What law did you break to do the right thing?

The Car Alarm

What law did you break to do the right thing? I was at my grandparents’ house when my autistic little brother started writhing on the floor. His hand was clutching his appendix.

Ow ow ow. Grandma, we need to go hospital. I told your grandfather this would happen.

She interrupted. My granddad scoffed. Our parents were at a work conference, so I tried to prove to my grandparents it was serious by asking Jaime to point to where it hurts. When he jabbed his lower right side, I explained my science teacher taught us this.

First he has autism. Now a little stomach ache is suddenly appendicitis. Stop showing off. Little miss knowit all.

Grandma’s voice dripped with disgust. Jaime whimpered, clutching harder. He stood up to leave the table and suddenly Grandma’s hands clamped down on his shoulders.

You can call it what you want, but in my day this was called being a brat.

I was just about to help Jaime do his breathing exercises when he started violently erupting in vomit. Jaime must have puked for almost a minute straight. Yellow, green, and red blood covered Grandma’s good tablecloth.

See, look what he’s done to my precious tablecloth. This is what happens when you cuddle.

An unbearable wave of terror shot through me. Jaime never pukes during meltdowns, ever.

Grandpa, please stop looking at your freaking newspaper. He’s really sick. Enough. Sit down or I’ll give you something to really cry about.

My parents would have already been halfway to the hospital. Before I could respond, they hauled Jaime to his feet. Grandma held him vertical while Jaime’s little hands clawed at his side and tears rolled down his cheeks.

Walk. Prove you’re faking. Stop the dramatics. These are literally all the appendicitis symptoms. What do you know? You’re 12.

Grandma examined her nails, saying they were teaching him to be weak, just like our parents. I rushed to Jaime while they bickered about discipline. My hand touched his forehead and I jerked back.

His skin was hot. His eyes rolled back. We were losing him. I lunged for the phone, but Grandpa was faster.

We’re the adults here,” he said before unplugging it from the wall.

Jaime crawled toward the bathroom like a worm on hot pavement, one hand clutching his side, the other pulling his body forward. I sat frozen in place, too scared to move. Grandpa stepped over him to lock the bathroom door.

Corner now until you learn to behave.

I tried to convince myself that maybe he really was faking, that everything would be okay, but that’s when I saw it: silent tears. Jaime only cries silently when he’s in physical pain.

For goodness sake, he’s dying right in front of you and you don’t even care. Drama runs in your family.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Grandma rolled her eyes. Grandad cranked up the TV volume, anything to drown out the sound of his helpless grandson losing his life.

Enough.

I spotted Grandpa’s car keys on the counter. They were both too busy arguing about kids these days to see me grabbing them. As soon as I made my way out the back door, I mashed the car key buttons as fast as I could.

It only took a few seconds before the car alarm went off. I pressed again. I didn’t even care that our city had strict noise laws. I just dove behind the car and kept pressing.

Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep. What the hell is going on? Beep beep beep.

Mrs. Lee came out first, then Mr. A Park, then the PSNers. Grandpa burst through the back door. I screamed over the alarm.

My brother is dying. They won’t call 911. He has appendicitis.

Mrs. Ade, the retired nurse, didn’t hesitate. She pushed past my useless grandfather. More neighbors followed.

I kept hitting that car alarm like my life depended on it because Jaime’s dead. Mrs. Unley took one look at Jaime and called 911 herself. Then came the sirens.

Finally, two EMTs rushed in with a stretcher. The female EMT dropped beside Jaime, her hands moving fast. Jaime didn’t even flinch. That’s how far gone he was.

How long has he been like this? My grandparents wouldn’t, I started. Possible rupture, she called to her partner. We’re going hot. We need to move now.

She was already getting an oxygen mask ready. They moved like lightning. He looked so small. So still. Is he? I couldn’t finish my sentence.

The EMT’s eyes met mine as they wheeled him out. Grandpa was still insisting we were overreacting as they loaded Jaime into the ambulance. The doors slammed shut, sirens screaming, racing against time.