Branches Book

BRANCHES

Julia Luisi

LEO

Francois was born on May 8th, in the middle of a storm. This storm had no thunder and no lighting. In fact, the rain had muffled the world around them, so no noises could be heard. When Francois was born he did not cry. He did not scream. He did not even wiggle. He opened his eyes and stared out at his mother and father, reaching out his tiny hand to grab his father’s finger. Francois’ father died two weeks later. He was struck by lightning in an unexplainable electrical storm. Francois’ older siblings (two girls, one boy) grieved for the loss of their beloved father. The night his father died was the first time Francois cried. When he began to wail, it seemed that the world around him stopped and he absorbed the feelings of grief from his family. His screams went on for six days. His mother was at a loss of what to do. She tried feeding him, changing him, burping him, but nothing worked. On the seventh day, his older brother had an idea. He gave Francois his old doll, Leo. Leo was raggedy to say the least. He had buttons for eyes, a mouth made of thread and many holes that had been patched up and sewn through the years. The minute Francois held Leo he stopped crying; it was as if Leo had coaxed him to stop. Nobody thought twice about it. They were relieved to have the crying stop. That evening when they sat down to eat dinner, something happened. Francois laughed. Laughter had not been heard in the normally lively house for days. The laughter made the family drop the forks to their plates in unison. They sat there and stared at one another. Nobody made a sound; afraid that if they did the whimsical noise would stop. Their ears tried to hold onto the laugher, their throats tried to coax it into their lungs. It became infectious, and they all sat there laughing. Francois’s mother laughed with her children, but silent tears rolled down her face. One of her tears dropped onto Leo, and suddenly she felt a movement in her arms. Francois’s tiny hand had reached up as if to wipe the tears from his mother’s cheeks. His eyes seemed to absorb her pain and she finally felt that things were going to be okay. Francois was eight years old when his older brother died. He didn’t cry, he didn’t scream, he didn’t even question his mother after she told him. He only nodded and went back to playing with Leo. Francois would whisper into Leo’s ear and then place the doll up at his ear as if he was whispering back. Too sad and worried about how she would make ends meet, Francois’ mother never noticed her sons lack of empathy or sadness towards the death of his brother. She only smiled because he had a friend, even if it was stuffed.

123