The Gossamer Thread
By Judy Omega
start: 5:00
end: 6:07 (DAMN! Why did I pick such a wordy character to write? *g* My comments at the end came after, but I assume that’s okay, as they’re technically not part of the story...)
My dear brother,
I should have felt the moment of your demise, in some unraveling of our twinly plait, in some severing of our spiritual umbilical cord. I should have felt a pull upon my heart as yours struggled in the last moments, and a quickening of my breath as you breathed your last. But it wasn’t until I received word that Madame would be arriving soon to escort me to America that I knew you had expired, for you know as well as I that we shared no such connexion. Nonetheless, I feel your parting quite keenly now, and I promise I shall grieve for you, if only in these final moments of divine distance.
In my defence (our defence, really, for had our situations been reversed, I doubt you’d have felt my ending either), we hadn’t the chance to develop that sort of bond. We lived our lives in parallel, in identical but separate reflections of one another, our only ties to each other tenuous and always through her.
I have no memory of my life before the age of five, and I wager that if I were able to ask you directly, that you wouldn’t either. And since these are the years that spawn the special language between twins, it’s no wonder that we lacked that Gemini gravity. It was as if we were deposited on this earth, fully clothed, neatly coiffed, and sitting up straight in high-backed chairs before our governess:
“Remember your posture.”
“Remember your manners.”
“Remember your place.”
“Forget everything else.”
We were good boys, weren’t we? And every so often, Madame would tell us so, seating herself between us like she always did, allowing the tendrils of her web to enwrap us both.
“I am your Alpha and Omega,” she would say, gifting us both with a smile, moving her beautiful countenance from one face to the next (though she always did look at you first). And while it may have been a blasphemy, she spoke only the truth, and I was devastated when she chose you in the end.
But in the past year, I’ve managed to pull at that bond, the ocean between us stretching it tight, spinning it to a gossamer thread from which I hang, suspended and wrapped within this estate: guarded still, yet freer than either one of us has ever been. And I’ve come to realise that within this distant cocoon there lurks a butterfly, however clipped my wings.
So, in the end, I have you to thank for this revelation. Whatever quality you possessed that caught her eye was my salvation, however temporary. It is a most precious gift you offered me, for I know that, once that distance is bridged, once I return to the web’s centre, I’ll be trapped tight again, like you.
I should have written you before. We should have exchanged volumes of letters. Neither one of us were so inclined, so focused had we both become on our beautiful spider. But perhaps this one will find you when I set it to flame and scatter the ashes. And as for your wake and memorial, it will be performed often, whenever I look in the mirror.
-Andreas
***The spelling is intentional, as I imagined the twins to have been educated by a British governess (no doubt he’s adopted some American spellings by now). I guess I’ve got Andreas on the brain, now that he’s become a player in In Vino Veritas. I may use some of this history later. And while I did go over the hour, I’m glad I gave it a shot! I’m usually terrible at “instant writing”, so I’m happy to discover I could pull something out. Thanks Reb, for the challenge!
-Judy