Identical Hazel Eyes

Tom heads back through the kitchen, toward the back door. Mom was pruning the tomatoes when he reaches her.

“Hey,” Tom begins.

“Hey, Hon. Can you get me a refill?” she nods toward the empty watering can.

“Sure,” Tom shrugs, picking up the metal can and walking carefully up the rows to the spout. As he fills the can, he hears Mom humming to herself. “Mom,” Tom calls over the sound of rushing water hitting the bottom of the can and Mom’s humming.

“Hmmm,” Mom hums, breaking the tune.

Turning the spout off and waiting for the last of the water to drip into the now heavy watering can, Tom straightens and carefully heads back to Mom.

“What are we going to do?” he asks seriously as she takes the slopping can from him.

“About Bill?” she asks, tipping the can and moving it over the tomato plants before her. She doesn’t wait for an answer before, “I’m going to sit down with him later today, maybe tomorrow, and talk to him. I can’t legally be his therapist, if it comes to that, because of the personal relationship, but I know of someone who I can refer him to.”

Tom nods, not knowing what to say, if anything should have been said.

“Tom, answer this truthfully, okay?” Mom says, setting the can down and pulling her gloves off, putting them together before fiddling with them in front of her. “Did he… say or do anything, maybe inadvertently, to hint at him wanting to…”

Silence falls over the garden. Even the birds seems to quiet their songs from the trees during this time of thinking. And Tom did think. He thought long and hard, trying to remember anything that might have triggered that protective instinct if he’d fully known of Bill’s mental state.

Then it hits him, so suddenly he felt like an idiot for not realizing then. His lips part in an inaudible gasp and his eyes widen as he stare at the dirt path, the scene playing out before his eyes like a movie.

Bill and Tom were in the back lounge, both not able to sleep that night. The side window was open, letting in cool night air as the bus traveled to the next city.

Bill was sitting at the other end of the wrap around couch, in the corner next to the tinted window. Tom watched him look out, studying his profile. Dark circles outline his eyes, and this is not the makeup he wore, it’s from little sleep. Tom knew that Bill had been having trouble falling asleep; he could hear him awake in his bunk, grumbling profanities before he’d get up and go into the back lounge.

Bill turned to Tom, his eyes glassy.

“Hmmm?” Bill called out to Tom. Tom suddenly remembered when they were younger and Bill would be in the state between consciousness and a deep sleep, calling out to him to see if he was still with him. Bill never liked falling asleep last. Bill continued before Tom could respond. “What do you think it’s like to… die?” he whispered the word, almost as if he was afraid their mother would come in and scold him for swearing.

Tom was caught off guard with the question. He was not even thinking Bill would ask such a question when his mind was off in the past, before the band.

“Oh,” Tom vocalized his surprise. “Well, uhm…”

Tom cleared his throat, straightening up and adjusting his pajama bottoms. Tom looked at Bill, his knees to his chest so his pajama bottoms showed off his ankles and his matching tee shirt rose to expose his hip and lower back, watching at he turned back to the window.

“I’d imagine it was… like sleeping, I guess.”

Tom honestly had no clue. He was only 15 – how would he know? He’d just started living, why think about dying? That was, he hoped, years and years away. The more important question at the moment, though; why was Bill thinking about it?

“Really?” Bill questioned airily. “I think it would be like… floating; so light and. . . worry-free, stress-free, ya’know? You’d be weightless because you no longer have a body to lug around. You’re just a weightless soul.”

A pregnant pause fallowed.

“I wonder . . .” Bill thought aloud. “Do you think we’d . . . think? We wouldn’t have brains, but who said you only though with your brain? Sure, they – the scientists, I mean – think they know, but how can you? Maybe it’s really your soul that really is the one thinking . . . Fate . . . or destiny.”

Tom was taken aback. What the hell was Bill rambling on about? Dying and not thinking and destiny? None of this made sense to him, but Bill seemed to think this was the most logical thing in the world.

“Maybe we wouldn’t? Maybe….” Bill got lost in his thoughts.

Tom turned back to the TV when it was obvious Bill wasn’t going to share his thoughts any longer. Tom wasn’t even sure he wanted to hear them. Something didn’t sit right with him. He did not enjoy talking about death, or any form of afterlife thoughts. He liked the now idea. He’d worry about death when it came, and only then.

Tom wasn’t sure what movie was playing (whatever was in the player when the two stumbled back here was what they played, more for background noise than really watching it) but he was sure it wasn’t something he normally would have watched. It was some movie for the G’s, that much was certain.

“Promise me something….”

Tom almost didn’t catch Bill’s words. “What?” he asked.

Bill continued, “Promise me that if one of us dies, we’ll keep the band going as much as we can….”

The only thing Tom could say was “alright” and watch his brother play with the rip in his knee.

“Tom?” his mother’s voice calls to him. “What was it?”

“Oh, God….” Tom whispers.

______________________________________________________________________

You wake at sunset to your body being shaken. Groaning, you try to bury your head into your pillows, wanting to dream just a little longer. A deep growl emits from deep in your throat as the shaking continues.

“Lemme sleep!”

A gasp comes from behind you. “What!? You don’t want to see your best friend after all this time!?”

Your turn to gasp as you sit bolt upright, your arms shooting out around his neck, forcing him to kneel on the bed beside you.

“Oh!” you exclaim, clinging to him. “Andreas!”

“I’m glad you’re back!” he laughs, pulling away and kissing your cheek. “Tom told me you were sleeping, but I told him to fuck off. I wasn’t taking that as an answer—I had to see you.”

He pulls you into a tight hug again, as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real and not going anywhere anytime soon. The two of you stay like that for a good while, just holding onto each other and silently thanking whatever greater being is out there that He didn’t take you this early.

“Why don’t we go downstairs and find Tom?” Andi suggests, pulling back from the hug. “We might even be able to go out back.”