"What do you want?" he asks me, from behind his desk, half standing just over his chair. Talking to me, like an employee. Like a stranger.
I guess that's what I am now.
He's so much older now. So much taller. His long black hair, pulled back yet still falling majestically about his face His attire is composed and fits his face in some strange way. No emotion. The blank white over jacket. The suddle black pants. He looks so conceived.
"Mokuba?" I almost whisper his name, but his expression does not falter. Whether or not he heard me, I begin to wonder.
Does he remember me? Does he remember his older brother?
Is it the long hair that has thrown him off? The facial hair perhaps? Or the plain, everyday clothes I've come accustomed to wearing? Blue denim jeans, black shirt and brown utility coat thrown over. I must look like a regular schlum. It kept people from recognizing me on the streets...
"What do you want, I'm very busy. Name your business." He looks at me, as he speaks, but then I catch a glare before he says in a colder tone "I don't have time for a family reunion."
I'm hearing myself, only I'm not talking.
"If you want to gawk at something, do it somewhere else." He waves me off and turns his eyes to his desk, scrambling through his papers.
I wait a moment before I step in, closing the door behind me. Slowly, as I 'gawk' at him some more. And either he does not notice I am still here, or is pretending I'm not, but he continues to look at the muddle of papers laying about on his desk. Talk about organized.
"I heard about the new simulator you made." I say to him as I come closer. "I saw it on the television."
I'm approaching him like a small child approaches a bird in the street. Offering bread and stepping slowly, hoping the bird will not fly away.
"So what? Simulators are made everyday. This ones only better that the ones before it. There'll be others." His wings begin to flutter, but I continue to walk.
When I approach him, I look at his eyes. I can tell they are more distant than they appear. Not really concentrating on the papers he seems to be staring so intensely at.
I almost look down and feel grief creeping into my face.
We stand there for what seems an eternity.. The slightest noises seem to echo throughout the room. His hands shuffling through the meaningless papers, the remote voices one could just barely hear through the door.
These ghosts of uncomfortable silence.
I find myself putting my arms around him. They fall awkwardly about him, over his arms that still hold some papers. His head is still down, and I bend my head down some to rest mine on his.
"It's good to see you, Mokuba.." I say softly. And I just about say it again, almost like I need the convincing.
I close my eyes, tears welling, and almost see this same moment. Only, years ago. Where he'd of hugged me back. Where he would have come running to hug me. Sure, he was much smaller then, but I could just imagine. Bent knees, warm embrace...
I feel his head lift up some against mine, as I hear the slight wisp of paper falling. His hair brushes part of my cheek not covered by my own, and it smells like always...
It's all so familiar.
I want to keep my eyes closed forever. I want to hold him even longer, as awkward as it may be. I want to smell this aroma, and nothing else. I want to hear this silent bliss that has been gone for so long now.
...Oh, these eternities that never last.
to be continued
...i write by your diktat.
...heh... diktat.