Five Years Too Late

The room was filled with the rotten stink of decay, and spiders crawled over the walls.

Grandpa lay curled on a heap of torn bedding, half asleep. A strip of light shone in from the doorway, making him narrow his eyes to slits.

Mom—Helen—frowned and covered her nose. She waved at the rancid air and complained, "Why does this place look like a landfill? Doesn't anyone clean up?

"What a filthy little slob. Miles? Miles..."

She looked around, calling my name louder and louder.

I happily threw myself at her, only to pass straight through her body like air.

I forgot again.

I died five years ago.

After waiting and hoping for so long, Mom had finally come back.

She was holding candy and cookies. I stared so hard my mouth watered.

My heart filled with joy. So Mom did care about me. She'd just been too busy. She'd only found time to come back now.

I bounced around beside her and shouted, "Mom, I'm here! I'm right here!"

But she couldn't see me at all.

Just then, her phone rang. Unable to stand the stink inside the house, she stepped outside to answer it.

I immediately followed her.

"Baby, be good. Mom will be home soon. I just stopped by to check on your brother.

"I bought your favorite cream puffs and fruit gummies. All the things you like.

"Yes, yes, I'll be back soon. Tonight, Mom will hold you while you sleep."

I froze. The happiness inside me turned cold, as if someone had dumped a basin of ice water over my head.

So the fruit and pastries weren't for me.

They were for my little brother.

Wronged and furious, I waved my transparent arms and yelled at her, "Why? We're both your sons. Why don't you love me?

"I was clearly more obedient than he was. If you didn't like me, why did you give birth to me?"

She couldn't hear any of it. She turned and went back inside, disgust written all over her face.

"Dad! Where's Miles? What is going on? I've been calling him and he won't answer!"

Her tone grew impatient. She glanced at the expensive watch on her wrist, obviously in a hurry to get back.

I squatted on the ground.

Just like the year I starved to death, I didn't even have the strength to hate her anymore.

For someone who doesn't love you, even an ocean of love changes nothing at all.

So my little brother had grown so big, and she still held him to sleep.

But when I was three, after Mom gave birth to my brother, I was thrown into a room with Grandpa, who had dementia.

When Grandpa had an episode, he was like a violent stranger. He'd beat me until my body was black and blue.

I used to cry until snot bubbled from my nose, hugging Mom's leg and begging, "Mom, please. I want to sleep with you too."

She frowned, her whole face saying I was unreasonable.

"You're the older brother. Why don't you know how to help Mom? Your brother is still so little. He needs care.

"Don't be naughty and provoke Grandpa, and he won't hit you. Grandpa is sick. You're the older brother. You have to help Mom and Dad look after him."