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 Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 6:44 pm
Word Count: 749Mid-June 2014
“Whatcha working on?”
Ilian didn’t even realize anyone had approached him, and jumped a little as he looked up to see Sorin standing close by, leaning against the tree he was sitting under. It was summer break, which meant they were stuck at the foster home until school started again. At that point, he would be going back to Hillworth. His brother though… he’d already graduated.
“Trying to get this right…” Ilian glanced back down to the piece of paper he was scribbling on as Sorin moved to join him on the dirt and grass outside the foster home. It was just a normal notebook, but lines had been drawn horizontally in pen with a straight edge, between the already existing lines. What might look like chicken scratch to others was scrawled all over the page in pencil. The notebook was well used and there were folded corners and ink splotches throughout. Sitting in the dirt and grass beside him was an old ruler that had obviously seen better days, and a pen and eraser. A pencil was in his hand, hovering over a space between the thinly drawn lines, as if unsure.
“Let me see,” Sorin reached over to take the notebook, two of his fingers missing from his right hand, and his arm badly burned. But that never stopped him. Even playing the piano. While he would no longer be able to play to his potential, he still taught Ilian just as well as their father had. Sorin hummed softly to himself, bobbing his head subconsciously to the tempo set for the piece.
In Ilian’s eyes, Sorin could do no wrong. Even after the accident, he never saw his brother complain or whine about his hand, or break down over the loss of their parents. He was Ilian’s anchor, the most stabilizing force in his life. He was always there for him, to comfort him and help him through his adolescent struggles.
“You might want to try a sharp here. E…” he suggested, pointing to an area Ilian obviously had been having trouble with. Sorin only pointed, but Ilian eagerly handed the pencil over and Sorin laughed. “Does this mean my name is going to be included as a co-composer?” he joked and took the pencil to add the sharp. Ilian just shrugged, “Of course”. After all, he would be nothing without him.
“You really need to try it before deciding if this is best…” Sorin said, a rhetorical observation to which Ilian snorted humorlessly. While he did have access to a piano, it was only when his instructor wasn’t busy or tutoring someone else. He was lucky that he could even practice at all, so complaining about not having 24/7 access was really not worth it.
“It’ll be easier once we have our own place,” Sorin added as he carefully bubbled in a few more notes.
Ilian slowly lifted his eyes to stare at Sorin as if he’d grown an extra head. Sorin kept his head down, but it was obvious he was holding back a grin. When he didn’t elaborate, Ilian shifted where he was sitting on the tree roots, as if trying to see his brother’s face better.
“What do you mean??” he pressed, his words almost breathless as his chest swelled with excitement that would either be warranted or come crashing down.
Sorin left him hanging for a few moments longer, finishing a strand of notes before he lost his train of thought. “Well… the job I got earlier this summer… I’ve saved enough to get us a place. Oh, and see if Lovely will let you borrow a suit of his. We’ve got an appointment at the courthouse next week.”
Ilian’s eyes grew wider with each word his brother said, frozen as thoughts spiraled out of control in his head, unable to comprehend. What he was being told… it was too good to be true.
“Unless you don’t want me to be your legal guardian.”
“No, I do!” Ilian practically yelled in panic, making Sorin laugh in amusement.
“Alright, well, if all goes well, you’ll be out of here before your birthday,” Sorin laughed, gently patting the notebook on the top of Ilian’s head as he handed it back to him. “Gotta get to work. It wouldn’t hurt to start packing.”
He couldn’t stop grinning as Sorin got up to leave, and he quickly flipped to a new page in the notebook to scribble down the notes that came to him.
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 6:45 pm
Word Count: 749Early July 2014
“This place is a dump,” Ilian huffed, his school bag packed to the brim, and another strap of a full bag over his shoulder. In his arms he carried one more bag and was obviously struggling against the weight and the awkward distribution. “I thought you had a good job…” he frowned as he made his way down the hall to the apartment his brother had leased for the both of them.
But Ilian’s disappointment didn’t seem to deter Sorin’s good mood. “I do have a good job!” he countered, carrying a bag more than Ilian, but having much less difficulty with it. Of course it helped that he was taller and several years older than Ilian.
“Where do you work, anyway?” Ilian grumbled, groaning under the awkward weight.
Sorin just grinned, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
Still, it wasn’t like Sorin to hide things from him, and Ilian wondered if that really was the case for just a moment before deciding that was pretty silly and that Sorin probably was just embarrassed about picking up garbage or cleaning bedpans… Whatever it was, it was definitely a night time job, and Sorin was always washing his hands or showering. But any other thoughts were cut short when they reached a door at the end of the hall and Sorin dropped a duffle bag onto the floor in order to get the door unlocked.
“Sorry, it’s small, but there’s just two of us,” Sorin explained, clearly proud of himself for doing this for them. After all, he was just only eighteen and got his younger brother out of the foster system. And even Ilian would admit that in the long run, living in a dump with flickering lights and bugs crawling on the walls didn’t matter.
Curiously, Ilian glanced around the room as Sorin moved aside for him to enter first. The floor was covered with old carpeting and the walls that didn’t have wood panelling had peeling, stained wallpaper. The place was clearly old but it looked relatively clean, despite the old stains on the carpet.
“Your room is on the left,” Sorin pointed out, dropping his bags onto the floor.
“There’s only one room…” Ilian observed, wondering for a moment where his brother would be sleeping, and then realizing he’d probably be making use of the living room. Inside the small room was only a couple objects. A mattress without a frame or box spring, which was fine because the bed he was used to sleeping on was practically a cot.
But there was something else in the room that had him gasping, his eyes wide. “What the hell is this??” he choked, his voice getting caught in his throat as he struggled to untangle himself from his luggage.
Standing next to the window, propped up on a stand that had seen better days was a keyboard. It was obviously used and worn, but that didn’t matter. Ilian stumbled forward to inspect it, his eyes moistening with emotion as he ran his hand along the keys. It made no sound other than the soft thunk of the keys being pressed and depressing, but he’d expected that of an electronic keyboard. After making sure it was plugged in, he quickly pressed the power button, and a soft hum of electricity waking up the instrument could be heard, but even more importantly, as Ilian’s fingers trickled across the keys this time, a tune was there to accompany it.
He lost himself in the music he was able to create for a few moments, wanting to try the keyboard out to its limits, before turning to see Sorin standing in the doorway, grinning. It was at that moment that Ilian realized how exhausted his brother looked, but he’d never noticed before since he was always so willing to push aside his own discomforts for everyone else, especially for him.
Ilian approached him, wrapping his arms around him, to which Sorin laughed once more, but hugged him back. “It’s not the real thing, but I figured it’ll be better this way. We’ll get you a headset so you can play whenever you want… and I think it takes batteries too, in case you wanted to take it with you anywhere.”
“Thank you,” Ilian mumbled, feeling overwhelmed by how much his brother actually did for him. Getting him out of the system, taking care of him… and what could he ever do to repay him??
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Posted: Sat Feb 28, 2015 6:46 pm
Word Count: 968Mid-July 2014
“Do you miss mom and dad?”
Moving into the small apartment was simple enough. They didn’t have many posessions, so all that was left was getting the essentials they hadn’t needed while living in the foster home or Hillworth. A trip to the local thrift store covered the need for a couple pots and pans, and a trip to the store to pick up groceries was all they needed.
Sorin had his things set up in the corner of what should be the living room, generously giving the only bedroom in the apartment to Ilian. He claimed it was because he worked late hours and didn’t want to wake Ilian up, but somehow Ilian didn’t think it would really matter.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” Sorin answered, stirring the spaghetti in the dinged up pot they bought.
Ilian shrugged, “I don’t know…” He sat at the folding card table they were using as a dining table, his notebook in front of him with the usual supplies of a pen, eraser, ruler, and pencil. “What do you think it’d be like if they were still here?” Ilian mumbled, not sure if this was a conversation they should be having or if Sorin might not want to, or if he would regret it.
But his brother just shrugged. “It’s not like they meant to die.”
“I know that!” Ilian snapped back, feeling flustered now.
“We’d probably be living more comfortably… but it’s not so bad, is it? You wouldn’t have met Jericho… or Lovely,” Sorin pointed out and the tension in Ilian’s shoulders eased a bit, realizing he was right.
“So… you think things happen for a reason?” he ventured, which prompted a snort from Sorin.
“Hell no… s**t happens because it happens, but what can you do about it but make the most of what you have? Mom and dad died. But you’re alive and I’m alive. It hasn’t been as easy as it could have been, but that’s life,” Sorin shrugged, tipping the pot over the sink, trying to strain the noodles without a collender.
Ilian frowned, staring at his notebook. “What were they like? I mean… you knew them better…”
If Sorin hesitated in telling him anything, he couldn’t tell. He was busy making dinner. After a moment he looked up and shrugged. “They were… mom and dad… mom was strong spirited and did what she wanted… kind of like you… Dad was more patient but loved his music. They had their disagreements and fights but who doesn’t? They were happy at least.”
Plates of spaghetti flavored with butter, salt, and pepper was in front of him before he realized it, and Sorin joined him at the table. “Do… you wish it was me…? Instead…”
Sorin frowned over his glass of water. “Do you wish it was me?” he parroted back and Ilian blushed, shaking his head furiously.
“But you’d have it easier than me! I… I can’t do anything… just play the stupid piano. I suck at school, I’m not athletic, I’m not talented in anything else… You… you can do everything. Even without your fingers you’re still a million times more talented than me! And it’s not like I’m not trying. I’m trying very hard! I don’t know why I just…” he came to a halt, clenching his teeth together as he got too emotional.
Sorin stared at his brother across the tiny table, as if he hadn’t realized how troubled he was before. “Ilian…”
“No! If I’d lost my fingers… This is all I have. Piano is all I’m good at.”
“Why are you feeling so guilty for being alive? I don’t resent you. I don’t resent what happened. It’s okay to have lived through a crash without being killed or disfigured,” he promised, but Ilian could tell he knew he wasn’t taking it to heart.
“Look… You have amazing talent… way more than me. My dream is to see you happy and able to do what you love,” he insisted, obviously trying not to show his exasperation and offered patience Ilian could never hope to have himself. But Ilian didn’t want to believe that. How could anyone be so selfless? Sorin had to be saying these things to make him feel better, right?
He heard Sorin sigh as he stared down at his plate with the noodles and faded pink and blue flowers underneath, then felt as his brother reached over to ruffle his hair. “For a kid, you’re way too hard on yourself. You probably get that from dad,” he pointed out, the subtle change in subject having Ilian’s curiosity peaking again.
“I’m not a kid,” he mumbled back but was answered with a small laugh.
“Okay, whatever, kid… Besides, if it’s my cooking you’re upset about, relax. I just got a promotion at work. So even though you think it sucks that I’m deformed, I’m getting by on my own. Maybe it’s like you said and it’s meant to be, or maybe it just forced me to discover that I have other talents. And if you think I’m jealous of you, I’m not. I could still play better than you if I wanted,” he grinned. “Now eat your noodles before it gets cold. And move your work before you get food all over it and then blame me for it.”
Ilian let out a small breath as he moved the notebook off the table and onto the floor so he could eat. He felt guilty for moping, especially when Sorin thought he was being silly. Maybe his brother was right — as usual, Sorin would point out.
“So… will you still have to kill me if you told me what you were promoted to?” he wondered curiously. Sorin just waggled his eyebrows as he slurped up a mouthful of noodles.
“Of course.”
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