By Andrew Danielsen
When I was growing up, my
brother Matthew and I were raised in the same house by our grandparents in
Chico, CA. Matthew is two years older than I am which is a big age difference
in youth, but we still got along very well. From the time that we were young
until our mid-teens we did everything together as close brothers should; but
the morning that I woke up to Matthew standing over me wearing our grandmothers
pantyhose over his face holding a knife, telling me that it was time to take the
alien out of my stomach, things became a little rough. But like in many kinds
of relationships, anything can happen between two members in a family, and it
can affect the lives of both forever in a negative way.
Matthew and I had a close friendship in and outside of
the house. We would walk to school together every day, and being the good boy
big brother that he was, he would make sure that I was safe at all times, hold
my hand when crossing the street, and always walk me to my class room. We would
spend our recesses and our lunch time together, and update each other on how
our days were going, as well as give one another encouragement when needed.
Over the next few years, my brother began to tell me
about a little voice that would whisper to him at night and tell him to do
every day normal things such as use the rest room, wash his hands, eat, and
drink. He explained to me that if he did any of these things without the Whisper’s
say so, he would grow a third arm in the middle of his back that would constantly
spank him throughout the day. He did not want this to happen so he abided by
the Whisper’s rules.
While all of this was going on, our friendship began to
get a little complicated. I had told our grandparents about this new “friend”
of my brothers, but they quickly shooed me away with my fantasyland stories,
ignoring what I was trying to say, and told me to play with a stick. I felt
very alone, and completely misunderstood.
Matthew and I would still walk to school every day and
would continue to have our recess times and lunch together, but it was not like
it was before. We would talk less, we wouldn’t make as much eye contact, and
every once in a while he would have to excuse himself and go talk to his
“friend.”
This all began to get very strange to me, and I wondered
if there was anything that I could do. I ended up going to speak with the
school’s counselor and see if he would listen to me and give me advice since my
grandparents would not. The counselor told me that what I needed to do was
either separate myself from my brother, or try to make friends with the Whisper
as well. He told me that if I was able to identify with what my brother was
going through, I might be able to repair a lost connection that he had with
reality. I knew that the last thing I wanted to do was to make friends with an
imaginary voice that was beginning to destroy the relationship that I had with
my brother, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I couldn’t separate from my brother no matter what so I
figured it was time to face the Whisper myself. Every night before the two of
us went to sleep, we would eat some cookies and enjoy a glass of milk. At this
time, neither my brother nor I had ever experienced with alcohol, but I knew
that it was a type of medicine that helped our grandmother sleep at night.
Therefore I decided to take some of our grandmother’s tequila and mix it in to
my brother’s glass of nightly milk.
I figured that after the medicine put my brother to
sleep, I could tie him up in his bed and prove to him that the voice he’d been
hearing over the last few years was only in his head and he was able to make
decisions on his own. If I was ever
going to have a relationship with my brother like I did in the past, I knew
that this was the only way to show him.
We enjoyed our nightly snack and he never mentioned the
funny taste of the milk. When we were half way ready for bed, my brother
collapsed onto the floor in his temporary coma, and I knew this was my only
time to tie him up, so I did just that. I used our grandfather’s argyle socks
to tie his wrists and his ankles to his bed posts and waited.
An hour and a half after tying him to the bed, he woke up
in a fury. He easily escaped from the ties and stormed down the stairs
screaming and proclaiming that the Whisper was angry. This saddened me, and I
worried for my brother’s well-being. He stormed out of the house and sprinted
down the street, not to be seen for the rest of the night.
The next morning was when I woke up to my brother
standing above me with the knife. I quickly kicked him in the knee and made him
lose his balance. He fell off of the bed and I was able to escape to tell my
grandparents what was going on, and finally they listened to me. The police
came to the house, arrested my brother and took him in for evaluation.
The relationship between my brother and me was greatly
affected by a rare case of schizophrenia. After the pantyhose and knife
incident, I seldom saw him. He was taken to an insane asylum and he still
remains there today. I will never forget the great times that we had during our
youth. We were such great friends and it was all diminished by a sad disease.
If there is anything that I’ve learned from all of this
experience, it’s that I will always love and appreciate my brother no matter
what. But hey, I must obey the Whisper, right?
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