A Piano In England, A Bullet In America

I always slightly envied Eliana's piano skills. When I was 10, Eliana was invited to play piano in London. After some begging, it was agreed upon by our parents that I could go with her. It was the highlight of my first 10 years of life. The plane took forever, but it was worth it. She played "Moonlight Sonata" in front of more people than I'd ever seen before. It was beautiful.

After she was done playing, we went out for dinner and back to our hotel room. Eliana let me jump on my bed. We had one room and my bed was right next to hers. She'd just gotten out of the shower and was sitting on her bed drying her hair when the phone rang. "Be quiet, Lilah", she said as she reached for it. I got up and left before she even picked it up. I wandered into the other room to look for something to eat when I heard her start to cry. I quietly went back to the bedroom and peeked around the corner. I couldn't understand what she was saying through her tears. She hung up after about three minutes and I hid around the corner while she tried to put on a composed face.

"Delilah?" She called out to me, her voice still shaky. I got up and slowly walked into our room. She opened her arms for me to come sit by her. I did so and after a while of just sitting by her, she told me that something bad had happened. "Lilah... Joshua got shot today." She started crying quietly again. She took a deep breath and finished... "He died, Lilah." I didn't believe her. I just told her I wanted to go home. I didn't want to cry. I was mad. I just wanted to go home. She was lying to me.

The next morning we got on a plane and went back home three days early. I was starting to believe her. When we got off the plane, our mom was standing outside of the terminal waiting. Her eyes were red and she looked like she hadn't slept in a week. "Where's Joshua mom?" She looked down at me. I suppose she understood. She never answered my question. We got our luggage and the drive home was completely silent.

My brother's death became real to me when we got to the house. Our dad came out and hugged Eliana and I, and we took our things inside. There were flowers and pictures all over the house. Joshua was not in his room. I don't know how long I stood in his doorway before Daniel came up behind me. "He's not coming back, Delilah". It was at that moment that I realized that Eliana was not lying. I screamed and collapsed to the floor, almost as if I were throwing a temper tantrum. I didn't want him to be gone.

There was a memorial service for him the next day. The next six months in my house were unusually quiet and sad. I expected him to still be there. I went looking for him the first few days after I came home. After that I just waited for him to come home. It took me a long time to stop expecting him to come play with me or tease me. It took me six years to understand... Joshua was never coming home.

I was sixteen when it really hit me that my brother was never going to come home. It was on June 16, his birthday. I'd almost forgotten. I got up and as always on that day of every year, my mother sat at the table with a bunch of pink roses and cried. I don't know what made this time different. My dad usually just stayed quiet all day. "He would've been 18..." my mom sobbed "He would have been an adult today". My dad hung his head and helped my mom up out of the kitchen chair and she walked half-limp by his side. I turned around and waited for Eliana.

We went to the graveyard just like every other June 16th, and my mom cried and told him happy birthday...It was raining. I think it was then that it occurred to me that he was not coming back. "Joshua Kristov. Beloved brother, son, and friend". That was my brother's name. The rain picked up and started bouncing up off the ground and my mom, on her knees didn't seem to care as she brushed the dust and dirt off my brother's grave. He wasn't coming back. This was as close to him as I'd ever come again.

I was quiet for the ride home. I felt as if he had just died. When I got home I decided that I would not live this life without my brother. I stayed in my room most of the day and cried. My parents chalked it up to the day. That night, I made possibly the biggest mistake of my life. I waited until I thought everyone was sleeping. I went into the kitchen and got one of my mom's knives. I ran a bathtub full of water. It was warm and at first I was afraid. Then a sudden wave of anger hit me, the anger at the horrible people who'd ended my brother's life. This was my punishing them. I cut my wrists. I watched the blood run down my arms and into the water. I don't know how long I watched that before I started to feel dizzy, and cold, and tired... I laid my arms down by my sides and closed my eyes.

Eliana some time during the night wanted the bathroom. I was later told that when I didn't say anything when she knocked, she thought that I'd just left the light on and walked in. I woke up the next day in the hospital. "You're lucky", the nurse said to me. I didn't feel lucky. I wanted to die. Plain and simple. "Shut up. You should have let me die." She sighed and left.

The hospital kept me for 72 hours and during that time my family all wanted to see me. I didn't want to see them. They all asked the same question. "Why?", and I didn't know the answer to it. I didn't want to explain anything to anybody or even try.

That was my first suicide attempt.