Remembrance

Well, here I have my first short story. I wrote it during my senior year of high school in a sudden burst of inspiration- or maybe it was Mad Cow disease. Either way, the story was done largely in the form you see it here in about twenty minutes. Enjoy.

Remembrance

They ran around the jungle gym, shouting and laughing, lost in the joyful oblivion that could only be identified as a symptom of childhood. It was paradise, sheer and absolute. Nothing could take their happiness away.

Twelve-year-old Robert opened his eyes. That day had been five years ago; yet it somehow seemed like just yesterday that his older brother and he had played tag in the park down the street from their house. Robert wanted it to be just yesterday. If it were, today couldn’t happen, and Robert and his older brother could still be happy together, still playing, still innocent.

His parents had told him that John wouldn’t be coming home in the near future. They didn’t know that he knew more than that, that John would never come home again. They also didn’t know that he knew why. He had overheard the man in uniform, when he described the circumstances of John’s death. John was a hero, the man in uniform had said.

The insurgents had come from a mosque declared off-limits to the soldiers because the locals didn’t want it damaged. John had held his ground while the others ran for cover. He had kept his rifle level, aiming carefully, giving his comrades precious seconds and drawing fire to himself. A grenade had landed nearby. John had thrown it back and kept firing. Two more grenades came in. John hadn’t stood a chance. He had died where he had stood, finger on the trigger of an empty rifle.

Robert’s mother had immediately broken down. His father had stood there, expressionless, a cold anger rising up. Then something snapped, and he sagged into a chair. Robert had never seen his father look so old.

“Can you teach me how to play your guitar?” Robert pleaded.

“I can’t, Rob. I have too much homework tonight. Maybe another time.”

John must have seen the look of bitter disappointment on Robert’s face. This was, after all, the third time his younger brother had asked him in a week. He sighed and said, “All right. I’ll teach you the strings. Now, this is the C string, and this...”

The man in uniform had tried to break the news lightly, knowing that Robert’s mother was pregnant. He made a point of saying that John was a shoo-in for the Medal of Honor. Robert wanted to know how a metal star made up for John being dead. He wanted to know why John was dead. He couldn’t be dead. He was John. He couldn’t be both at the same time. He was the one that was always saving someone (usually Robert) from bullies. He was the captain of his school’s football team. He had tossed linebackers aside like they were made of marshmallows. He had been trained by the world’s best military. The good guys in the movies always lived, even when they were fighting armies single-handedly. Why had John failed to do the same? Why did actors in movies survive, while John died? The bad guys couldn’t be that tough.

One by one, the kids were yanked to their feet by strong, tanned hands. They each held a bewildered look on their face, as they tried to figure out who the guy was who had interrupted them. Was he a teacher? He certainly looked old enough, but his face showed a youthful anger that teachers never expressed. They watched as he helped the boy they had been beating up to his feet.

“What’s going on here?” the stranger demanded, looking them each in the eye.
The other boy spoke up. “They stole my Game Boy.”
The stranger turned to the other three, his face transformed into a mask of fury. “Give it back to him right now,” he commanded.

The trio may have been bullies, but they knew when to follow an order. One of them reluctantly reached into his pocket and produced the toy, then proceeded to slowly hand it over to its rightful owner.

“Now beat it,” the stranger said. The boys didn’t have to be told twice. They ran to the other end of the playground. John sighed. He turned to Robert. “I thought Mom told you not to bring that thing to school. You knew that it was going to get you into trouble.”

“I just wanted to show it to my friends,” Robert whimpered. He didn’t want to disobey his mother; his friends had pressured him into bringing the toy to school. John seemed to understand this. He sighed again and shook his head.

“Well, we obviously have to tell Mom what happened,” John said after a few moments. “She isn’t going to like this, but I’ll try to soften her up.”

That was John, all right. He was always Robert’s hero. No matter when or where Robert got into trouble, John was there to help him out. Now there was no way Robert could repay his debt. Why couldn’t he be there to help John out, when John needed him the most? Of course, Robert couldn’t go with John when John was called to Iraq. He wished he could, however.

“I have to board the plane now,” John said to Robert. He had already said his goodbyes to Mom and Dad; he always saved Robert for last. “We won’t be seeing each other for a while, so I want you to have this, to remember me by.” John took the chain with his guitar pick off his neck and put it around Robert’s. He kept the pick on the chain so he could play any guitar, any place.

“One other thing,” John said. “Whatever else you do, I want you to be me,” he gestured to their mom, who was just beginning to show the first signs of pregnancy, “but I also want you to be yourself.”

Robert was still puzzled. What did that mean? John had offered no explanation.

It was a huge event. Everyone was coming to the Battle of the Bands, if for nothing else than a cheap concert. Robert sat halfway up, listening to screeching guitars, cracking voices, and banging drums. He wasn’t interested in these clowns; he was merely waiting for his big brother’s band, nicknamed Quick Fix, to make their appearance. He wasn’t the only one. Half the crowd stood up and cheered when John and his band mates walked on stage. They played through a variety of cover songs and their own originals. John’s performance was flawless. He never forgot a line or chord, never hit the wrong string, never made a single mistake. The other members of Quick Fix were equally perfect, and the audience showed their approval. Quick Fix won the Battle, receiving a trophy and gift certificates for their efforts. The next day, the members of Quick Fix, and especially John and Robert, were the most popular students in the school.

Robert took the pick off his neck and looked at it. He thought of what his brother had given him and everyone else. Then he remembered his soon-to-be baby brother. Suddenly, he knew what John had meant.

Robert’s parents looked up when he entered the room. Robert strode over to his bewildered mother, crouched down, and addressed her swollen belly. “I’ll be him,” he said, “but I won’t die.” He then stood up and walked out, leaving his parents utterly confused.

They heard him walk up the stairs. A few minutes later, a few uncertain notes from an electric guitar came floating down from above. The notes stumbled at first, but they quickly grew in strength and confidence. Before long, the notes smoothed out into a slow, thoughtful riff that seemed to echo throughout the house. Robert’s mom broke down into tears. His father slowly smiled, the first time he had done so in three days. “He’s going to be all right,” he said, standing up. “Rob’s going to be all right.”