The Pretend Darkness

"Brianna, you're a college student. What do you think should be done about this?"

Mom gently pulled my brother up from the floor, wrapping her arms around his bulky body to soothe him.

He was just a high school freshman, 15 years old, not even 1.68 meters tall, but already tipping the scales at 77 kilograms. Huddled there, he looked like a mound of squished meatloaf.

I bit back the bitterness rising in my throat and put on a show of concern.

"Mom, do you think this could be a case of depression? That's serious stuff. Remember, last year a kid at our school with depression... Well, it didn't end well. We should get him to a doctor, pronto. School's not as important as staying alive, right?"

My brother, realizing I had caught on to his act, dropped the waterworks and nodded like his life depended on it. "Yeah, Mom, I'm really freaked out. I can't seem to get a grip on myself. Can we go see a doctor, please?"

Little did they know, they both thought a couple of quizzes could nail down depression.

However, I had been down that road for real and knew the drill with all the tests he could not just bluff his way through.

If we hit up a legit hospital, my brother's gig would be up in a heartbeat.

He wanted to play sick, did he? Fine, I would play along.

"Mom, I don't think we should drag him to some fancy hospital. They'll charge an arm and a leg for a sniffle, running all sorts of tests. Remember my cough? They did blood work and a CT scan, and it cost a fortune."

I had that annoying allergic asthma, and dusting around the house did not help. The last time I had an allergy attack so bad that I could barely breathe, and I had to beg Mom to take me to the hospital.

They ruled out flu and pneumonia, but then they wanted to test for asthma.

Mom, however, thought the doctors were just after our cash, running tests but coming up empty. She lost it at the hospital, accused them of being thieves, and even said I was faking it.

Ever since, I have had to tough it out whenever I got sick, only getting dragged to some tiny clinic for a shot when I was at my worst.

"Exactly, your sister has a point. Let's check out that clinic, Anthony's. She always goes there, and a single shot sorts her out."

I could not help but snicker to myself. That clinic's shots worked fast because they did not skimp on the meds.

I was curious to see how Mom would handle it when her precious baby boy was the one under the weather.