Our beacon of hope (fiction)... A short story

"Good evening, brother."

"Hey brother, how are you doing today, and how's school?" My eldest brother replied jovially, as was his nature. It was always gladdening to hear his vibrancy and positive spirit whenever we spoke. He lived in a distant place that would take a whole day's journey by road if I were to visit him, and he had objected to that on a few occasions when I made the offer, which I did not bother to push further.

My eldest brother Kenneth, popularly called Ken by his friends and family, had been the beacon of hope to us, his younger siblings, after our parents had been involved in a road traffic accident that claimed instantaneously both lives some eight years ago. Ken, ever since the incident, has taken it upon himself to cater for his remaining three siblings (myself included) with little or insignificant help from extended relatives. Now, he was twenty-nine years old, with my immediate elder brother being twenty-five. I had recently clocked twenty years of age, though there was no mark of celebration, and our last born, the only female child, Daniella, was seventeen and preparing to enter the University. I knew the burden was heavy on Ken, whose job was barely enough to feed his family. He had confided in me at a point when he felt choked by responsibilities, and this made me worry much for him as he masked his depression with his lively talks. Ken was one rare individual who did not reflect the travails that seemed to overwhelm and consume him.

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I wish I had alternatives yet; none seemed to be forthcoming, and my project supervisor in school seemed desperate to see me fail the project as he barely guided me through, leaving me mostly at the mercy of personal research. This heightened my need to have a laptop (not necessarily a new one) so as to complete my project. Talking to Ken was a necessary evil I had to carry through despite knowing he had a lot on his plate.

"School is fine, sure; trust that you're doing well. And how's your wife and my little nephew?" I replied after battling with the courage to forfeit the disclosure or go ahead. "If it's not a burden, I wish to let you know I'll be needing a laptop to work on for my final year project."

A momentary pause ensued between us both.

"How necessary and urgent is that?" Ken finally spoke out; this time, his tone was low. I could feel my heart pound as though it would burst from within my chest. It was at that moment that I wished I had not brought the conversation up. I knew Ken was willing to go all the way to put smiles on the faces of his siblings. He was gearing his mind to support my younger sister whenever her college admission clicked, and my immediate elder brother had a job that consumed his meager income with numerous expenses.

"I'll find an alternative, brother; let me see if I can continue on my phone for the time being," I replied, knowing fully well that my reply was not the response he expected.

"Alright, brother, be good. I'll get in touch. Stay safe." Ken replied before ending the phone conversation.

My mood after the phone call was sober, though I felt a little relieved that I had informed my brother about my urgent need. Barely a week later, I got a call from a friend of his, or Uncle Mike, as we popularly called him; he lived not too far from my campus. Ken had disclosed my ordeal with him, and he had graciously consented to loan me his laptop for the period I needed it. My joy knew no bounds, as my gratitude was poured out immensely to him. My project was concluded and defended.

A year after my graduation from school, I got a job with Lofty Heights Company, one of the top financial institutions in town, as a manager. After an induction ceremony of one week organized by the company, I traveled down to Ken's residence for a visit, knowing fully well I would be busy after resumption of office.

The sight of his apartment caused my heart to bleed, though he welcomed me cheerfully from the park. He lived in a room and parlor apartment with his wife and kid, barely enough to contain their belongings. The surrounding environment was an indication that Ken's apartment was in a ghetto, breeding a stench that irritated my lungs. After I spent a week at Ken's house, I returned to my base of residence. An upfront payment was made to me by the company as I resumed work, and I made certain I sent a bulk of the money (with a THANK YOU FOR BEING OUR BEACON OF HOPE) to Ken, which was significant enough to get him a better rented apartment in another environment.

Ken had initially refused to take the money, but I convinced him otherwise and made sure I supported him even afterwards with financial tokens.