When Cam finally staggered down the steps, we made our way to town like a heard of turtles. We splashed in the lingering puddles leading us into town on another Friday afternoon. We arrived as the local farmer’s were setting up their produce stands for the weekend up and down the cracked sidewalks. Cam sniffed out the sweetest smelling strawberries for mom to make pie out of later that night. It was kind of his reward for going out in public every Friday. Once our basket was overflowing with fruit we milled around the outside shops for a while, weaving in and out of the crowd. Everyone was in town on Fridays after work. Our parents socialized with friends they rarely saw while we tried to avoid everyone.

Cam and I were sitting by the playground when I saw them, the nasty, little boys that added to the horrors of my brother’s childhood. Jackson, Sam, and Joel were in our playgroup when we were too young to start school. It wasn’t hard for them to target Cam as the wimpiest right away. And it was especially easy for them to make Cam feel down on himself. When I made eye contact with them I grabbed Cam’s hand and tried to pull him away before they could say anything to us, but we weren’t quick enough.
“Hey, Cam!” Jackson called, but we kept walking.
“Hey, we’re talking to you. Isabelle, can we ask your brother a question?” Sam yelled trying to catch up to us.
“What do you three want?” I demanded, but what I said was ignored. They pushed me aside to get to Cam who was hiding behind me.
“Hi there, champ,” Joel said messing with Cam’s glasses. “We were just wondering if you were coming out for the soccer team this year. We could really use someone like you. What do you think?”
“Uh…I don’t know. I don’t think that’s really a good idea,” Cam managed to reply.
“Aw that’s too bad,” Jackson cut in. “I guess you don’t have time. You’re too busy with those silly paintings you do. And we wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?”

Cam just shook his head. All three of them looked at each other and smiled with some sense of accomplishment. Before I could form words, Sam said “If you ever decide to act like a boy, let us know. You might actually be cool to hang out with.”

I wanted to scream, but I knew I had to remain calm for my brother who was on the verge of tears. I could tell he was only holding them back to avoid being called a cry baby. I led him back to where our parents were talking to another couple. My mom caught one look at our faces and knew exactly what had happened. Dad scooped Cam up and propped him on his broad shoulders, and we returned home that Friday night.

As soon as Cam’s feet were back on the ground, he hobbled away. There was no need to protest. I knew exactly where he was going. I took my time walking to the garden to let Cam have some space. We went to the garden behind our house when things got hard. It was a secure place where we could talk about things, or just sit and think if nothing needed to be said. The garden was ours, a place that only we shared.
When I walked up, Cam was sitting legs crossed, drawing in the dirt with a stick. I joined him without saying a word. His boney hand dropped the stick and he said, “Isabelle? What’s wrong with me? Why am I so different from everyone else?”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. He had never questioned those things. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Cam. Those boys are just cruel and jealous, that’s all. God makes everyone different for a reason. What fun would it be if everyone was the same?” I suggested hoping he wouldn’t think too far into things.
“That’s a good point, and I guess you’re right. But how come I’m not as strong as the other kids? I bet I would like playing sports if I could. What’s the weird feeling in my head and eyes? And why do I see things funny?” he demanded answers.

I stopped him before he could go any further. “Maybe you would like playing sports, but you enjoy doing art, don’t you? You make the most beautiful paintings, Cam. Could those boys do anything like that? Never. I can’t explain those other things to you. I just know that it’s going to be okay,” I encouraged.

“I hope so,” was all he said then he quietly walked back to the house. I stayed sitting in the dirt for a while. I hadn’t put much thought into the things Cam brought up, but at that moment I really got scared. I shook the negative feelings out of my mind, and then I walked back to the house optimistic about his future.

Dinner was fairly quiet. Cam was still upset and insisted on having his meal by himself. After I helped my parents with the dishes I went upstairs to check on Cam. To my surprise, he wasn’t in his studio. I stuck my head in his room, but his empty dishes were the only thing in sight. I walked down the hallway passed my room and called to him, “Cam? Cam, where are you?” but no one responded. The house was quiet. I decided to check the upstairs attic. Sometimes he goes up there to really escape the family when he needs time alone. I opened the door hesitantly and called to my brother again, “Cam, are you up there?” I heard faint sobbing and I sprinted up the splintering stairs to the third floor of the house.

I found him sitting by an old trunk that belonged to our grandpa. In his lap lay an old, tattered notebook. He was hunched over with is face was in his hands. I kneeled behind him and asked, “What is that? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Grandpa’s journal. Look, he had some of the same problems that I do,” he sniffled.

I picked up the falling apart book and flipped through the worn pages. Grandpa wrote about kids picking on him, his coordination and strength problems, how he saw things differently than other people, and how he had pain in his head and eyes. I shut the journal and didn’t let Cam read any further in case it suggested something that could frighten him. I squeezed his hand and told him, “This could help us figure things out, Cam. Let’s go show Mom and Dad.”

We walked down the two flights of stairs hand in hand. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen from this point on. We entered the kitchen where my parents were making dessert and I set the journal down on the counter in front of them. They stared at my brother and me blankly. My dad looked confused and asked, “What did you two find?”

“I think it was Grandpa’s,” I said holding out the evidence to Mom. “Look at what it says.”

As she thumbed through the pages, tears came to her eyes instantly. Her hand flew to her mouth and she dropped the journal on the floor. Dad bent over to pick it up and said, “Isabelle, will you take Cam upstairs and the two of you go get ready for bed, please? Thank you.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I obeyed him and ushered Cam to his room.

We got into our pajamas and brushed our teeth in silence, then I went to his room as he climbed into bed to say goodnight. “Don’t worry about it, Cam. Everything will be fine in the morning. Sweet dreams,” I told him turning the lights out. As I was closing the door he stopped me and said, “Isabelle? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight,” I smiled and shut the door behind me. Walking back to my room I heard my parents talking about the journal downstairs.
“I can’t believe I never put two and two together. He has all the same symptoms my father had,” my mom said and then slammed the notebook down heavily on the counter.
“Of course we wouldn’t have thought that, sweetheart. Everyone wants their children to be as healthy as possible. We were just ignoring what we didn’t want to be true. But he doesn’t have all the symptoms. His speech is fine and he doesn’t have any seizures. I think we’re getting too worked up about this,” Dad said trying to calm her down.
“You’re right,” Mom sighed. “Let’s just go to bed and then call his doctor in the morning.”

I hurried into bed before they came upstairs. I tried to block everything out and get some sleep and hope for a better day in the morning.

My dad shook me awake and told me that we had to go to the hospital. I was in shock. A million questions flooded my mind. “Where’s Cam?” I immediately asked.

“He’s already there with mom,” my dad told me. “He had a seizure this morning. We’ve got to figure out what’s wrong with your brother, Isabelle, and we’d feel more comfortable if he was there.”

My lips couldn’t form words. This wasn’t real, I thought. “I’m not ready to see him like that,” I managed to tell my dad. My parents took turns at the hospital and staying home with me. It was a long time until I brought myself to visit my brother. I made use of my time working on a project. Something I thought would help him. I was positive it would fix him. It was personal to us.

I was told that over the days, Cam’s conditions were only getting worse. He was losing his speech and eye sight. The doctor’s still couldn’t put their finger on why these things were happening or how to cure him. I was confident that I could help Cam more than any doctor could. I walked in the hospital room afraid of what I might see, but sure enough it was the same old Cam, optimistic as ever and a huge smile lit up his face at the sound of my voice.

“Hi Cam, I brought something for you,” I told him and set the canvas on his lap and let him run his hands over the dried pant. “Can you see it, Cam?” I asked him hopefully. He shook his head sadly. I went on to explain what I painted for him, “It’s our garden, Cam. I worked so hard to paint it for you. I hope it being in this room with you will help you feel better.” I hung the painting right above his bed in hopes it would help him.

I was disappointed that Cam couldn’t see how well I captured our garden in my brush strokes. I bet he missed the warm sun and the smell of the daffodil’s after being in a hospital room for so long. I thought the presence of my painting would at least help him remember the tranquil place where he’d sit in the dirt under the sun shining through the foliage. I prayed that the painting would miraculously make him well, like the garden had always relieved problems when things got tough. But, it looked like we were on our own. Once I saw him, I couldn’t just leave. I pulled a chair right by his hospital bed and parked myself there. I tucked my fingers into his and didn’t move.

He didn’t talk much those last days. Doctors came in and out saying things I didn’t understand, and my parents hurried around all discombobulated. I knew it was the end. I held on to my brother and made every last moment I had with him count. Our fingers were still interlocked as he passed peacefully in his sleep.

We took him back home for his funeral in the garden. It was the only location that felt right. I wanted to protect him in that way because I couldn’t prevent what had happened. That was our place, the only place where he felt safe. Having him close gave me peace of mind and reassurance. I could look out at the sun peeking through the leaves shading the garden and know that Cam was smiling down at me. He will always be safe in our secure place, and in my heart.