Blueberry Waffles and the Loss of Innocence.
That sound up there, is the beating of my brother’s heart. His soft breath blowing slightly against my ear made me shudder at the thought of it gone. I was five when Gabriel Antonio Melendez
was born and I was ten when I lost that tiny, itzy bitzy innocence I had left in me. This is a story I will never forget, it is one that will always be in the back of my mind.
It was a normal Friday afternoon, school had just ended and my mom was sleeping peacefully on the sofa. My brother and I were hungry; we usually had a snack, but today my cousin wasn’t
watching us, so we decided—being the good kids we were—that we weren’t going to wake our mom and went to heat up some waffles. Blueberry waffles. I heated up two—one for Gabe and the other for
me—and then we sat by the T.V. watching Scooby-Doo. It was a usual afternoon, but our mom was home and that’s what made it all the more better…until that moment.
Syrup, the sticky brown substance that went on pancakes, had drenched my whole waffle, making it soft and soggy. That was the way I liked it. Then I handed it to Gabe, who happily took it. I
sliced the waffle in half, cutting it with a force, and singing along side the Scooby-Doo theme song. Turning towards my brother, I…
It was at that precise moment, my blood went cold, my head thumped with a dull ach, and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. Gabe was still, statue like, his skin had become a pale blue,
and it looked as if he wasn’t breathing. His once dark brown eyes had rolled into the back of his head, showing me nothing but white. The syrup bottle lay on the ground; the brown liquid had
spilled over on to the light brown carpet, staining it. Gabe started to shake, an earthquake shake, one that couldn’t be stopped. His saliva had over filled his mouth, running down his chin,
soaking his chest—he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Forgetting about my blueberry waffles, I ran towards my mom, shaking her, begging her to wake up. And when she did…I had never seen my mother move so fast in my life. She picked up my (now)
trembling brother and the both of us ran for the car. My mom sat Gabe in my lap, his drool soaking my T and drenching my shoulder, but I didn’t care.
I had known for sometime that my brother was different, yet the same—just a normal child. From the day he was born, my brother would have seizures, some small and some big. He had had a heart
attack in my mother’s womb during her pregnancies, causing him to have a blood clog in his brain.
That was the first and only time I have ever seen him like that. My brother is now in fifth grade, playing sports, and doing homework—just one of the kids. Gabe hasn’t had a seizure in over
four years, but that’s story for a different time. For now I don’t ever think I could look at blueberry waffles the same ever again…………..that and Scooby-Doo.
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