A true story I wrote about my brother.

MY BROTHER TOLD ME.

The phone rang a little after 10pm as we lay in bed watching the movie ‘Cocoon’ and to this day I’ve never been able to watch the end.

When I answered, my mother asked to speak to my husband.

“Why what’s wrong? Can’t you speak to me?” I asked.

She remained silent for a few heartbeats before taking a deep shaky breath. “There’s been an accident.”

I gripped the phone.

“It’s your brother, he’s been killed.”

My husband lay behind me against the pillows – without turning around, I gave him the phone, rose from the bed and went into the lounge-room, shutting the door behind me.

I stood in the centre of a room lit by moonlight, my arms wrapped around me as my fingers dug into my shoulders.

This is a dream. I only have to open my eyes and this nightmare will be over. Except my eyes were already open, I could see car lights driving down the street. How could they carry on as normal when this has happened to me? No, it must be a dream. I don’t have to wake my children and tell them their uncle is dead – don’t have to make phone calls and tell people my brother’s been killed in an accident – don’t have to worry about finding black clothes to wear to a funeral.

Strong arms hugged me tight – not my own this time.

So it’s true then?

“Your mother wants us to get some sleep before driving down.”

Sleep? How would I get any sleep as if nothing had happened?

We pulled a suitcase down from the wardrobe and filled it with clothes. Clothes for me, for my husband and my children - don’t know how long we’ll be down at my mothers, so keeping busy is the best thing.

As I race around the house packing for the trip, my heart pounds so my mind doesn’t think. Then I rest on the bed staring at the black ceiling while my husband snores beside me. At least he can sleep – I’m thankful he won’t be tired during the long trip south.

I hear heavy rain outside and wonder when it began – there had been no forecast for rain. It shimmers on the ceiling through the open curtains and through it I see a road and a white car. In the distance is a sharp bend and beyond that a semi-trailer going too fast. The white car approaches the curve in the road and its driver sees the oncoming vehicle. It’s too late for either of them.

The semi brakes hard, but his trailer is too heavy. It jack-knifes around him and hits the car head on. The front of the car crumples onto the lap of the front passengers, while the spinning back wheels lift a few inches off the ground, before coming to a sudden stop as they bounce back on the road.

The only sound is the hissing of the trucks radiator as it heaves hot water over the rain soaked road and broken glass.

All five passengers in the car are dead and there is a sense of peace.

I sit up and give a small cry and my husband holds me and calms me down.

“Shhh it’s okay, it’s just a dream."

"But it seemed so real."

"I know, go back to sleep.”

“But he told me he didn’t feel any pain."

My husband pats my back and lays me back down beside him while I tell him what I saw.

Over the next two days my mother and I are busy cooking meals no-one wants to eat – dusting furniture that already shines with polish and finding places for unwanted flowers sent by well meaning friends.

My father tells me to let my emotions out, but everyone knows that once the first drop goes over the spillway, there’s no stopping the rest of the flood. So I carry on keeping my emotions in check, not wanting anyone to see me cry, all the time wanting to know what really happened.

A man comes to the house and tells us about the accident. He says that a semi came around a bend too fast. It jack-knifed and hit the car - a white car with five passengers and they were all killed instantly – and it had been raining.

My husband stood beside me as the man told us this. His knees buckled, but I held him up while keeping my eyes on the man. I already knew the truth – my brother told me.