• “Grey red green white.” A year ago, I wouldn’t have known what it meant. My brother Andy would repeat this tragic phrase over and over. Most people thought he was crazy. But, I knew what he really meant. After many years of pondering what he meant, I finally understand.

    I remember the sun was shining and the grass had the fresh cut lawn smell. The warm breeze put emphasis on the feeling of summer. Andy wanted to go to the park, but everyone was so busy. Mom was out buying groceries and Dad had gone to work. I had to finish a project for summer school. Our oldest brother, Todd, was about to go out to play football with his friends. “Pink, pink,” Andy tugged at my pink sweater.

    “Yes, Andy. My sweater is pink. What do you want?” I sighed.
    “Blue!” He exclaimed as he pointed to the direction of the blue park.
    “No, Andy. I’m busy. We’ll go later,” I grumbled.
    “Renee, I’ll take Andy,” Todd said, overhearing our conversation. “I mean I have the whole summer to play football.”
    So, they left. I didn’t realize that later, I would regret the relieved feeling I had when they did.

    I got a call half an hour later. “Renee, I’m coming to pick you up in 5 minutes. Something…” My mother paused. “Something terrible has happened. Andy, Andy… It’ll be alright,” She mumbled in the background. Then, she hung up. When my mom came to pick me up, her eyes were red from crying. She also looked very tired… Depressed actually. We drove to a terrible sight. I saw police cars and an ambulance. Then, I saw it. Andy was holding Todd, bawling his eyes out. There was blood coming out of Todd’s deformed head, splattering all over his green, football jersey. It was so horrifying. I felt like throwing up. The policemen were trying to pry Todd out of Andy’s arms. I wanted to scream at them but I just stood there, stunned.

    Todd was dead. I guess we all knew that but we still took him to the hospital. We stayed there for a while, mourning for Todd. Andy was questioned by the police and Mom wouldn’t accept the fact that her first born was dead. I couldn’t help but think it might have been my fault. Finally, we were able to let go of Todd and went home.

    Dad was already home when we got there. He was drinking. Suddenly, Mom lost it. She started yelling at him about how he could drink at a time like this. I took Andy upstairs into his room and I went to mine. I silently cried to myself, relieved that I was finally able to let it out. Mom and Dad’s screaming could be heard all throughout the house. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone when I called??” Mom yelled. “My phone was off because I was at work!” “Well, what if there was an emergency?!” “What is this even about?” There was an uncomfortable silence. I could barely hear when Mom said it. “Todd’s dead.” The fight was over. Everyone went to sleep and we didn’t speak of it again until the funeral.

    The funeral was short and depressing. We were all very quiet but the atmosphere was discouraging and gloomy. After the funeral, we got into our old, beat up, white buggy and left. In the car, no one talked. This silence was followed by many more years of silence. There were also many years of drinking, over-working, and depression. It seemed that our whole family gave up on life. Dad drank a bottle of whiskey every night and buried himself in his work. Mom would do chores to keep her mind occupied and constantly asked me and Andy if we were okay. I was just the same. I always did homework and if I didn’t have any, I would find something else to work on. Andy wouldn’t do anything except mumble, “Grey red green white.” This went on for a while until I made an horrifying discovery.

    It was Todd’s birthday. He would have turned 20. We had plans to go to his grave that day. “Grey red green white,” Andy babbled. That is what he’d been saying for the past four years. That was the only thing he said.

    I wore the same thing I do every year we go to Todd’s grave. I wore a long, plain black dress and black heels. We got into the white bug and drove to the graveyard. I climbed out, with the flowers I had bought for Todd.

    Mom kneeled down in front of the gravestone and cried. She did that every year. Andy and I would comfort her by holding her. Dad would just look away.
    We sat there for a while, mourning for him. Then, we prayed for his rest and left.
    In the car, Andy tugged at my dress. “Pink, pink,” he said. “No, Andy. This is black,” I explained. Andy stared at me. “Wait, pink?” I pointed at myself. Andy nodded. I was starting to understand. “Grey red green white,” I whispered. “White,” Andy said, pointing at the side of the car. “White?” I gestured towards the whole car. Andy nodded excitedly. Finally, someone understood him.

    When we got home, Andy ran to Todd’s room. “Green, green!” He exclaimed. “Green?” I pointed at a picture of Todd. “Green!” Andy yelled and nodded. My heart was beating rapidly. What did this mean? Andy pointed at a cut he had gotten the week before. “Red?” I asked. “Red! Red!” Andy was jumping up and down. Andy was explaining the death of Todd then! I sighed. Todd was killed by a white car. Todd was green, the car was white, and the death was red. What was grey? Andy stopped jumping. Someone came in the room. “Grey,” Andy murmured. I looked back to see who it was.

    Father.