The worst part of life is saying goodbye. If you’re tied at the hip with someone, used to seeing them every day, depending on them when there’s nobody else, how will you get by without them? I’ve heard the saying life isn’t fair, but it seems I never took it seriously before. Now I realize what it means. It means that happy times won’t last. They’re good while you have them, which is why you have to make the most of them. But once they’re gone, all you have are the memories, and memories never fade. This is why I know I’ll have a hard time trying to forget about April.
The day I found out she was moving; I was cold as ice all over and empty as a drunkard’s purse. I didn’t know what to do, because there was simply nothing to do. Her father had died. She had a brother in New York. I should’ve seen it coming, but maybe I was too reluctant to put the pieces together.
I didn’t know what I would do without her. April was different from most girls; she didn’t mind hanging out with a boy. She didn’t spend her time trying out different shades of lip gloss or seeing which makeup suited her complexion, or striving to be popular.
Part of the explanation, I guessed, was because she was already pretty. At least I thought so. She had soft curly black hair and cinnamon eyes framed by black lashes that didn’t need to be brought out by any ridiculous powder. She wasn’t as girly as others either. Instead of staying home, she would come with me when I would want to check out the forest behind my house. She would be the one to suggest we climb a tree, and if I suggested it, she wouldn’t moan and complain about how dirty she would get. I couldn’t find the right word to describe her, because maybe there just wasn’t a word. All I could think of was different. And in this case, different was a good thing.
I couldn’t remember a time I wasn’t best friends with April. Maybe because I was too young to recall much. But I remember that promise she had made me. I remember her telling me—giving me her word, that we’d always stick by each other.
I knew she didn’t have the power to stop this, but she could try. And if it was so strictly unfeasible, she should’ve never made that promise to me in the first place. Because for every promise, there is a price to pay.
* * *
The day she was leaving, I knew I couldn’t face her. My last goodbye had been said last night. If saying goodbye was hard enough the first time, the second time would be grueling. And I was a coward, so I couldn’t face it. I’d already planned this. I knew it would hurt her. I knew what she would think: that I didn’t care about her enough to come and say goodbye. But I couldn’t stand the thought of watching her drive away in that car, getting farther and farther away....
So I skipped. I knew my mother wouldn’t go looking for me, guessing I was probably too upset. But apparently Dad thought otherwise.
* * *
I had chosen the lake at the end of the block to run away too, because it seemed to be the most secluded place I could think of at the moment. There were only a few people wandering around, some with dogs, others with toddlers, but all took no notice of me as I sat on the tire swing on my favorite oak tree, the tree that April and I used to come and sit at every day after church.
I stared out at the setting sun, trying to focus on the beauty of the nightfall, but my mind was elsewhere. Sure, the colors in the sky were beautiful—the orange rays of the sun tinted nearby clouds a majestic pink and red—and I usually enjoyed a good sunset, but not without my best friend sitting beside me.
I didn’t know how long I sat there on the swing, watching birds swoop over the water and catch squirming fish in their beaks, observing little kids running around playing with kites or toy boats in the lake, but eventually unconsciousness tackled my mind. I struggled to stay awake, afraid of the nightmares that would overwhelm me when I was asleep.
So I watched the sun sink lower and lower into the water, until crunching footsteps from behind interrupted my daydreaming.
I didn’t turn, but I was wary. I kept my eyes glued to the edge of the water, completely ignorant.
“Hey, Buddy,” I heard Dad murmur beside me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he sat down beside me on the ground. My right hand clenched into a tight fist around the rope of the tire swing.
I didn’t respond, not caring if I offended him or not. Dad wasn’t one to care much about anything, especially not me. Last time he’d bonded with me was when he’d changed my diapers. And lately, the fights he’d been having with Mom had me thinking he might not be around much longer.
“April’s gone.”
I didn’t react in any way to those words, though my insides burst into flames.
“She was disappointed you didn’t come to say goodbye.”
I guessed Mom had told him to look for me; he wouldn’t have come on his own. Again I stayed silent, ignoring the opportunity he provided for me to speak.
“You can’t stay upset forever, son. You should have said goodbye while you had the chance.”
Nearby, a little girl squealed as her brother splashed water at her. I watched them, hoping the scene would distract me from this conversation....
“You’ll forget about her soon enough—”
“Alright, I get it!” I barked, unable to take anymore. I jumped off the tire and stood facing the lake, stomach clenched into a fist, jaw set.
I heard Dad sigh behind me. “It’s not her fault she’s moving, Lucas,” he said softly. If he was trying to be cheering, it wasn’t working. I’d prefer to stay alone than have him list all the reasons I should forget about her.
“Leave me alone,” I growled, walking forward until my feet were at the edge of the water. I inhaled deeply, trying not to lose my temper.
“What happened, Luke?” I didn’t hear him approach, so I flinched from his hand when it settled on my shoulder.
I shrugged out from underneath his touch, struggling to keep control over myself. I focused on breathing in and out.
“We used to be best friends. Now you won’t even look at me.” He waited for me to say something, and continued when I didn’t. “I know I’ve been busy with work,” he murmured.
I stifled a snort. Work. That’s what he called staying till late at night and then coming home with a falter in his step and his tie undone. The minutes ticked by, and I felt the air lighten when he surrendered.
“Let’s go home, Lucas.”
And that was what annoyed me most of all. He would just give up. I knew I wanted him to leave, but a small, trivial part of me wished he cared enough to try and cheer me up even when I didn’t want him to. That part was suddenly buried under the incompetent rage that overshadowed it.
I didn’t move when he rose, but felt him waiting for me. I knew this memory of today would be etched in my mind forever, and whenever I thought of it I’d feel a physical pain. Dad just didn’t want to see me whine anymore. He wanted me to shut up and accept life. When had I ever thought of him as my hero? What kind of hero didn’t lend a hand when one needed it, or gave up when things got tough? In the midst of trying to figure out what I ever saw in my father, I thought of something he told me once, when I was little.
Sometimes you have to let go of someone to see if there’s anything there to hold on to.
Still shaking with fury, I stood and followed my father to the car.
Time passes, rather quickly to speak of. I think Mr. Reynolds, the elderly man that always hung out by the grocery store, told me that once. Before you know it, you’re old and wondering where your life went. Mr. Reynolds himself is a perfect example. At seventy-three, that man does nothing but sit with a bottle of beer outside the supermarket with his bulldog that is too aged to bother barking at passing customers anymore. He wasn’t always like that, but he figures he has nothing to look forward to anymore and didn’t live up to his potential, so he spends his time watching other people and wondering what it would be like to be them, or if he’d made different decisions in his life.
When my eleventh birthday came, I didn’t have a birthday party. Mom had insisted that I throw one with a reluctant expression in her eyes, so that convinced me. I knew what had run through her mind: I think we’ll be able to do it.... maybe if I take an extra shift.... we’ll have to cut back some more....
But I didn’t want to make everyone even more unhappy than they already were. I didn’t need presents or a cake with candles to celebrate my birthday, like people who go to church don’t need the church to pray. I was perfectly fine where I was.
When January came, a few weeks after my birthday (New Year’s was no different than any other day), Dad announced we would be moving during dinner.
“So,” he sighed, scratching his grubby beard as he talked. There was a worn-out look in his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in ages. “The deal on the house is done, and we’ll need to be out of here in two weeks.”
“Where are we moving to?” I muttered flatly, taking a bite of my food and then a sip of water.
“Wherever it is,” my mother said promptly, giving me a look, “It’ll be fine. As long as there’s a roof over our heads.”
A joyous yelp came from Tyler, who had just stuck his face in his bowl of cereal and emerged with his hair sopping wet with milk.
“Tyler!” Mom exclaimed, and hurried around the small dinner table to wipe his face with the most available thing at the moment—Dad’s napkin.
“Damn it, Erin, I was using that!” my father growled.
His mood swings always baffled me—one second he was his normal cheery self, and the next I was afraid he’d turn green and burst out of his clothes.
Mom didn’t respond, continuing to clean Tyler, who didn’t look at all different than he had before he’d gotten a face-full of milk. Tyler was soon to be three, but I had to admit this behavior was abnormal even for a three-year old. Unless he enjoyed torturing himself, or just liked catastrophe, he wouldn’t act like that.
My father muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pushed away from the dinner table, striding to the living room. He threw himself onto the couch and grabbed the remote, angrily flipping the channels and settling for wrestling. This was the way he usually spent his evenings.
I continued to eat, but suddenly wasn’t hungry. I put my plate in the dishwasher and was hoping to creep back upstairs, before Mom stopped me.
“Where are you going, Lucas?”
I sighed. “Upstairs. I’m not hungry.”
“Did you finish your homework?”
“Yes,” I lied.
She narrowed her eyes, but let me off. “Don’t need any help with it?”
“No,” I muttered irritably and quickly snuck upstairs and into my small room. It was a mess of clothes, DVDs, video games and god knows what else. I cleared everything off my bed before sitting down and looking gloomily out the window. I searched for the moon, but I couldn’t find it.
I looked around at my room that was probably smaller than a rich guy’s closet, at the clutter of possessions scattered everywhere—a blanket over my TV, an old Halloween costume draped over the desk in the corner, my backpack on the ground with its contents spilled onto the floor. My eyes came to settle on the pile of envelopes in the corner of my room, at the foot of my bed.
I took a deep breath and slid over to them, resting my chin on my hands. A feeling I couldn’t describe came over me. How many times had I written to April? And I hadn’t received not one reply. It had been nearly a year now. Had she forgotten about me? Did she simply not care anymore? Was she having so much fun in her new home?
Whatever the reason, Dad seemed to think I should give up. If she didn’t respond to my most recent letter, I would have to stop writing—the money we were wasting on stamps probably equaled half the rent of the house.
I picked up an envelope in the corner, one of the letters I hadn’t sent yet, and probably wouldn’t get to send. I tore it open and read through it once more:
Dear April,
Things around here aren’t getting any better. It seems like you took all the happy with you when you moved. Nobody smiles anymore, only Tyler, on rare occasions. Mom and Dad have been fighting a lot, and I’m sure they’re getting a divorce (I’ve heard them discussing it). Dad’s been crabbier than usual, and is staying out later than he typically does.
School’s the same, except nobody but me really misses you anymore. They all say a year is long enough to get over someone, but I don’t listen to any of them. When are you writing back??? I’ve been waiting forever to receive a reply.... Are you mad at me??? I told you I was sorry, for the hundredth time, in my last letter. Please write back.
Your best friend,
Lucas
I flipped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling; trying to imagine what it would be like if April hadn’t moved away. Maybe I’d be happier. Maybe I wouldn’t notice how my parent’s had been fighting, how things seemed to get more and more difficult as the day’s progressed. She would certainly clear my mind from any of that.
Closing my eyes and wishing I was in a happier place, I dozed off.
* * *
School was always a drag.
Sure, I had friends, but none appealed to me anymore. I found myself wanting to be alone, or, more than a few times wanting to take something from Mrs. Foster’s desk and throw it at her head. I didn’t understand half of what she said, only the word’s let’s go to lunch.
I didn’t realize how tedious the sixth grade could be. It really wasn’t as fun as movies made it seem—where you see kids pulling pranks on other kids, bullies beating up nerds for lunch money. When in reality, nobody really carried around lunch money anymore. So there was nothing to be excited for—when you turned the corner you knew you wouldn’t see a clown juggling bowling pins, you’d probably see Mr. Welch, the assistant principal, who these days wandered the halls and corridors more than usual for no apparent reason. The one thing they did get right was the mean snobby rich kids who seemed to take pleasure out of making others feel self-conscious. That was probably as close to a bully I’d ever get, though I had no intention of ever coming across one anyway.
In the morning’s, when Mom took Tyler to daycare, she would ask me about school, and again when she picked me up. She’d press for details on my day, asking how gym was, who was chosen for the Citizen of the Month this month. And I’d shrug and say it was fine, because I really didn’t want to talk about it.
Something was missing. I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to think about it. I remembered how, a year ago, I used to love when the teacher called recess. Now I sat in the classroom and watched everyone else run around and have fun.
After one night at dinner, when my father was his alter-ego, I stopped at the foot of the stairs at the mention of my name.
“Phil,” said Mom, there was an undertone of hesitation in her voice.
“What?” muttered Dad, and I heard the clinking of his fork hitting the plate.
“Doesn’t Lucas seem.... different, to you?”
There was a long pause, and I strained my ears in case I was missing anything. I was sure I wasn’t visible where I was, so I didn’t worry if they’d noticed me or not.
“Just the hormones, Erin,” he said gruffly, and I heard him slide his chair and put his plate in the sink.
“I’m worried about him, Phil. I think it’s.... that girl....”
There was a heavy sigh from my father. “Just leave the boy alone. That was nearly a year ago. He’ll get through it,” he muttered.
I knew they wouldn’t say anything more, but mostly because I heard my father plunk down on the couch and heard the flipping of channels, followed by his booming voice.
“There’s nothing to watch on the damn TV, Erin.”
“We can’t afford cable, Phil. You know that.”
There was a resigned grunt from Dad, followed by Tyler’s baby voice as he threw his toy car against the wall.
After that night, there was no more mention of me at dinner. Mom seemed more apprehensive than usual around the house, but it wasn’t because of me. I knew it was some other problem; maybe we weren’t able to make the rent this month. Whatever the reason, I was some childish eleven-year old who couldn’t help with anything, so I didn’t bother offering.
