GeminiA Story by Rocki-sanHow long has it been now since I’ve
seen your face? Your whimsical smile, the wisdom in your eyes, the way you
would crinkle your nose when you were in deep thought? I guess you could say
that it was this morning when I looked in the mirror and saw my own reflection.
“Castor, why did you cover the
mirror again?” I could hear mom from the bathroom, going to cry again even
though she’d just come out of there. You always were the favorite. I didn’t
answer her but sat at the kitchen counter, staring off into the garden as I did
most of the time anyway. I just had no motivation to go outside like I used to.
Why did I cover up the mirror you ask? Well, I do look in the mirror as
soon as I wake up and right before I go to bed, so I’ll never forget what you
look like even though you had the one dimple while my face had grown smooth.
After the one look I can never stand the sight anymore, I just have to cover it
up. Mom came out of the bathroom,
postponing her afternoon cry for a moment. It was the first time she’d spoken,
or even noticed my existence, in a week. I couldn’t blame her, we looked
exactly the same. Sometimes I felt as though I deserved the neglect, as if it
were my fault that I reminded her of you. “Why are you just sitting there
like a lump on a log?” she grumbled as she folded the towel and placed it in
the linen closet. “Why don’t you go get the mail?” I slid of the kitchen stool and
grabbed the key to our P.O. Box before walking outside into the warmth of the
summer sun. I kept my head low, something I know you’d think was
uncharacteristic but my chin refused to lift itself from my chest. I’d reached the town and flipped my
tri-colored hair so that those who knew me would continue to believe my ploy of
being just fine. You had the same hair, brown, red, blonde; our friends always
called us the “calico brothers” because of it. “Hey, Castor!” I looked over to the
Greek café to see said friends hanging out together. As much as it would pain
you, I had been avoiding them for days since school let out for the last time.
I put on a fake smile and waved to them. Hye was the only one to reach me, her
black hair bouncing around in a pony tale as she ran up to me and tackled me in
a hug. “We tried calling you!” She said
and started walking with me towards the café. “Oh,” I said, even the fake
happiness didn’t last. Her smile disappeared as well as her bubbling
personality if only for the moment. “We’re all going to the movies
later, would you like to come? It starts at six and it’s my treat.” She’d been
trying to get me to go with them for months, ever since it happened. “Sure,” but we both knew that was a
lie. “I’ll be expecting you,” she
grinned motioning “I’m watching you!” with her fingers to her eyes. I nodded
and continued walking as she went to join the others who’d just about given up
on me as a friend but that was okay, I deserved it. I walked by the building where dad
worked, I should probably go visit him one of these days. “Should” meaning that
it was another thing that would weigh on my conscience but never be resolved. Finally, I reached the Post Office
and went inside. The woman at the desk had been an old friend of mom’s but I
pretended to be listening to music to avoid confrontation. Sure, she was the
only adult that seemed concerned for my mental well-being but pity was nothing
I wanted. I looked through the stack of mail
as I walked home at a sloth-like pace, it beat just sitting at the kitchen
counter watching pollen float by. Is it sad to say that I’m jealous of the
pollen’s adventurous life? Every bit of mail that was sent to
you I placed in my back pocket, just so mom wouldn’t have to see it and
break-down again. There was an ever growing stack of college recruiting
brochures from Yale and Harvard in a box in our closet. There weren’t any
brochures for me but even if there were, I’d probably just throw them out. I tossed the mail onto the counter
and continued my dazed stupor in the kitchen. I didn’t know how much time had
passed between coming home and when mom came to the kitchen to find something
to eat. “Did you get dinner?” she asked
without really caring and I replied with a lie. “Alright, well why don’t you
gather a bouquet for your brother then find something to do for the rest of the
night? Make my life easier.” I sighed and got up from the
counter again. Just like she never failed to write a note in our lunch boxes as
kids, she never failed to make sure you had a fresh bouquet every week. Mom was
funny like that. I made sure to pick the best
flowers from the garden, the ones mom had me plant and grow for this reason. I
was sure the colors were vibrant, but I could barely see them. The reds, blues
and yellows were all muted in my eyes, same as everything else now. Again, it wasn’t a very long walk
to my destination, just a few minutes and I arrived to the cemetery at
precisely 5:00 pm, just as any other Saturday. I moved the dead flowers from
your grave so the inscription could be read: “Nomiki Areleous, 1992-2010,
Loving son, brother and friend.” I sat down in front of your grave,
mom went into the bathroom to cry over your loss. I came here. It was just as
private and this way you could see that you were missed. I always wondered what
the past year would have been like if the accident hadn’t happened, if you were
still here or if it had been I who was to be mourned. I arranged the flowers so your
first name was hidden, it was less painful that way. Then I could pretend you
were still here, with us, and I was the one down there. You were the favorite,
the smarter one and even though we were twins I couldn’t help but think you
were better looking too and you could always bring even me out of a sour mood.
I sometimes think that everyone would be happier if you’d been the one to
survive. I know that mom, dad, Hye and the others wish you had lived instead of
me. I know I do. © 2010 Rocki-sanAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on June 9, 2010 Last Updated on June 9, 2010 AuthorRocki-sanAboutHey, I'm Rocki! I live on a 14-mile long island where there isn't really anything to do so I write. I'm an Anthropology major and willing to read your stories or books if requested as long as you give.. more..Writing
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