Today I was cutting a watermelon, thinking about summers in the past. when i was in grade school, my mom signed mike, jeff and i up for YMCA summer camp, our first and only summer camp. one of the most anticipated events there was the water balloon fight. i can't remember if i had a good time; can't remember if i was pelleted by water balloons or if i was the one scoring all the points; can't remember if the camp counselors participated or if it was just us kids.
all i see now is the dark green cement court where scraggly leftover bits of water balloon skins floated in pools of water. and hearing that my brother -- the older one -- had taken a fall, had slipped, had landed on his head. unconscious, i was told. in the hospital now, parents on the way. hours later, more than six, more than seven, more than........
"in a coma," they said. "when a patient fails to be awakened after six hours, they're in a coma."
someone told me, an adult in the family -- i can't remember who -- that the doctor said there was a risk, a very small risk of him not waking up.
"it was a water balloon fight," i said, "a game. how could he be hurt from a game? it was just a fall." and then i thought about another time, breakfast morning, jeff's head bleeding at the table. and a time after that, the first time he fell unconscious on his head. this time it was just a game but it wasn't the first anymore, wasn't the second.
he woke up. and i can't remember what i felt when i heard that my brother was coming back. but somehow it was like -- all that waiting, all the worrying -- well, the whole time i knew he'd wake up, i had known he'd be okay. i had known i'd see him again same as he always was.
