Jason was about 7 years old when his brother, William, joined the army to fight in the Second World War. It has been 3 years, and he is still waiting for his brother to come back. He talks about his family and how it is after his brother has joined the army.
I used to dislike William a lot. We used to get into fights―well, at least that was what I thought it to be. In truth, he never viewed them as fights; he always laughed and patted me on the head as if trying to calm me down when I was shouting and hurling insults at him. I hated that too. I hated that he was older than me by 10 years, I hated that he was always fulfilling his nice and caring big brother role, and most of all, I hated that he was mother and father’s favourite. [Laugh, shrug] I was childish, eh?
[Breath in] I remembered that it was fall, almost winter, when William left. Mother cried out in tears when she heard that my brother had joined the army; father just embraced mother tightly, with tears welling up in his eyes; and William, he smiled sadly and whispered words of comfort to both of them. [Crescendo, confused, acclerando] I did not understand why they were sad. I was jealous of him, who was able to go to war and fight for honour and for the country. [Pause] I was too young to understand, and too naive.
I remembered my last talk with him, just before he parted. I was sitting on my bed, sulking over the fact that brother was getting all the honour by going to the war and not me instead. I could hear his steady footsteps climbing up the stairs along with the creaking of the wooden floor. I did not look at him, but pretended to look out the window. He kneeled down in front of me and smiled gently. We were silent for a couple of minutes until I felt his strong and sturdy hand on my head, ruffling through my hair.
“Take care of father and mother for me, would you, pal?” he said. I did not reply and kept on ignoring him. I was arrogant and stubborn back then. An insolent brat. “Take care of yourself too, I will be back soon,” he whispered into my ears and clasped my hands. Something cold and smooth rubbed against my skin and rested upon my palm. I looked down, it was a watch, a pocket watch that was given to William as a birthday gift from my great uncle who had passed away before I was born. William had kept it with him for more than ten years as a token of luck and memory. I was surprised when I saw this; since I was born, I had never seen William without his pocket watch. I wanted to bid him good luck, but he was already gone. And then [pause], I cried. I bawled like a newborn.
You know what? [Laugh] It had been 3 years, four months, and ten days since William left. Ever since that day, I had been counting every seconds, every minutes, and every hours on his pocket watch. [Pause, deep breaths, eyes closed for a bit and reopen, piano] It has been 3 years, five months, and six days, and I could still see him. He is just standing there in my dreams, a mere silhouette in the distance, fighting on the battlefield. It hurts when I wake up. It hurts more when I still think he is still in the house, laughing at father’s joke and helping mother with her chores. And it hurts the most, [pause] waiting for him to come back.
~Lest We Forget~