My Very Own Best Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A boy struggling with adversity and copes in his own way.

Submitted: December 27, 2011

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Submitted: December 27, 2011

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My Very Own Best Friend

 

I had a very dear friend growing up. I will always remember him as the one being there for me when I craved a supportive shoulder on which I could cry. His name was David and he was the only friend I had really as I was kind of special. But he was there for me, in rough and tough. We often made up our own games that we played day in and day out, just the two of us. We didn't need a third person to fulfill the fantasies we so often lived out. We always played outside my house by the great willow tree, that majestically arose from the ground. Our house was built on a meadow, it was distant to civilisation which may have contributed to my lack of friends, but I'm sure it wasn't the main reason. I will never forget David, for he was there for me when I needed him.

A memory that has a significant place in my heart and mind is one of us making our own time capsel. The idea was to make our friendship eternal, so we took an old lunchbox of mine and started to think of things that we considered to have the strongest meaning to us. My item was a small brazz plane that I always carried around. My father had given it to me before passing away in the war, and I considered it my dearest belonging. He died when I was nine. I hadn't even met David then, I was very fortunate to find him shortly after though. I saw him as my savior. He decided to put his wooden dice in the box. It was magic, or at least he claimed it was but somehow he always managed to roll the number he wanted. We buried the box by the willow and swore to each other not to dig it up for a long time.

A couple of months after the burying we drifted apart. I can't distinctly remember what happened back then. I assumed he had gone off to school somewhere or just moved away. But it didn't crush me because I was in a better state of mind at that time. I had dealt with my deceased father and had even made some new friends. Nowadays I can only recall some of our time together, but I want to remember more and that's why I need to find him. I have to find out what happened to him, where he went and how life treated him. Having looked through old government records and state residency not finding anything at all, I realised what I had to do. I had to return to my old home and dig that time capsel up.

So there I was standing in front of my old house. Oh lord, what a bittersweet feeling I had while standing there, looking at my past. I have to admit that the sad memories stood out more than the happy ones. I knocked on the door, feeling weird doing so since I had never knocked on it before. Then my mother opened up and her smile shone as she leaped forward to hug me. I hugged her back and when she finally let go I noticed that the hug had taken a toll on her fragile body, but it was worth it she claimed. After some chit-chatting in the livingroom, I began talking about the reason of my visit. "Mother, do you remember David?", I questioned. "Sure I do. Why do you ask?", my mother replied with a worried tone. "Well, it's just that I have been trying to find him, and I can't seem to track him down. Have you got any idea of his whereabouts?". I saw concern in her eyes as she began her approach to answer my question, "Why would you want to find him? You parted ways a long time ago and I think it was for the best. And no, I don't know where he is, dear." She smiled, but her lips didn't match the rest of her expression, which was pitiful and protective. "Why was it for the best?", I asked in a sincere tone. My mother looked at me and said, "Although he did help you through a difficult time in your life, he wasn't a real friend, my son." "He was a true friend, mom. Like you said, he helped me and he never asked for anything in return. I needed him." My mother just looked at me, knowing that arguing over this was all in vain.

I left my mom and her sad eyes and went out to the great willow tree. It looked more majestic now than ever. The memories were coming back to me now, and it felt like I re-lived them in my head. I went to the barn I got a shovel, a rusty old thing which I could imagine was as old as myself. I started digging and it was not long until I jammed the shovel into something hard. Well, at least the lunchbox was still there. I frantically dug around the edges of the box until I could lift it out with ease. There it was, my old lunchbox. The color of it was a bit faded but I still got a nauseating notion of nostalgia holding it. I carefully opened it up, and there was my brazz plane, but nothing more. Davids dice was missing. Why was it missing? Could he have come and digged it up himself, or has someone else? No, something wasn't right here. I looked back at the house and I saw my mother in the window, peeking behind a curtain. She was crying. And as soon as I saw her she closed the drapes. What was going on here? I looked at the willow again. After standing there for several minutes it all came over me like a woeful wave, forcing me to feel more alone than ever before. Standing beside the willow with that plane in my hand, gazing out over the meadow, a few words echoed in my head; "he wasn't a real friend, my son."


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