I have always known my brother Jo as a quiet person. He didn't like talking too much or being around someone who talked too much; he preferred watching movies, writing, and reading stories to socializing. Sometimes, we would joke around, and I would tell him that he was weird because of how quiet he was. He is like an observer.
My sister and I were off to boarding school and would go back home once in a while. There was this time we went back home, and I felt like Jo was different. He was still quiet, gentle as usual, and still a menace at playing pranks. But I noticed something that I was sure I never noticed in him before.
One day, my sister and I were seated in the parlor watching TV. My dad was inside his room taking a nap, my mom was on her sewing machine, and my immediate younger brother was washing his school box outside. My mom had just refused to buy Jo a new watch, and he was a little upset when he went to his room. I mean, I wouldn't blame him—she promised him a new watch, and when he started to press her for it after a long time, she snapped and said she wasn’t getting him the watch anymore.
After some time, and Jo was still inside his room, I decided to go and check on him to see if he was crying. I went to his room, and the door was open.
“Hey, Jo," I said softly as I opened the door a little more.
Jo didn’t notice me and seemed to be muttering to himself. He was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, staring at the wall and saying something inaudible. I wasn’t sure what was going on. It was kind of creepy, especially with the way he switched to different voices.
“What are you doing?" I said loud enough for him to hear.
Jo jerked, surprised, as he turned.
“Nothing,” he replied as he stood up and walked past me to the parlor.
“Hmmm,” I gave what I had witnessed a few seconds of thought before I forgot about it. ‘Maybe he was crying and didn’t want anyone to know,’ I told myself.
A week later, on a Saturday afternoon, I wanted to send Jo on an errand and went to his room. The door was open as usual because my mom had a rule about not jamming the doors shut. I walked to his room, and I met Jo in the same state again. But this time, it was worse, and I was sure he wasn’t crying. He was talking and laughing with the air; he was away with the fairies. He didn’t notice me as I stood there quietly watching him for a few minutes.
I quietly and quickly went to my mom, who was in the parlor reading on her phone.
“Mommy," I said as I tapped my mom.
“What is it?" she asked, putting her phone down.
“Something is wrong with Jo. He is acting strange," I whispered so no one else would hear us. My brother was eating in the dining room close to us, and I didn’t want to make it a big deal yet.
“How?” my mom asked, confused and worried, having no idea what I was talking about.
"The other day, when you told him you weren’t getting him the wristwatch anymore, I went to his room to check if he was crying. And when I checked, he was talking to himself. Today, he is talking to himself again,” I explained my worries.
“Are you sure? Maybe he is just pranking you,” my mom said, unbothered. I understood why she was unfazed—Jo was a prankster and had ideas that you would never see coming. He was good at acting them out, too.
“It’s just a prank,” my mom said as she stood up and put on her slippers. She walked to his room carefully, not to alert him to the sound of her slippers, and I followed behind. We got to the room, and he was still talking to himself.
My mom watched him for a few seconds before she opened the door widely and entered the room. He stopped immediately when he saw us.
“What are you doing?" she asked my brother.
“Nothing," he said with a straight face.
“Then who were you talking to?” she asked.
“It’s nothing ooo, I’m just doing something,” he replied.
“What are you doing?” my mom pressed on. I just stood there and watched.
My brother sighed, frustrated. He didn’t like being asked too many questions. He walked to his drawer, opened the uppermost one, and brought out a book. It was a big, 80-leaves thick cover notebook.
“I’m trying to make something," he said as he handed my mom the book.
“Wow,” my mom was astonished as she flipped through it. I stretched from behind her and was astonished too. It was his first comic book.
After my mom read the book, I took it and read it next. It was amazing.
He was writing a storyline for his comic book, so he acted it out with the air to get more ideas.
