100 Words Per Mile: Growing a Spine

Is hope courageous, or a means of survival.

March 23, 2021
3.00 miles
23:06

My baby brother checked into a three-day detox center yesterday. This comes after he spent the day in the emergency room.

I didn’t want to be the one to go. My mother texted us that she couldn’t make it because she’d been at brunch all morning and wasn’t sober enough to drive. I was at the card shop, deciding whether or not to invest in a Giancarlo Stanton rookie card, when she sent me the text.

I really didn’t want to go. It felt unfair of him to do this to us, but I told my mom I would. I didn’t hesitate, it was just matter of fact.

When I reached his room in the emergency room, my baby brother was passed out on the bed, pulse monitor hooked to his finger, lips bruised and swollen. He didn’t register my arrival, and I was scared that when he woke up and saw me, he’d be startled into something outrageous.

Not that I’m scared of my baby brother. He might be 6’3 and I may only be 5’8, but I’m sure I have fifteen pounds on him minimum. The consequences of his being an addict.

I didn’t want to go, but I’m glad I did.

For one, my baby brother is terrified of needles. He passed out whenever he got a tattoo, and while it’s an easy way to make fun of someone who claims to be “a grown ass man” for being afraid of needles, it’s probably the thing that’s saved his life. He’s never ventured into heroine or any sort of intravenous drug use because he really can’t stomach the sight of a needle.