i recognized him, but didn't know from where.
he was a doctor.
i've seen him before.
we talked and he began to remember.
then i remembered.
he was the doctor who first saw my brother the night before he died.
my mind stiffened not allowing me to continue the conversation.
he didn’t seem like a bad man, he was nice and smiled. he even came to the house to offer condolences.
but he was also the man who didn’t recognize what was wrong with my brother.
he was the man who sent him home mistreated and in agony. he was the E.R. doctor who worked with my brother, an E.R. nurse.
as he sat in the guest chair, i checked the lighting and saw his face close up.
i saw the same smirk that was hovering over my brother in his last moments.
i saw the pain, the struggle, the white bloodless face of my brother as the doctor’s face smirked nothing wrong.
it wasn’t the doctor, it was the flashbacks that made me leave the studio shaken.
it was death coming with a smile to take my little brother and all I could do was be polite and trust him and the doctors.
i trusted them when they said “he’s one of us, we will do everything in our power, trust us.”
i trusted modern medicine with million dollar machines, ten-acre hospitals, and an educated staff.
but death came regardless and he wore a smile.
F.I.H.1975-2006 (alfatiha 3rou7u)
