tree houses to rooftops

Childhood. We played pirate ship in his tree house, practically lived at each others homes, friendship being planted since birth. A lazy smile plays on his lips, a smirk that duplicates his smart aleck nature, the title of trouble maker is all over his face. His eyes get squinted, almost disappearing when he laughs at our jokes. His nonchalant saunter is an unmistakably trade mark, slowly taking in every moment of his day. Speaking in an octave lower than what would sound natural. He has a constant serious tone, especially when telling yet another humorous prank he has pulled, making it appear mature. While in his teasing behavior and staged cool, his love never fails to touch his eyes. His sincerity and intense care, I’ve never seen in any other person.

Summer came and my mom’s sickness was at its worst. My deepest horror had come true, my mother was helpless. Fragile. Constant pain in her eyes.  The weight of the world was in my hands.

During her treatment, I stayed with him. He was there when I needed him most. After I put my mom to bed each night, I would sneak in to see him, only two steps across the hall from my own temporary room. He talked with me for hours every night, helping me through one night at a time, often talking until morning, waking up beside each other on the floor, couch or bed. And so my summer went…the pain, his understanding, the hurt, his smile, the helplessness, his hug.

Some days were worse than others, heart throbbing for my mom. During one of those nights, I found him looking at me with his crooked smile. His eyes danced. I followed him in the dark out to his garage where his motorbike was parked, and off we went. We left all our worries behind, flying down the dirt road of my small hometown, going nowhere, but it didn’t matter. We watched those big sky stars. They were so close. We touched them. Home around one, we spent the rest of the night talking. I refused to close my eyes and succumb to sleep. When the sun rose, another day of hell began, until the moon swallowed the sun to give us another night.

I was forgetting my hidden tears, my aching heart. With him, my heart was warm. I was hopeful.  All summer this went, living with my best friend. My mom continued to recover, but the summer had to end.

On one of my last nights, we agreed to meet. I snuck into his room…. one last time. He stood there with his window open, leading to his roof, holding a blanket and flashlight in his strong comforting hands. We sat on the roof that night until four in the morning, talking about everything in the world; promises to keep in touch.

Over the summer, I had become immune to the constant security of his smile, his warmth, his tight hugs, his knowing look when I was about to break. He was there at my weakest moments and made them my happiest. Even his smell, ensured safety. When I visit, I smell his scent, and suddenly I’m in that tree house when we were 5, I’m jumping off the dock into the unknown water, I’m curled next to him on his roof counting stars. I’m brought back to that summertime, when everything seemed to be falling apart but he held it all together for me.

All those nights we spent by the fire, conversations about nothing until the sun rises, sneaking out at night when our worries were asleep.