“He Shot Me in the Butt…”

“Elijah’s face is red, so red,” Abigail shrieked. “Look at this!”

I looked.

Suddenly I didn’t care about the time limit on the history test I was taking. Suddenly there wasn’t anything else that mattered.

Jumping up from my desk, looking at my baby brother, I realized it was something serious. This was not a mosquito bite, or a plant sap he’d rubbed on himself. And I had no idea what it was.

I tuned Abigail out, lifting up Elijah’s shirt. His neck, shoulders and arms were covered in red blotches, and it was travelling down the front of his chest.

“And look at his arm- it’s all blotchy and…” The panic in her voice was only rising.

“Mom!” I called. “Momma!”

“She is asleep,” Elijah told me. “Do not wake her up.” He seemed to feel fine. Talking nonstop and building with Legos. But looking at him…

Abigail grabbed him and carried him to our parents’ room. “Hey, you guys need to look at this,” I said, shaking them, trying to keep my voice steady. But I’ll be honest– it wasn’t steady at all.

Passports, cash, Benedryl, and everything else was packed into a backpack. We yanked on Elijah’s shoes.

“His eyes,” whispered Dad. They were absolutely bloodshot.

Dialing the number of a local taxi, I only prayed he would be available. Please, please…

“Mr. William… puedes venir… recogernos… estamos en la casa… llevarnos a Tena…”

It only took three or four minutes. But it felt like a lifetime. Because Elijah was getting worse.

Translating shakily. Adding in where I could. Smiling at Elijah, who now had a fever.

Día de los Niños Holiday. Chupetes. Colada. Pescado.

Pescado! Fish! We ate that weird fish at Diego’s Restaurant!

“He’s having a reaction… allergic?” we explained in our broken Spanish.

“Allergic. Was it food he ate?” the taxi driver asked.

“We think so. His eyes are really red.”

I did not like how fast he started driving.

Elijah had stopped talking. He stopped answering. He stopped everything.

I was praying. And praying and praying. But I still wanted more than anything to get to the hospital with my baby brother.

“William– más rápido,” Mom ordered, aware of the traffic. We turned quickly onto a side road.

Finally in Clínica Galenus, we rushed past everyone into the emergency room. My heart had stopped inside of me.

“Allergic reaction,” said the doctor in English. The rest was in Spanish.

When he said, “I’ve got to give him a shot.” Elijah climbed into Mom’s arms and we had to pry him off.

“It won’t hurt,” I told him. “I remember shots. I used to have them when I was little, too. They’re all good,” I told him. He nodded.

Little by little, the red botches from his legs to his arms disappeared. The solid red coloring of his face and neck lessened. I started to relax.

“Hey, you sure took that shot well!” I said, holding him up, looking into his eyes. They had quickly cleared from the blurry red they had been only minutes ago.

“He shot me in the butt,” Elijah informed me, disdainfully.

“Yeah, I know. You feelin’ better though?” I asked.

“I felt fine! I told you all I was fine and you didn’t believe me!”

It’s good to have the old Elijah back.

 

-Madeline Studebaker