Far, far away.

"Hey! Wait for me!" I ran after him. Why does he have such long legs? He giggles and stumbles a little on the small rock, but he keeps running. Out of nowhere, I feel sorrow enveloping me. He's going to leave me. As I heard his giggles, my running slowed to a jog and eventually to a halt. He loves it. He loves leaving me behind, doesn't he? He can't even wait until tomorrow to leave me. "Hey! Come on! What's the matter?" I broke into tears as he walked towards me. My legs are frozen, my sight is blurry, and I sob. He's here, standing in front of me. He touches my shoulder, more like poking it to check if I'm still alive. I'm dead; I want to tell him. I died the day his mom told me they were going to move away. It's not too far, she said, yet not close anymore, like right now. It doesn't matter, today is his last day here. He's ready to leave here tomorrow. 

 

"Hey, do you hear me?" He crouches a little to peek at my sullen face, I'm embarrassed now that he saw me crying over whatever it is. "I didn't hear you. What is it you said?" I take a deep breath, looking at his face. His doe eyes, small button nose, and there's a smear of mud under his left eye. "I asked you, are you ready to go home? It's going to be dark soon." No, I'm not and never will, I want to answer him. I want to stay here forever. Together like this, frozen in this moment. My heart feels heavy. He taps my nose, waking me up from daydreaming.  How should I answer him? My eyes are getting teary again. I don't want to let him go. He's smiling, but it's more like a sad smile and doesn't reach his eyes like always. 

I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand, and I feel him holding my other hand and pulling me into an embrace. Oh, he surely knows how to make me burst into tears again and again. "It's okay; it's not like I'm moving far, far away into another world. You will still be my best friend, until the day I die, and after." So corny, isn't he? He says that now, but I know better. I have been left before, a few times. They never come back, or if they do, it is never the same. I sob again, still being squashed onto his chest; his shirt is wet from my tears, probably snot too. It's too much effort to make him understand, so I push his shoulders slightly, looking into his eyes, "Okay, we should go home now. It's getting dark." I smile, and he grins. We walk home together, hand in hand, swinging forth and back. Little did he know, that's the last time he'd get to hold my hand.

But not for me. I got to hold his hands again the next day. The difference was, his hands were so cold they froze me. He's gone, he's no longer here, he's far, far away in another world. He left me, and he's certainly not coming back. But he's true to his words, though. I'm still his best friend, aren't I? 

Well, that's kind of a depressing story for an 8-year-old, isn't it? I don't know, I guess I'm okay now. It's been a long, long time. I will dream about him again tomorrow, maybe of the moment when I pushed him into the river, or that time we were running like crazy kids with the broken kites. Who knows, which of the memories will come knocking on my dream door.