[quote]I wrote this for our Humanities subject, but failed to pass it on time. So I might as well give my effort attention, and share this to you guys. Thought I doubt someone would take time to read this [/quote] My brother Charlie and I are twins. However, we’re the kind of twins who, in spite of looking exactly like each other, is a complete opposite of the other. I’m athletic, he’s academic. I read fiction, he reads nonfiction. I’m carefree, he abides by the rules. In short, he has always been the good twin. But despite the differences, I loved my brother more than anything else in the world. And I know he loved me just as much. My name is Chip. And I have been twin-less since eight months ago. My idiot of a brother died in a car crash and has left me and both my parents devastated. My parents never said it out loud but I can still feel them wishing it had been me, because Charlie is the good twin. He’s the one who was patient enough to enroll in a prestigious university. While I went to the city to follow my passion for adventure and made a living out of how much money I make in being a barista at Starbucks. I went home as soon as I got the news, but I was an hour too late. The day of the funeral, when I was looking down at him lying in his own casket, I felt like I was looking at my own body and I was just a stray soul. But it was worse to think that that was my brother; that was my other half. I decided to stay by his tomb for a while longer even after the ceremony. I took out a stick from my pack of cigarettes, laid on the grass, and stared at the sky until the sun has gone halfway down the horizon to make way for the moon. The next day, I did the same things over and over again that it became a twice-a-week routine. One afternoon three months after, I was making my way to his grave when I saw someone sitting across his headstone. She was holding a bunch of tulips and an unlit small candle. I stopped walking when I was around 10 meters away to her left. She felt my presence though, because as soon as I stopped, she looked up and turned to my direction. Then her eyes grew wider. She covered her mouth with her hand and slowly shook her head. “Oh my God,” I heard her mutter under her breath when she dropped her hand. I stared at her, confused, because I have never seen her in my entire life. But judging by her posture, she could be someone from Charlie’s university. I smiled politely at her, stepped forward and said, “I’m not a ghost. I’m his twin.” She nodded slowly and said, “I know. It just… it feels weird–” “That you’re seeing his face again?” I interrupted. “I’m glad to be a walking reminder of my dead brother. I’m sorry, who are you?” She blinked as if she was finally coming back to her senses and offered her hand. “Spencer. I was very close friends with Charlie back in Connecticut.” I shook her hand to help her pull herself together, “Chip. Nice to meet you, Spencer.” From the cemetery to the town’s diner, Spencer told me more about how he knew my brother; who he was to her. I did the same. I learned that she lives in a town an hour away from ours and she didn’t want to spend her summer without visiting Charlie’s grave. They were roommates in the apartment Charlie took and went to the same university, so they spent a lot of time together. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that there might have been something romantic starting between them, but the potential was lost because of the car crash. Then I told her about how big opposites we were and a few memories from when we were younger. That was the first time after a very long time that I had a real conversation with someone about my brother. It felt good and comforting, because besides me and my parents, Spencer seemed to know Charlie the most. The day ended with two iced coffee take-outs, a pair of goodbyes, and a single line from her which was, “I’ll see you around.” She did see me around because she started to hang around the cemetery more often for the whole summer. She’s clever and funny, even when she doesn’t try. We never ran out of anything to talk about; she eased up the cemetery’s gloomy atmosphere; and every time she talked about Charlie in-front of his headstone, she had a way of making me feel like he was physically with us. Which is something given the fact that I myself am a physical reminder of him. And within those two months, I tripped into something I never thought I would in the emotional state I was in. I was falling for her. The last night of her summer was the last night of her stay in our town. It was also Charlie’s fifth month death anniversary, so we decided to drink a few bottles of beers at the diner, which we did. Apparently, others were also looking to drink away the summer farewell because the diner was packed more than usual. The jukebox was on too. Spencer and I ordered our beers, and drank for Charlie –even though he wasn’t really a drinker. People were starting to dance and sing to the jukebox; everyone was on their feet. The alcohol in Spencer’s system starting to take its effect on her, she stood up and pulled me to the dance floor and sung along with the others. Everything was going so well, and I bet my brother was smiling from wherever he is that I was finally getting a hold of my life again. Then Spencer pulled me close to her, wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her face on my chest. I chuckled out of amusement, thinking that’s how she is when her blood’s drowning in alcohol. Next thing I knew, she was looking up to me and closing the gap between our faces until our lips ever so softly touched. I held her close and smiled against her lips. Then she said in a voice that’s barely a whisper but still loud enough for me to hear, “Let’s do this again sometime, Charlie.” It was a dagger in me. I gave her a few seconds to realize that she just said the wrong name. But she didn’t correct herself and I started to think, maybe I’m the wrong name. I hugged her around the waist, not saying a word and just tried to understand her. She probably just misses Charlie as much as I do. Or she’s too disoriented that she’d accidentally mixed up our names. I looked down at Spencer, who’s now sought comfort in my arms. Right there and right then, there were only two things going on in my mind: (1) that she’s the most beautiful girl I have ever beheld; but (2) she isn’t mine.

Last edited by Pepper (2013-04-18 11:15:24)