Jessie screams out from the other room; something has scared him. The other people in the waiting room look up. Some—parents—look concerned, some make a noise in response, and some cover their ears. I do none of these things; I'm used to the sounds Jessie makes. He's scared of a lot of things and other times he screams in frustration. But mostly he's scared of dying. He interprets a lot of things as dangerous and his brain makes the conclusion that if something looks dangerous it is capable of killing him, and that he should be scared of it, and in turn make an alerting noise. My brother is broken.

         I don't know if Jessie remembers his name. I don't know if Jessie remembers my name. But he doesn't have to remember my name; I don't want to stress him too much. Around the waiting room, I look at the other characters. Somehow, I remember everyone's face from being here so much, so many times. One fourth of the people here are parents of the broken kids, one fourth are kids who are physically broken, another fourth are kids who are mentally broken, and another fourth are parents who are broken too. But I knew all their faces. I only remember one name.

         Today isn't busy. There is Honey—the only person whose name I can remember—who has ADHD and memory deficiencies. She is with her mom. There is a mother, holding her brain damaged three-year-old son. They don't know exactly what's wrong with him but he doesn't know his name. The receptionist calls him William. I was there and next to me is a dementia patient who reminded me of my mom. I stopped looking at the people.

         The receptionist calls my name and I follow the doctor for a blood test. They suspected I was broken too so they take samples and give written tests and they talk to me to observe things that were out of the norm. I just think differently. They take tests every week while Jessie is being tested himself. My left arm is numb so today I ask them to take blood from my right instead. They ask why and I explain—to doctors mind you—that it might not be good to take numb blood from a numb arm. They take blood from the left arm anyway. I curse at them.

         One doctor makes me do a Disney memory game and I have to say which Disney character I'm looking at. I pick one card up and it's a character from a movie I haven't watched yet, but I own it. I put it face-down and try again with another card. It's Sleeping Beauty now. I wonder how she could sleep in one position for that long. I put it face-up and pick up another card. Snow White this time. I flip both cards over and look for matches. I don't remember what Snow White looks like until I pick her up again.

         I come out and see Jessie frozen in the middle of the room. His head pans from side to side. He's surrounded by people he doesn't know. His hands are shaking as they sit on the armrests of his wheelchair. Jessie can't talk but he can make sounds. He can't walk but he can move. The wheelchair is his legs now. A cash register keyboard thing on a try attached to his armrest is his voice now. But I know what he wants by his eyes. He doesn't need words.

         I stand behind him, feeling like an asshole watching my brother be scared and confused by things he didn't understand. Why did I just stand there? I stop just standing there and walk around him to his front. He can't turn his head around. He can only turn it so far. But I kneeled down and touched his hand. Jessie smiled. He typed with his other hand and the words appeared on a two directional screen.

         Are we out of food?

        Jessie sometimes acts as my memory. I forget to buy food when my mom asks and gives me money. Then she forgets she had money in the first place. She asks us questions when we come in with bags of food. We are used to this. Our mom talks to the shapes in the ceiling as we put away the food. We are used to this too.

         I nod to Jessie, sign us out, take the time card the receptionist gave me, and walk out with him. His hand barely moves on the joystick of his motorized wheelchair as we walk down the street toward the grocery store. Mom gave me 30 dollars and my mind ignores the obvious "where" question. I run my teeth under my fingernail to get the gunk out from it. My fingers taste like tea, which is weird because I have never had tea in my life. My eyes come back down to Jessie's keyboard. The little screen is blank, which can indicate Jessie is thinking.

         I put the things that Jessie types to me into a little cart. He remembers what we need and I ask him want he wants. I grab a box of generic chocolate cereal that costs a dollar and look back at Jessie when I hear him typing.

         I want

        "What is it?" I ask. He hesitates, knowing it's a little rude to just flat out ask for something.

         Can we look at Disney movies? I smile and say yes but after we get milk. When we get the milk, we got over and just stare at the movies. I like the cover art and Jessie like the animation; they go hand in hand. He's staring mostly at the movie Bambi. I like the deer. I think Jessie likes it too. I ask if he wants it. He types a short yes. So I take it, put it in my cart, and then we got over to the check-out. I let Jessie put the things on the belt.

         People are staring at us. I know why they're staring at Jessie; everyone stares at a guy in a wheelchair. I know why they're staring at me; I look like a really dysfunctional teenager who hasn't slept or showered in days. I know why they stare, I just don't like it. I hand Jessie the cash and he passes it to the cashier. He gives Jessie a weird look and I feel suddenly angry. I want to shout at the cashier. But I don't because I want to get home, fill out my special ED IQ quiz, and watch Bambi with Jessie.

         I'm in the special ED "unit" in school. I'm not seriously disabled; I'm just not that smart and I can't memorize anything. The IQ quizzes have me review what I know and see if I improve on anything. Jessie and I stay in the same classroom all day and only see the light of "normal kids" at lunch time. People avoid us because Jessie's in a wheelchair and I'm related to him. I observe things around me and I tell them to Jessie. Sometimes his responses make me laugh.

         When we get back home, our mom wasn't around, which made me happy. We could watch our movie in peace. Jessie helps me remember where things went and I gave the DVD to him so he could read the back. I go into my room and fill out some of the answers. I hear Jessie's wheelchair bump into my door and I open it. He is bleeding again. He had found the scissors and tried to cut the plastic off the movie case but he doesn't know how to use scissors. Our mom must've left the scissors on the counter. I get a Band-Aid from the box on my desk and put it around his finger. I hold out my hand and Jessie give me the scissors.

         I finish my quiz and put the DVD in the player the wrong way again. I sit on the floor next to Jessie's wheel. His eyes are glued to the screen. This is his only window into something that isn't life. When something on the screen runs, Jessie feels like he could run too. When something flies, he could fly. When something dies, he always starts crying. But this movie seems okay; tiny animals living life. I like it. My favorite is Dumbo though; I like the music.

         There is a calm winter scene in the movie now. Bambi and his mom are eating. I didn't know what was happening when the music suddenly gets loud and there is running and a gunshot. Why was everything so vivid? I can see everything! Bambi is jumping out of the screen. The music is loud and it's scaring me. The final gunshot is so loud and real that it makes me jump and everything is quiet. I look out of the windows to make sure a psycho isn't there. Jessie's eyes widen when Bambi calls for his mother. I could see the tears forming in his eyes. I take his hand as the choir starts singing sadly.

         "Your mother can't be with you anymore," the big deer on the screen says. Bambi and Jessie start crying at the exact same time. I don't like this movie but I like it at the same time. It feels all too real. It gives me a weird feeling. It isn't bad but it isn't good. Jessie doesn't make a sound but he types something that chills my blood.

         Is our mother going to be with us? I don't answer. He types it again, frantic this time. He gets scared when someone doesn't answer. I really don't want to talk. So I reach over and type three words.

         I don't know

        Jessie cries for the rest of the movie. He feels better when I try making him Mac 'n' Cheese. We eat in silence until our mom come in the house with a strange man. She's dating again? Jessie and I stare at the man. She introduces us to him, mixing up our names again, and then they disappear into another room. Something makes me follow them and walk into the room. Our mom asks if I need anything. I say,

         "Don't have sex, mom."

         "What?" she asks in shock.

         "Don't have sex. If you do, you'll have another kid. I don't want another kid." And mom just laughs at me and pretends like I'm not there. The man gives me a look before I leave. I hope the man was broken too; no one normal would date our mom. I haven't showered in days. I decide I don't need to and went back to eating.