Drabble #011:

Wanderer

"Oh, come on, Eddie! I just wan'te play!" Little John Dougherty , only 15, chased after his older brother, just on the heels of the lads and their girls. "Can't ya go out sum'utter time?"

Edward paused in his walk, while the rest of the boys and their lasses continued on. He gave Johnny a conspiratorial wink, "Now, now, Johnny--don't I play with you e'nuff, then? Or have ya forgotten what a good big brother I am to you?" He reached out and tapped the center of John's forehead with his fingertips. "Now, be a good younglin' and head back home; it'll be dark soon."

John was miffed. "But Eddie!" He pouted his bottom lip, which only made Edward laugh. He stamped his foot in the ground, stirring up the dust.

"Now look here, John--don't be a sore lad about this; I've got to look after some things just for me'own sake, then I'll be back home. I'm gonna take Bobby and da'boys with me, 'kay? Be back in no time."

Sniffle. "Will you be back early enough to..." he glanced over his brother's shoulders, but the other teenagers were far away. He smiled at his brother with trembling lips. "Will you come back in time to tuck me in?" It was their own secret little code, one that made them both smile.

"Aye, I will." Edward smiled widely, his grin charming and infectious. John was happy to see it--pleased to be on the receiving end--that he actually sighed, sighed like a love-struck little girl. Hastily he tried to cover the sound with a cough--but Edward's laugh told him he wasn't successful.

"Get along, Johnny-boy--I'll be back later." He patted the younger boy on the head and turned away. "I'm sorry, Johnny."

"That's okay," the boy called after him. "Just come see me when ya return, 'kay?"

Edward waved over his shoulder, affirming.

"I love you, Eddie," John whispered to no one in particular--maybe to the wandering wind.

And maybe that was appropriate.

Edward never did come home that night. He set off to "look after some things" and never returned. He was alive--Johnny knew that--but he never came back to him and that was almost the same as being gone.

Gone, like the whispering winds.

John sang songs from the edge of his balcony each evening, hoping that wherever he might be, the words would find his brother and call him back.