Sam

Emma Robson

Sitting outside in the stuffy warmth of an early summer day, I allowed my mind to wander from my book, soaking up the sun with my hooded eyelids.  Looking up at my house I see Sam, my little brother, in his room playing a game on the computer.

I always dread the moment in a conversation when I tell people that my little brother is blind.  Immediately they falter and stop the conversation, trying to search for the proper reaction.  Squirming, I watch them as I, too, try desperately to search for something to put them at ease.  In the stunning silence the discomfort continues until whomever I’m talking to finds some mode of escape.

Sitting up to move into the shade of a branch my eye catches an old ball lying half under a bush.  I can remember how it felt when my face hardened with my mouth clamped white and my eyebrows became drawn so close that you couldn’t even distinguish my uni-brow.  “I do not want to go play with my little brother,” was all I could think as my fists tightened.  Hanging on to that one thought, I marched outside and slammed the door, making sure to dent the floor with the heels of my Keds.  There he was, bouncing around blindly, searching for the ball on his right.  The fingers of one hand poked his eyes while his other smacked his head in frustration.

“Sam,” I yelled, “The ball’s just to your left.”  I walked silently towards the ball, brushing the bottoms of my shoes on the very top of the grass, I contemplated each step, making as little noise as possible.  A smirk spread itself over my face as I picked up the ball and held it behind my back.  “To your right Sam,” I commanded curtly.  Stamping his foot, he turned back around to his first direction.  My smirk slowly morphed into a satisfied smile.

Scrunching up his face he began to slap his legs and yell at the top of his lungs, “Emma!  Where is the dang ball?  Give me the ball, Emma!”  As he started to run at me with his face and fists scrunched as small as they would go I felt a twinge of guilty panic.  I hastily jettisoned the ball and turned to bind the arms of the small, flailing windmill.  “That’s it Sam,” I stated impatiently, “If all you’re going to do is attack me when I try and help you then I won’t come out to play with you at all.”  Anxious to get away, I pushed him down and ran for the door before he could get up and chase me.

Grimacing, I get up from my lawn chair as I swat away small, determined bugs.  As I walk towards the busy road my mind reverts to one day last winter.

With a sigh I turn my head to look out the window at the bustling cars on the busy street.  With a scream of dry brakes a bright orange mini bus jerks to a stop just past my house.  Sitting up, I strain to see over the curve of the roof to watch as my younger brother Sam jostles out into the bike lane of a busy road, trying to straighten his cane.  Without a moment’s pause the bus clamps its doors and whizzes off to its next stop.

I stare, concerned as he takes a few tentative steps, swinging his cane in rakish huge arcs.  My heart goes into my mouth as he, disoriented, bangs into the stone wall and turns around to start in the other direction, towards the cars.  Frantically, I start up in my chair and move to bang on the window.  I freeze in a half crouch as my head spins, sick with worry as I try to decide if I have enough time to run downstairs and yell from the front door.  And yet, before he even reaches the road he stops and turns his head.  Looking straight at the house he turns and feels the front of the driveway.  Folding up his cane, he jogs to the door as I collapse in my chair with a sigh of relief.  The door slams and in comes Sam.  Throwing his backpack in a corner he saunters in with a “hey, mom” and turns on the TV to Sports Center.