All The Way Home

By Felicia Hsu

Nothing is closer than the bond between twins. But what happens when you lose your other half? Sharon is a third year medical student at Harvard who is barely able to keep her life together, familial tensions aside. When her anchor, her twin brother Jared, is suddenly ripped away, she finds herself adrift, forcing herself to embark on a journey of healing and self-discovery. As she makes her way back to her hometown, Sharon finds herself confronted with mysteries of the past that refuse to stay buried.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543981162

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© 2019 Felicia Hsu All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-54398-115-5 eBook 978-1-54398-116-2

Contents

Chapter 1 The Call

Chapter 2 Last Words

Chapter 3 Nai

Chapter 4 Knock Knock

Chapter 5 Bucket List

Chapter 6 Reunion

Chapter 7 Dust

Chapter 8 Signs

Chapter 9 Unraveling

Chapter 10 Answers

Chapter 11 Privacy

Chapter 12 Reassurance

Chapter 13 Mama

Chapter 14 Calm

Chapter 15 Storm

Chapter 16 Goodbye

Chapter 17 Way Home

Chapter 1

The Call

Something is wrong. The room feels too warm, as if the sun has already risen, the sun’s rays casting a warm glow over my closet. I feel too rested. No smell of omelets and slightly burned toast creeping its way upstairs and into my room. I treasure my last second of silence in anticipation of what will probably be a hectic morning because I am undoubtedly late for my second week of eighth grade. I reach for my alarm clock. 7:48 a.m. I’m already eight minutes late.

I stumble out of bed and notice Jared’s room is still closed. Why is no one awake? Not even Baba? He’s the punctual one, always scolding us for being even a few minutes late.

Matching the quietness that fills the house, I tip-toe over to Jared’s room. He’s tucked away comfortably without a care in the world.

I kick the door; I have no patience for his tardiness this morning. Wake up, we’re already late.

Mm, go away, it’s not time to get up. He rolls away from me.

Seriously, get up or I’m leaving without you.

An unsettling feeling takes over me as I make my way to my parents’ room. The door creaks open as an unfamiliar smell hits me. My gaze is drawn to the window, where dust particles float in the sun. As my eyes adjust, I notice a large figure lying on the bed. His back is toward the door, and the sun pouring through the window makes it hard to see any details. Strange, Baba isn’t even in his pajamas, and he didn’t use his covers. That’s unusual. Maybe he was just really tired last night. Or decided to take advantage of Mama not being home and tried something different.

I shake his shoulders. Baba, wake up! We’re late for school already, and Jared is still sleeping. Mama’s working overnight, so you’re supposed t—

I reel back at his ice-cold touch. The realization hits me so hard, I suddenly find it difficult to breathe. The room phases in and out of focus. My eyes are drawn to an empty orange bottle of pills lying in stark contrast to the untouched, dark green blanket. A folded piece of wrinkled lined paper peeks out from under his shoulder, and I see the letters SHA written across the front. The blue tint of his lips has spread like a malignancy to his eyelids and fingertips. His empty eyes are glossed over. It can’t be. He’s gone?

My hands shake as I take the piece of paper. The flutter of the page in my unsteady hands reminds me of a hummingbird.

Sharon and Jared. I love you. This isn’t your fault. Love, Baba.

The walls begin closing in. I see dust particles billowing around me like cartoon swirls of clouds as the room spins out of control. Yet somehow, I haven’t lost my balance. I look down, only to find my feet sinking into the ground. I try to scream but not even a whisper escapes me. The floor, now a massive flow of boiling lava, is up to my knees when the walls begin to pound increasingly faster—a neck-to-neck race with my heartbeat. Blackness consumes me, and I feel my body drop.

I jolt awake with a start as my hand punches out, only to meet concrete wall. Throbbing pain takes over my entire left hand, the pain shooting up my arm as I throw the covers off and jump out of bed. My entire shirt is drenched with sweat.

My phone reads 5:07 a.m. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than forty-five minutes. My bloodshot eyes slowly adjust to the room, if you can even call it one. The rectangular cell reminds me of a jail; the bowed plaster walls are spotted with various shades of white, and a presumed ketchup-stained chair acts as a bed stand proxy for a disconnected landline. The steady cacophony of beeps from endless monitors passes through the walls as if they are made of paper. A loud beep cuts through the silence, and I instinctively reach for my side where my pager always sits.

4107 in pain, asking for Dilaudid.

Even as I gather my things—phone, wallet, pen, stethoscope—I can’t help but shake the feeling that something is off. I brush it aside and focus on the next task at hand. I have twenty minutes before the rest of the team comes in for morning rounds to convince Mr. Bendavid not to take any more opioids.

I check the mirror before I leave the call room, but I’m horrified by the person looking back at me. My eyes are bloodshot as usual, and defined with a heavy black crease under each eye. But this isn’t all I see. There’s the kind of tired that just needs a good night’s sleep and another that needs so much more. Despite it being more than ten years since I found Baba that morning, the same recurring nightmare continues to plague my nights. But I refuse to let anyone see the effect it still has on me. I put on this facade of throwing myself into my work, but a part of me questions whether I’ve become more career-driven or if it’s just my attempt at running from my problems by creating another world I can slip into. Would I have been a fun-loving, light-hearted girl surrounded by a close community of friends if I hadn’t been forced to be so serious at such a young age? What if Jared had found Baba instead? Would I be more like him, and he more like me? Would I even be in the medical field right now?

Shaking my head as if to dispel all the rapid existential thoughts that enter my mind whenever I have this nightmare, I take a deep breath. You’re doing it again. Now is not the time to think about this. You are okay. You will be okay. Just a few more hours. You can do it.

I try my usual breathing exercises to calm my panic and anxiety as I walk the dimly lit hallway toward 4107. I ignore the fact that it feels like the walls are closing in on me and my breathing feels tight.

I clear my throat. Good morning, Mr. Bendavid.

Listen, doc, I’m in so much pain. I feel miserable! And none of you will give me pain meds to help. This hospital is useless!

I don’t bother to correct him by reminding him I’m not a doctor, not yet. I let him vent until he begins to simmer down.

I sit at the foot of his bed. Do you remember what you told me the day you came in?

He folds his arms in defiance. It reminds me of Jared so much I almost smile. This is certainly something I’ll tell him about later, when I finally get home from this thirty-hour shift and he’s back from his trip to Peru. God, it feels like forever since I’ve slept peacefully in my own bed without an alarm. I can almost hear his response: Jie, you shouldn’t be projecting me on to your patients. Then again, maybe if you see me in them, you’ll do a better job taking care of them. I should get some compensation. I let my random musing slip away and bring myself back to hospital room 4107.

Mr. Bendavid?

Mm, I said I was going to change things around and leave this hospital without opioids . . . His voice trails off.

That’s right. I know you’re in a lot of pain. But we need to slowly decrease the opioid pain meds you’re on. It won’t be comfortable, but we are here for you every step of the way. Just bear with me for a bit longer, okay? As soon as you start showing withdrawal symptoms, we’ll start the suboxone, which will help with that. I have every faith that you will make it.

The stern lines that filled his face when I first walked in have slowly faded. All right, doc . . . I guess I just don’t know how I’ll do it. She’s gonna leave me, my wife. She’s never around, always workin’. She used to be my light, you know? There’s nothing good waiting for me when I leave this hospital anyway, he sighs.

A mix of emotions twist inside of me as fists tighten inside my white coat pockets. How is he supposed to get better if his one support doesn’t even want to be there for him? What reason could she possibly have to choose work over her loyalty and supposed promise to be there for him through thick and thin?

I realize I am jumping to conclusions because I have no idea what their marriage looks like. My overreaction must be from my nightmare, so I try to push it away; I can’t afford an emotional outburst right now. Pushing the residual fog from my nightmare that makes my brain feel slower than usual, so I offer whatever words roll off my tongue. The usual rational, defuse-the-situation Sharon is back.

"Hey, it’s okay. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. And we’re probably not your favorite people right now. But you have us. We will get you better, Mr. Bendavid. But let’s just focus on one thing at a time, okay? Let’s worry about home after we get you well enough to leave the hospital. Just focus on your health and weaning