T.L. Beeding

see you in Summertime

You never did like the cold, did you?

Walking here through the snow reminded me of the first time you told me you hated the stuff. Winter was your least favorite time of year, you’d say. The constant gloom was awful, bone-chilling cold seeping in and staying long past its welcome. There wasn’t a place to go to outrun it, no matter how many layers were piled on. But even though you hated it, you always loved watching me play in the snow banks outside. You’d stuff me into so many jackets, shirts, and pants that I’d look like an overstuffed marshmallow, say, “Go on, Tommy – build me a snowman!” Then once I grew tired of it – hopefully I didn’t play too long, for your sake – we’d run inside, peel off the sopping clothes and toss them in the hallway for laundry later. You always rewarded me for my efforts with a warm blanket, hot cocoa, and a story by the fire. You’d let me turn the pages as you read, holding my little hands to warm them up.

Isn’t that right?

There was no mistaking you were a child of the sun. It’s hard to remember specifics now, but when the weather was warm, you flourished. The house always smelled so good; I remember the syrupy, sweet aroma of wildflowers, the ones you’d grow yourself and dress the dinner table with. You loved gardening, too. We always had fresh vegetables and rice, always delicious. 

And the music…God, the music. There wasn’t an instrument you couldn’t play, was there? I remember Papa saying summertime brought out the maestro in you. The house became your concert hall, filled with your trilling voice, your violin that wept just as we did when you’d play it for us.

You must have been so happy when you found out you’d be having another baby in July.

My birthday is when you told me; remember? I’ll never forget the sparkle in your eyes – blue like sky, like mine. “I have a surprise for you, Tommy,” you whispered, taking my hand and leading me away from the kids in Halloween costumes, eating candy and playing games. “I saved this surprise for last, because it’s the one you’ve been asking for all year.” 

I was convinced it was that new action figure set I wanted. I don’t remember if I asked what the surprise was, but I remember settling into your lap and getting a big hug – which would have been good enough. 

“My baby boy, my sweet little Tommy,” you crooned, brushed the bangs from my face and kissed my cheek. You pressed your forehead to mine, that beautiful smile of yours spreading your rosebud lips. “You’re going to be a big brother in the summertime.” 

I’ll never forget how it felt; like my chest would burst because my heart had grown so full. I remember crying – I told you it was the best birthday present I’d ever gotten. It still is.

I sometimes wonder if the cold would have saved you. 

Michael wonders too. I know he still feels guilty. I’ve done my best to convince him that he had nothing to do with it; that it was out of everyone’s control, and not his fault. But I hear his soft cries every now and again as I pass his room. Twelve years later, and it’s still hard for him to accept that fate had a different plan for you. For all of us. 

Honestly, the only thing that keeps me going is remembering your smile. Your smile was gorgeous; it grew every day, just like wildflowers through the melting snow – just like your belly. I don’t think I ever asked you if it hurt – though, in hindsight, perhaps I should have – but I always wondered. I remember you felt the baby’s first kicks around the same time the snow completely melted away. The day we learned Michael’s gender was the day we had a bad storm. But the clouds began to break, and the sun glowed bright through the hospital window shortly after they told us it was another little boy. Remember? You said, “He will be a blessing to us all…the sun thinks so, too.” I asked if you could have him right then and there; you laughed and tapped my nose. “He’s a summer baby, Tommy,” you replied, pressing my little hand to your belly. I felt my brother kick – my baby brother, I was so excited. “Winter has already blessed me with you; now it’s time for summer to do the same.”

That was about the time you and Papa began to argue, wasn’t it?

I can guess now what the two of you fought about, but back then it was confusing. I never remembered the two of you fighting before – but it really wasn’t fighting, was it? I’d pretend not to listen when Papa would pull you aside after dinner. He would say things like, “Your blood pressure was high again,” and “Have you told them about your ankles?” You’d laugh it off, telling him not to worry. “I had the same symptoms with Tommy, remember? And I’m still here.” Papa would usually go quiet after that, but once I remember him saying, “But it’s worse this time.” 

But Mom, you never gave up hope, did you? You were the bright, shining star that guided us along – never dull and never faded.

Was it too hot that day? Were there too many people in the room?

What happened, Mom?

I ask myself these questions a lot. I know you probably hate that I do, but I can’t help it. I’ll never forget when you came to my room in the middle of the night; the hottest night that July. You gently woke me from a dream about clowns floating on balloons. Remember that crazy dream? And I rolled over to your bright smile. 

“Wake up, Tommy,” you whispered, brushing my bangs from my face like you always did. “Your little brother is coming!”

 I was so excited I fell out of bed. I put my shoes on and grabbed my favorite toys – you ended up getting me the action figures after all, for Christmas – and proudly marched down the stairs before you. Papa waited at the door; he scooped me into one arm and put the other around your shoulders, hurrying us to the car in the sweltering night. The hospital wasn’t too far from our neighborhood – I remember you were thankful for that. Once they had gotten you settled in bed, you asked Papa to get me breakfast. You said you would watch me while he went out and got my favorite breakfast food – Belgian waffles, with lots of whipped cream on top. 

“Extra whipped cream for the soon-to-be big brother!” you caroled happily, patting my head. For some reason, I swatted your hand – I think my bangs got into my eyes.

If I’d known what was going to happen twelve hours later, I would never have done that. Never, Mom. I’m so sorry.

I don’t ever remember you crying, but that day you did. And for good reason, I’m sure – I just wish we could have seen it coming. You didn’t start crying until the doctor told us Michael was crowning. I know now that you must have been in terrible pain, but you stayed smiling and brave just for me. 

“Don’t worry about me, my sweet little Tommy,” you said, through gritted teeth and pinched eyes. You brushed the bangs out of my face – for the last time, but I didn’t know it. “In a few minutes, you’ll have a little brother you can hold and play with.” You sucked in a hard breath, squeezed Papa’s hand – then your smile returned. “Will you help me take care of him?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Those were my last words to you. They should have been something else, anything else.

I remember crying because you started to scream when we left the room. I was convinced the doctors were torturing you; I fought with Papa to let me back in, so my action figures and I could protect you. 

“It’s okay, Tommy,” he said, holding me tight. “It’ll stop soon – that’s just what happens when babies are born.” 

But it wasn’t what was happening, was it? I don’t know if you heard, but I started to scream, too. “They’re hurting Mommy! I have to save her! I have to save my brother!” I’ll always be left to wonder if I had been in the room, what would have happened.

Would you have survived?

I’ll never forget when the screaming stopped. The silence still haunts me to this day. It was sudden, strangled – like you had run out of breath. Papa and I shared a look – did it happen? Was Michael born? Then urgent yelling filled the room; it was the doctor’s voice, hard and clipped. 

“Defib, STAT.” 

I had no idea what that meant. I thought he was speaking another language. I thought that was another way of saying, “Welcome, baby!” I looked at Papa to ask him, because I was sure he knew – he knew almost everything – and I’ll never forget his face. It was all white, eyes wide and scared. He dropped me – not on purpose, but I think you would have swatted him for it – and shot to his feet. “Eliza?!” he screamed, tried to run into the room, but a nurse came out and stopped him.

Summertime didn’t seem to last very long; it mourned you, like we did. The leaves changed early. Autumn was crisp and bleak. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Papa stopped talking to me, beyond telling me to eat my dinner and do my chores. He barely looked at Michael. Then again, Michael was a very fussy baby, so I also did my best to ignore him. I broke my promise to you right from the start, Mom, and I’ll never forgive myself. I’ve done my best to correct it, but I should have been a better brother the very second we came home without you. But it was hard. I didn’t even celebrate my birthday that year. I couldn’t do it, knowing you wouldn’t be there to see me turn seven – the number of your favorite month.

I’m sorry. I should have.

I know you hated the cold, but winter is what saved us. There was a day Michael was crying and wouldn’t stop. He was so loud, even you probably would have had enough. I know I did. I went to his room, across the hall from mine – the one I helped you paint baby blue, remember? – and peeked inside. Michael was tossing and turning in his crib, screaming bloody murder. I was ready to do just about anything to get him to stop. But, when I walked up to the crib and glared down at him – I must have looked so mean, I’m sorry – it made me think. I would have done anything to have saved you when you were screaming. So I picked Michael up, held him to my shoulder like I had seen Papa do, and took him downstairs. 

It was nighttime, but Papa was still awake – I’ll never understand why he was ignoring Michael’s screams. He sat at the dinner table, didn’t look up when I walked in. It was snowing that night, too. I remember the faint, white speckle of falling flakes against the darkness outside. It made me think; remember what you used to do when I came in from playing in the snow? I grabbed a blanket from the sofa, wrapped Michael and I tight inside it, then plopped down in front of the fire. 

“Quiet, Michael,” I said, rocking him like you used to rock me. “You’re too loud. Be quiet.”

Would you believe he immediately stopped crying?

It was like he knew. He knew what Mommy would have done to calm him down. I’ll never forget him staring at me with eyes blue as sky, like yours – like mine. He looked just like you. You would have been so happy to know your youngest son looked just like you – and still does. I’ll never forget Papa’s face when he noticed us. I saw him move from the corner of my eye; he turned his head in our direction, not making a sound. When I looked, there were tears in his eyes. 

For a moment, I thought he was going to start crying and I’d have to console him, too – isn’t that silly? But he stayed silent, and rose to his feet instead. He sat down beside me, watery gaze moving between his boys. And for the first time since you passed, he put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me tight.

I wish you could have seen it, Mom.

Well…it’s starting to snow again. I know you hate it. I’ll make sure something gets put down to keep it off you – to keep you warm. Next time I visit, it’ll be your favorite time of year. I’ll bring you a bouquet of the wildflowers that still grow in the garden, and show you how far I’ve come with the violin. Maybe next time, Michael will feel like coming too.

See you in summertime.

____

T.L. BEEDING IS A CALIFORNIA NATIVE AND SINGLE MOTHER, CURRENTLY LIVING IN KANSAS CITY. SHE DEVELOPED A LOVE FOR STORYTELLING AT A YOUNG AGE, AND SHE NOW SHARES THAT LOVE WITH HER DAUGHTER. T.L. IS A FEATURED ANTHOLOGY AUTHOR FOR BLACK INK FICTION, RAVEN AND DRAKE PUBLISHING, AND BREAKING RULES EUROPE PUBLISHING. WHEN SHE IS NOT WRITING, SHE WORKS AT A BUSY ORTHOPEDIC HOSPITAL, MENDING BROKEN BONES.