"One day," he said, voice distant and trailing off slowly into the future ahead - "One day, ill make him proud."
It was a promise made to himself that was unheard of by others. Days went by, and it would beat strangely in his heart.
Proud,
Proud,
Make him proud.
He heard it loud enough that on some days it could block out all the noise.
He felt it strongest on Saturday, July 24, When the soldiers lined up, strapped tightly in red coats that hung the weight of war atop their shoulder.
The sun was blazing, coating Tommys face with an odd glow, as beads of sweat lined his skin.
And there was Wilbur, right in front of them, eyes stern and clear, with a far-off sort of coat to them, like he always knew the unknowable. Tommy stood still, along the line of 5 other people, 5 other soldiers, Wilburs eyes fell on Tommy.
With his head held high, chin jutting out, pointing to the mountains ahead.
Something about this boy caught his eye.
Maybe it was the hair, that rested just over his eyes, shining gold in the sunlight. Maybe it was the small crease, a wrinkle on his left shoulder, on an otherwise perfect uniform.
And maybe it was the small bit of himself that Wilbur saw in Tommy.
From head to toe, Wilbur felt, inexplicably that somewhere off in another life, another time, where his distant eyes saw too,
that he was Tommy,
Had felt all his struggles, eased all his pain, and collected all his memories.
He was the boy that stood in front of him.
But alas, as smart as Wilbur was, he couldn't settle for that conclusion.
He decided that what compelled him to Tommy most of all, was the eyes, yes, the eyes.
They were the same, shone the same wonder, looked to the same distant place, and both were circled with a kind of tiredness that time could never heal.
But Tommy's eyes were a brilliant diamond blue, not matchings Will's golden brown, but still, to Wilbur, they were the same.
He steps down the line of soldiers, reaching the one, second to last, with golden hair, distant yes, and knowing face.
Wilbur stood in front of him, and he expected him to waver, to break from the stance of war, but he didn't, He just moved his eyes to meet his face.
A small, secret, smile slipped across Wilburs face, one that told Tommy in a million different heartbeats, soaked in oils and ash from other worlds, it told Tommy that he was proud.
Wilbur brought his hand up, and smoothed the crease from Tommy's red coat, till he looked spotless.
He was proud, for the first time, but not the last, Wilbur was proud of his little brother.