A Spoonful of Sugar
Flu season came around every year like clockwork. It was always that strange week between the end of September, beginning of October. The leaves changed overnight and the temperatures plummeted. You could see the concern plastered on the faces of every citizen. They were extra-vigilant, always on the lookout for possible infection. It was an annual ritual; a dance which everyone performed with great chagrin. Healthy individuals avoided anyone who showed symptoms like the plague, and encouraged them to go home and recuperate. It was the considerate thing to do. No sense in spreading germs to everyone in your vicinity, right? Hand sanitizer and pocket tissues flew off the shelves and became fashion accessories. Autumn had made its dreaded arrival.
As for the Hamada boys, they experienced the sickness on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Tadashi had a few sniffles and a stomach bug that kept him in bed for a day, but Hiro was a different story. The illness hit him like a truck. The poor kid looked like death warmed over. His rosy skin took on a green hue, which meant that a bucket was attached to his hand at all times. The mere mention of eating or drinking was enough to set him off. His eyes watered nonstop and his throat was swollen and red. His nose was both stuffy and runny, and his voice sounded like he had used a cheese grater on his larynx. His gait was shaky the rare times he got out of bed, which was only to use the toilet. He lived in his room, too sick to move. Tadashi stayed by his side for hours, thermometer in hand. Hiro's fever never dipped below 102 degrees for the longest time. They went to the doctor and a prescription was given. Tadashi filled it, but it remained untouched. With Hiro bringing everything back up that passed his lips, Tadashi decided it was best to hold off until he was able to keep it down.
Now it seemed that time had come. Three weeks on, Hiro's condition had improved somewhat. He tolerated certain foods and was able to walk around without looking like he had just come off a sailboat. Tadashi transferred Hiro to the living room so he could watch TV and so that he could get necessary tasks done around the apartment while keeping a watchful eye on him. Hiro had just finished his lunch of chicken broth and a slice of toast when Tadashi came up, medicine bottle in hand.
"Hey, bud," he said, touching his cheek with the back of his hand. He was warm. "How do you feel?"
"Zick," Hiro answered, his voice soft and pitiful. His sinuses were still clogged up. "An' my ears hurt."
"Aww," Tadashi hummed. He smoothed Hiro's hair down. "But you have to feel a little better after you ate, right?"
"Jus' a lil'," he sniffled. Hiro adjusted his blanket, sending a dozen or so wadded up tissues that were on his lap to the floor. Tadashi groaned and shook the bottle in his hand. He braced himself, unsure of how Hiro would take what he was going to say next. If he had to guess, though, he would say not well.
"So, since you just ate, I wanted to give you the medicine again. From the doctor. It helped last time."
Hiro shook his head. "Nuh-uh. It's yucky. I don't like it. I'm not taking it." He crossed his arms to emphasize his point.
Tadashi sighed, his prediction coming true. "I know, Hiro, but your fever is up again. 103. We need to try to get it to break. You can have juice right after, okay?"
"No, 'Dashi. It tastes like chalk." Hiro was stubborn for sure, but Tadashi was not in the mood for games. He was exhausted, and life was not cutting him any slack right now. His employment at the restaurant was in question, his final year at SFIT was a nightmare, and bills were piling up faster than he could pay them. Most of the time, he hid just how stressed he was for Hiro's sake, but now it was threatening to boil over in one moment. Still, he tried to remain patient. The last thing he wanted was to snap at his little brother. Hiro was a typical kid; he loved pizza and ice cream, but hated medicine. He couldn't fault him for that. Tadashi had another tactic, however.
"Hiro," he assumed a pseudo tone of authority, "this is not a negotiation. You have to take the medicine. I'm the grown-up here, and I said so. No buts." Tadashi didn't like playing the adult card, but the situation warranted it. He was not going to sit back and wait for Hiro's temperature to climb before he took action. He twisted the cap off and poured the dose into a measuring cup. He held it out to him.
"No!" Hiro jumped up and bolted from the room, disappearing down the hall. Tadashi pressed his mouth into a tight line, forcing a deep breath. Stay calm, he repeated to himself. He placed the measuring cup on the coffee table and chased after Hiro. The apartment wasn't that big, so there weren't many places he could be. Not in the kitchen or laundry room, Tadashi found him hiding in the shower, behind the curtain.
"There you are," he said. "Buddy, don't you want to get better?" Tadashi saw Hiro glance at the open door. He was ready to dart once more, but Tadashi caught him before he could get far. "Ah-ah. Nope. Come on, Hiro." He scooped him up, but Hiro didn't go without a fight. Skinny legs kicked in protest, but he tired out in seconds. The flu was a vacuum for his energy. Instead, Hiro resorted to whining and grumbling all the way back to the living room.
"The anticipation is worse than the real thing," Tadashi assured, setting him back on the couch. Hiro was sulking in defeat. Tadashi grabbed the measuring cup and sat down beside him, holding it up to Hiro's mouth. Hiro stared down at the medicine; a thick, grayish liquid with little white chunks suspended in it. He crinkled his nose at it.
"Just take it, Hiro," Tadashi said, a hint of irritation coming through his words. He scolded himself, adding, "It's not that bad, really."
Hiro plucked the cup from his Tadashi's fingers. Tadashi could almost hear Hiro's brain working in overdrive, preparing himself for the inevitable. A moment later, he closed his eyes, tipping the cup back. He grimaced as the medicine went down.
Tadashi took the cup away once he saw it was empty. "Open?"
Hiro stuck out his tongue to show him that the medicine was gone.
"Good. Good job, Hiro. Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Hiro scowled at him, before it melted into a small pout. "You're mean."
Tadashi smiled, handing him his glass of apple juice. "I know, I know. I'm the big, bad brother who wants to get you well again."
The boy drained the glass of its contents and gave it back, swiping at his mouth with his sleeve. He then rubbed at his eye with a tiny fist. "I'm tired, 'Dashi."
That's not a surprise. "Alright." Tadashi stood up and helped him lie down, propping a cushion under his head. Hiro then wrapped the blanket around himself like a little cocoon, snuggling into its fluffy warmth. Tadashi chuckled. "Silly goose." He brushed some damp hair out of his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Try to get some rest, okay? The medicine will work best that way."
Hiro mumbled a response, eyes fluttering closed.
Tadashi picked the tissues from the ground and cleared the coffee table of Hiro's lunch. He didn't hear what Hiro said, but he was sure it was something to the effect of "never taking that medicine again."