laid with me. I was 16. The result was my brother. It was our family’s secret. My mother pretended to be his mother because of shame. But she never forgave me because she accused me of seducing my father. Father could never forgive himself, so he took out the anger and frustration on everyone. Even though I never wanted him, the day I birthed him. I knew nothing was ever going to take him from me. So when our father threatened to kill him to conceal his shame, I killed him instead. No one suspected. Although mother knew, she could never look me in the eye again. So she ran away in fear or jealousy, I couldn’t say. That was how my child, who became my brother and me, continued living through life till we both became successful. For the first time in seventy long years, he mumbled the words “mother”. Dying shortly, satisfied.
I decided to tell this story today because I can feel my mind drowning. All the memories I have of my child are fading. My time is near, and I can feel it. But I want the world to know that although he was deaf, he heard me clearly when I told him the words. “It has always been you.”
Taking all the words and sounds he couldn't hear, I transformed them into love, and I loved the hell out of him.
Note: This story is fiction. It does not represent anybody dead or alive. Any similarities found are coincidental. The author won't be held liable for how you wish to interpret the story.
This is so sweet and touching. Well done Tolu
You can’t stop writing after this🥲