Still Living

 You know there are those people in life that you wonder "how are you still living?" I have one of those. He's my step brother. His life has been one bad choice after another. He smokes, does drugs, and drinks alcohol even though all of these activities aggravate his severe asthma. He is older than me only in age, because he acts like a 15 year old gang banger wannabe. He’s in his 30’s by the way. He has a criminal record, hangs out with disreputable people, has two kids that he doesn’t take care of, gambles constantly, and only does work when it suits him. What amazes me through all of this, is that he is insanely lucky. Things just fall into his lap and then, because he always wants more, he wastes whatever he’s given in an attempt to get more because in his diluted world he deserves it.

 Now, while it has been entertaining to vent about my step brother, I can’t give up on him. Not because of my generosity or a good heart, or through any religious sense, my reason is much simpler. The bastard saved my life once. When we were young, what seems like forever ago, our family went to the beach with our cousins. My stepbrother, who normally did not have time to spend with his family even when he was a teen, preferring to steal hubcaps and hood ornaments, actually came along. It was a great day and the water was cool and inviting, so my cousin and I got on one of those inner tubes and decided to try to swim to a distant buoy.  We were about half way when I decided I didn’t want to do this anymore, it was boring and too much trouble for what little fun we would get from reaching our goal. So I tried to turn us around and swim back. My cousin did not want to and, after a brief scuffle I decided just to swim back. I am a better than average swimmer, and was even at that time, so I pushed off and began swimming back. I began swimming freestyle, and then switched to the sidestroke as I tired, and then finally the backstroke. I continued to swim even though the water kept splashing in my face and interrupting my breathing. After what seemed like an eternity I decided I must be close enough to swim freestyle to the beach, but when I turned I found I was still a fair distance from the shore.

 I swam as hard as I could, trying to get as close to the beach as possible before switching back to backstroke, but a wave rolled over me and submerged me. I continued to swim, pushing to the surface but my wits had been swept away with the wave. I frantically kicked and lurched, throwing my arms forward in a haphazard motion paying no heed to my form or swimming technique. I was drowning, and what was worse is I knew I was too far for anyone to notice. I didn’t scream, or call out, not from any sense of pride but because each time I opened my mouth, whether to breath or shout, water came flooding in. My throat was raw from forcing air in around gulps of water and my arms and legs were tired and sore, each movement harder than the last. When I went under the second time, I took the largest breath I could and, forcing my appendages to coordinate, swam as hard as I could under the water. But when I went to resurface my body finally gave out. I reached the surface, but only long enough to throw my arms skyward before becoming submerged once more. I remember briefly feeling weightless before blacking out, although I cannot say if it was from the water, the fact that my entire body was numb, or some other unknown reason. I didn’t think about dying, or feel anything, there was no thrashing as my body convulsed from the lack of oxygen, just that weightless feeling, seeing the murky green hue of the water, and then darkness.

 A rushing feeling against my back brought me back to my senses. I coughed a few times before my throat was able to take in air, and I open my eyes. I didn’t know what to expect, or who, but I knew I had been saved. Then I looked up I saw my step brother. I had made it close enough that he could touch bottom only barely, so he had to swim at first to get me to where he could stand and walk. He had grabbed me around the chest and, while bringing my head out of the water and swimming forward, he had forced the water out of my chest. He walked back to the beach with his arm around my chest, dragging me, and when we were completely out of the water he let go and I fell to the floor where he sat down next to me. I couldn’t believe he was the one who saved me. This step brother who was never around, who was always getting into trouble so that my step dad would have to go get him at the police station and ruin whatever plans we made, who never seemed to even want to be part of our family. After things settled down and the stories were told my cousin got punished for not coming back for me, even though I told them it was my fault for jumping off the tube and trying to swim back alone. I don’t know if my step brother was congratulated, or even acknowledged, so busy was everyone with my well being and my cousins punishment.

 I wondered how he had seen me, how he had known I was in trouble, but I never asked. I should have, and could now, but all he remembers is that he saved me. The rest of it is lost in the haze of whatever he’s currently on. So ever since then I have tried to repay him for that. Not by any monetary means, he has a magic talent for acquiring money, but just by being there and helping him when he calls. Nothing he has ever asked has been illegal, and I am thankful to him for that. Mostly I give him a ride when whatever, or whoever’s car he’s driving breaks down and along the way listen to his wild ideas about how he’s going to make his money and get what he deserves.

 I could turn him down, or just not answer his calls. I could give up on him like many others have. I could say that, after at least fifteen years of being there for him I have repaid my debt. I do not though, not because saying that would make my life sound cheap, or because I think he is going to turn around one day. I guess I still do it because sometimes, when I go to pick him up, when we drive here or there and he goes on about this or that, I look into his eyes and I see a drowning boy sitting there, and all I can do is try to keep him afloat and pull him closer to the shore whenever he gets too far out into those murky waters to reach bottom.

 I guess maybe my point is that those people that you wonder how they can still be alive, well maybe they have a purpose they haven’t fulfilled yet, or maybe they have and whatever they did, whether they remember or even know of it, someone out there is trying to pay them back for that. Who knows, maybe you are the one keeping that person afloat and one day, when life takes you under and fills you with doubt until you can’t breathe anymore, they’ll be there to pull you ashore.

 One last thing, though. When I pick him up and help him out, when I glance into his eyes, even after all these years have gone by, there are times when I see his young eyes staring back while drowning, and sometimes I see my own.