Bathroom Monologue: Anton and Anton

Anton sits on his knees before the grave of Anton. For a while, Emil and Yulia's son holds Anton's left hand and does his impression of prayer; at three years old, he no better understands prayer than he does who is buried beneath his soles.

"Amen," Emil and Yulia's son mutters, releasing Anton's hand to rub at his eyes. The drive here has made him drowsy, and Yulia stoops to pick him up. She bows a quarter of the way she normally would, dipping herself and her child toward the headstone.

Instead of 'Amen,' she says, "Thank you for saving my husband, Anton." She says nothing more, and ends her bow. She did not think much of Anton, the drunken shadow of her Emil. She is two paces behind Anton when he checks her, her gaze already on the car.

It is four years to the Saturday since Anton Behrs was blown up pulling Emil from a foundry. That is what everyone knows. They commemorate it on Saturdays because Emil Behrs has never in eleven years missed a day at the exchange, and Anton will not let Emil fail now. He misses absinthe.

Since Yulia looks away, Anton doubles his gaze upon the grass beneath which Anton is forced to rest. Anton says, "It is very hard, losing a twin."

She says, "I'm not telling you not to grieve, Emil."

"We were too alike."

Her stillness suggests that they are not alike anymore. She is wise not to say it - again. She shifts Emil's son in her arms, and he or his jacket coos. Her hip cocks out, desiring to stride, to leave. She never respected Anton. She did not think they were alike. Everyone knows this.

"Could you take him to the car?" Anton asks, still respecting the grass. It could be trimmed more often. Anton will visit Anton more often.

"We'll wait for you," she says as she departs, as though that were in question. Anton will have to strive to ensure it is not.

Anton retrieves his smart phone– a model two years out of date, but two years better than anything Anton ever owned. He slides fingertips until purple and yellow line graphs appear, and he holds them to face the grave.

"They're growing almost as fast as our son. I'm getting the hang of this. Of these two things, anyway. Your name is on a placard at our offices now. There are still so many people who want you. No one wants Emil."

A horn beeps brief, half of a harsh note, and Anton jerks backward. Yulia has brushed against the steering wheel while searching for their son's toys. That is surely what she will say if he asks.

Anton leans until he kisses the grass, then rises to his heels to inspect the damage that grass has done to the knees of his trousers. He picks at thin green strands and murmurs, "I'm doing what I can, Emil. Everything I can."


This is a story idea I've had for two years, and dug out for the Friday Flash 4th Anniversary Blog Hop. It's 90 words too long to run in their game, which is a shame, but I couldn't junk it. Eager to know what people think of it, as well as if it fits the spirit enough for me to list.