We were best of friends, him and I. We told each other secrets, played together, spoke of our dreams and ambitions. We shared everything together. We were like brothers, and we treasured one another.
He was well off. His father earned enough and his family was warm, loving. He had quite the pretty face too. He always managed to worm his way from trouble, leaving me scrambling for excuses to cover him. He was a wild and bold boy, and everyone loved to be in his sunshine-like presence. Yet he never sought the company of other boys. He always insisted that I, and only I, should be with him at all times, or he wouldn't eat his greens.
Really, he was a handful, a troublemaker. And a charmer. Needless to say, he flirted with multiple ladies way before my first one. His words were smooth, making girls swoon directly into his bed. I knew every single thing he'd done with them of course, since he'd tell me all about it the next day. The first time, I felt sick. A tightness in my throat and a dull ache in my chest. I couldn't understand it then, but I tried my best not to show him my sudden need to vomit.
When the war came, the two of us were drafted. I was put in the clinic while he was made to dig trenches at the front. It was my first time seeing him so disoriented. He'd wake up sweating in the middle of the night, crawl to my side of the tent, and crush me in a badly needed hug. I rubbed circles on his back until he stopped shaking, having fallen asleep. I realized that he needed me just as much as I needed him, the thought making me very happy and fearful all at once. Each day I prayed for the fighting to end, for us to go home. God was merciful, and we were returned to our homes safe.
But we weren't boys anymore. Gone were the days of careless laughter. His father gave his blessing for my friend and his girlfriend who waited for him during the war, to get married. My heart dropped. I didn't understand why I couldn't be happy for him. His eyes, his hands and his smile, I kept thinking that they would all be mine forever. I had fallen in love with him, but I didn't know then. I only knew that I was experiencing heartbreak over my best friend's looming marriage.
Less than a year later and out popped a little baby boy, a little devil like his father. It was the brightest smile I've ever seen from him, the moment when he held you for the first time. His sunshine, combined with yours, threatened to replace the summer sun. He loved you dearly, but he couldn't do it for long. As he laid in bed, he asked me to bring you so that he could hold you one last time. He told me to stay and give him my hand. When I did, he kissed it. Gently, firmly. I know you love me, he said. I love you too, I always have.
It means a lot to me that you visit me today. It must be boring, spending your summer vacation looking after an old man. My doctor pesters me about resting more, but I can't not do anything. I've been seeing him lately. He runs around in barefoot, the sunlight always following him. His playfulness is compelling, and I'm itching to join him soon.
Oh, here he is.
