Saying Goodbye

"Say goodbye Leslie," he had said, his voice firm and even.
"Stop telling me what to do! Just fuck off, will you?" I had screamed back, defiant and angry.

I shake the memory from my head. It's been three years since Daddy's car met with one owned by a drunk driver. I think, more than anything, I have been angry. Angry at that irresponsible drunkard, angry at my brother for demanding from me something I absolutely could not give, but most of all, angry at myself.
If I had driven that night, Daddy would not have had to come pick me up from campus. He would not have been on the road and he would not have met with that accident.

It took me ages before I stopped being angry at the world and at myself, but it hasn't made accepting Daddy's death any easier. No prize for guessing why my twin brother and I have kept each other at arm's length since. We kept that wall between us up until six months ago, when Mummy told me he was in the final stages of lung cancer.
I have yet to decide who I'm angrier with.

It is Thursday today and I have taken a half day off to see my brother. As my tiny car pulls into the hospital parking lot, I notice that the smoking corner is taken up mainly by doctors and nurses. I laugh at the irony of it as I wind down the window to light my own cigarette.

Walking into the hospital, coffee in hand and car keys in the other, I smile wanly at the nurses who now know me by name.

"Fact of the day," I chirp, dumping my bag on the floor and kissing my brother on the cheek. He turns his head ever so slightly in my direction and manages a weak smile.
"You're still smoking?" He guesses. I give a dramatic roll of my eyes and laugh.
"I read this somewhere, and actually saw it myself today." I wait for him to share my enthusiasm with a slow nod.
"Most smokers are actually doctors and nurses!" I exclaim.
He imitates my dramatic eye-rolling, "That's my fact of the day?" he asks. I laugh and lay my head gently on his chest. He breathes deeply and manages a wheezy cough.

In the last three months, he has lost a disgusting amount of weight.. His once handsome face has given way to sunken cheeks and sallow skin. It hurts to see him like this. His breathing is shallow and I readjust myself to make sure I'm not leaning any weight on him.

With a huge amount of effort, he slowly lifts his right arm to stroke my hair. I do not even realize that I am crying until I find that my cheeks are wet.

"Say goodbye, Leslie," he says, his voice huskier than it used to be. I lift my head, kiss him on the cheek, and wait for him to smile.

"Goodbye Lesley," I whisper.
We chuckle at the memory of people mixing up our names, and smile at the annoyance of always having had to deal with sharing an androgynous name.

I slip my fingers in between his and watch him take a deep breath.

"Goodbye, Lesley."