In Every Universe

2

Metawin dropped the phone into his soup.
In another time, in another life, that would have been the perfect start to a comedy.
But this was this time, this life and it was instead the start of the saddest day of his life.

His most precious baby brother Kiet who had hugged him tight just this morning and drove off  in his bright yellow motorcycle had been involved in a freak traffic accident.

Even as the police officer recounted the events from the speaker of his still dripping phone, it felt like a bad practical joke.

A sink hole opened and caused several electrical posts to fall. Vehicles got trapped under the concrete and the wires.

Kiet was one of the victims but Metawin did not need to worry, the police office said. All of them have been extracted from the wreckage and brought to Mount Providence for medical attention.

Not worry? Metawin wanted to laugh. What part of this whole catastrophe was meant to ease his worry, he did not know.

He doesn't remember how but he arrives at the ER bay and finds himself staring at the structure from the parking lot. He has never been here or at least he has no recollection of ever been here. Kiet and Metawin lived in Great Valley after all - a gated community with five minute access to almost anything they needed. He had no reason to drive kilometers away to this behemoth of a hospital.

Everything about it was strange and cold and wanted to make Metawin run away.

Surely this was a practical joke. Surely his barely 21 year old brother was not here. Surely he was still on his way to Isadora Coast like he originally planned - spending a chill night with college friends.

Of course it is not a joke. It never is.

It is an indescribable nightmare. One that Metawin would never wake up from.

One that Kiet would never come back from.

The doctor repeated the words more than once and all Metawin could do was crumple into the plastic chairs. It felt like he had become stone. He was no longer human or conscious. He was nothing.

It was only when the doctor had to come out a second time, tell another unfortunate human being one more time that they have lost a loved one that the pain ripped out of Metawin's chest and flowed out of his lungs and his mouth.

He did not know if he was screaming or crying or talking. He did not know if he was still breathing. All he knew was that he wanted to turn himself inside out and purge himself of this clawing sadness and anger.

Soon his voice disappeared and he could only cry silently into the poor nurse's arms.

In the middle of his sobs was the consciousness that there was work to be done for Kiet - the phone calls, the arrangements, the cremation, the payments. He needed to be there for Kiet in death as he was there for him in life. That's what big brothers do after all.

He forces himself to get up and that's when he sees the other grieving man.

The man was hauntingly handsome and still as a statue. His grief was quiet but all consuming, you could practically see it seeping through his pores. Metawin wanted to come over and squeeze his arm or give a small nod - a recognition of one broken person to another.

But then this complete stranger called Metawin's name, asking him to stay away.

At first, Metawin thought this man was accusing Kiet of causing the accident. He wanted to defend his brother - no, it was no one's fault. His brother is a victim of whatever cruel joke the universe was playing on innocent souls today.

But then he realizes this man called him by name. 

- - -

Metawin stares at the beautiful man's sleeping face.

For the thousandth time he wonders who he is and how he knew his name.

They were both in a hospital room. The man - the nurse had said his name is Bright - lay on the bed, not having woken up since he fainted last night.

Win did not plan on staying, he wanted to go home and never leave his own bedroom again but the nurses liked to talk and it was inevitable that he find out that Bright had no other family - he and his deceased wife were both orphans and had no kids.

Bright is a widower and if Win left, he would wake up alone in a hospital bed, maybe without even the means to pay for his stay.

Win decided he could not add guilt to the avalanche of sadness he was already drowning in. Besides, it felt somewhat better to be with someone as he cried through the night - even if that someone was unconscious.

It was morning now. Sun streaming into the bland, dreary room. Win could see himself from the small mirror hanging just above the medicine tray.

He looked like death. Which was more or less fitting given his circumstances.

His bones screamed for rest and his gut screamed for food - but he could not bring himself to indulge either.

Today, he was making funeral arrangements. Today, he was due to visit his brother at the morgue.

Tears escape his eyes once more.

He hastily wipes them away.

He needed to get a move on. Needed to do something, anything before he too collapsed on the floor and let grief pin him down forever.

Win approaches the sleeping man on the bed and his heart aches for him too. His heart aches for all the families who had to go through this senseless loss.

He looks around for a pen and a paper and he quickly scribbles a note:

"Bright,
I had to go and talk to the funeral director. In case you wake up before I return, don't worry okay? The doctors said you should be fine with some rest. And I took care of your bill. If you can, wait for me to return. If not, I understand. Condolences Bright. This has been horrific.

If you don't mind me asking, how do you know my name? Did we know each other from before?

Here's my number just in case..."

It was longer than he intended but he found that once he started writing he found it hard to stop. He had to will himself away from the paper lest his note turn into a journal entry.

He looks at the number he wrote down wondering what the hell what was he doing?

In the end he decides he will leave the note as is, he would like to know how he and Bright knew each other. Maybe just maybe Bright would care to explain.

Win has thought of the possibilities. He could have misheard Bright last night. Or Bright could have simply seen his name on the doctor's papers or whatnot.
But Win could not shake off the feeling that Bright knew him. Not that one could trust the instincts of a half delirious man who had nothing left in him but bones and tears.

Win leaves the note on the bedside table and puts Bright's phone on it to keep it in place.

He steps out of the room and into the cold hospital corridors, not noticing Bright's eyes flutter open and his lips part silently calling out: Metawin.