Of Comedies and Tragedies

Part 2 - Wait in Vain

Duo was barely twelve when he heard about his parents' death. They were killed while crossing a road by a drunk driver. It was his brother's birthday. And he had a cake to eat. His brother came in his parents' car that day. He had not understood.

Not in the principle office he was summoned to after school. They kept the news from him while waiting for his brother to pick him up. They were solemnly quiet. Duo had to fill the silence himself. He chattered aimlessly about the day's passing and entertained himself with puns no one thought were funny. He kept note of the passing time, looking at the watch on his wrist all the while. He got it from his parents on his eleven birthday and wore it religiously.

He had not understood Mrs. Hunns' hand on his left shoulder as he looked at his watch. He had not understood the sympathy in their eyes as they looked at him. He had not known why they would not laugh at his attempts at humor. He had not understood why their smiles were so bitter at the same time so unreal. He stopped talking. He concentrated on the things he knew.

What he did know was, it was 2.57pm when his brother arrived, 3.11pm when they left the school, 4.35pm when they reached Grandma's house and 5.06pm when his brother broke the news of mum's and dad's death to him. It was his brother's birthday and he hadn't had any cake.

His brother sobbed into his clothes as he held him, lying his head on the same shoulder Mrs. Hunns had her hand on. His Grandma was nowhere to be seen. Probably at the morgue, identifying his parents' bodies, he was not sure. His own tears never did come.

He got two weeks' off and still, no cake.

For five days he did not talk. He had not cried either. He could not sleep well. On the sixth day sleep claimed him for eighteen hours. The silence was comforting for the first time in 6 days. His brother had not shed a tear since his birthday. The funeral was under its way. A double burial. An end to his parents. A numbing pain.

His chatter came back full force after the burial. It seemed as though he had done his share of mourning. But there were no tears. There was no joy too.

He got used to sharing a room in state of crumbling with Solo at his grandma's place. Their old home was sold. This new place was cramped. It did not bother him the place was slightly covered in dust. It did not bother him the room was stuffy and only lit with one window fitted on one corner of the room between his and Solo's bed. What bothered him was Solo's increased nights spent away from the room. He cleaned the room from head to toe, scrubbing furiously at the wooden floors, wiping the slightly cracked lamp on the bed stand under the window, washing the curtains, cleaning out the closets. Solo remained unreturned most of the nights, but he kept cleaning anyway.

He spoke little to his grandma. He talked non-stop in his classes. He was never sent out to stand in class. He fought in school. He got himself in plenty of trouble. He was off the hook all the times he got caught. They tried to understand his pain. He never did understand their lenience. He never did understand his brother's absence in his life too.

No one bothered to cut his hair when it got long. No one remembered too. He brother stopped schooling and went on to working. He could never see his brother though they used the same coffee mug. They probably sat in the same seat in the dining room too. He pulled his hair into a ponytail when it gotten beyond his shoulder and in the way. He used the rubber bands his brother kept in their shared drawers. No teacher reprimanded him on growing his hair against the school rules.

He continued to score straight A's every examination. His hair hurt every time he pulled the rubber band off his hair to shower. He got an ibook from his brother on his thirteenth birthday from his brother's twelfth paycheck. He got his hair tied up into a braid by his grandmother while fiddling with his ibook that day. He got a new hair band along with the braid. He kept the note his brother left with the ibook in his private drawers.

Happy 13th Birthday. Sorry I couldn't be there. Gotta work. Keep up your cool grades. Be with you every way. - From your old bro.

Duo was a little over fourteen when Grandma died. She died in her sleep. That was the day he thought he could finally get used to the strange braid growing behind his head. He did not cry after all. He thought perhaps his tear ducts were impaired after his parents died. That was why he never did cry ever since.

The funeral was rushed and quiet. Very few people came and the body was hurriedly cremated. Solo went back home everyday punctually at eight after the funeral day.

Duo was guilty. Guilty of feeling a perverse sense of relief. Guilty of feeling glad because Grandma is dead. Guilty because in that way, his brother had to come home at eight everyday. But he was happy. He set aside his homework he used to do studiously when his brother was not around. They chatted over dinner and laughed over the same television programme. He felt happiness and he felt guilt. He felt happiness and he felt guilt. Perhaps to him, they were all the same.

Good things were not made to last. Solo old habits returned as fast as it came. It was barely 5 months before Solo started to fall back to his old ways.

Duo began to cook, do laundry and clean the whole house religiously. The house was not covered in filth but Duo never could stop. Was the house not fit for Solo to live in? Was the place too small? He cleared the old room of grandma and moved himself into it. Solo's stuff remained in the bigger room of the two. Was he lacking the money so he had to work that long? He started to pay the household dues with his own private savings.

Was it all doomed from the start? His brother had meant to keep him away. He did not know when his brother took the old car and never came back again. He did not know why he went to the spot the old bus stand once stood where his brother used to wait for their parents. He did not even know how many days he had not slept since his brother went missing.

What he did know was, it was his sixteenth birthday he was left all alone, it had been 7 hours and 13 minutes since, it rained non-stop for 2 hours and 24 minutes, 57 cars had passed by where he stood and that he wasn't sheltered from the rain. He was waiting in vain.

I do not own Gundam Wing or anything of it. I only own the plot (if it exists).

A/N: the corrected (grammar and spell checked) version.