The Narrowed Road

~

Morning comes and off it goes,

Like people come and(ouch!) they go.

 

Some came and gone

Just passing my way.

But few are meant to stay.

The hard lessons of letting go

And holding on

Are left here with me.

~

 My first real bestfriend was a boy my age I met on my first day of school in grade one. I remember his name was “Hanibal,” but I am not sure how his name was spelled. As bleak as my memory of how he looks(I only have a blur image of him in my mind as a boy with a new haircut). So I am writing his name perhaps the way my seven-year-old mind then wrote his name.

Our friendship begun as soon as our first class in grade one started. We met in a classroom with mixed smell of fresh pads, newly plastic covered notebooks, scented erasers, freshly sharpened pencils, lunch boxes, bottled juices(mine was milk) encased in our new school bags. I remember I used safeguard soap when I took a bath that morning for my first day of school, I remember I was wearing a new shirt, I forgot the color, but I can still remember how it smells. The scents of these items always conjure nostalgic thoughts, reminding me of my first bestfriend I lost with the passing of time. We were about to build highways together as friends but we lost it too early in life. The places we reached and contenually explore widen the spaces between us, and narrowed the road that we briefly shared. But in my mind we are always back to that corner in our grade one classroom.

I was seated on a desk in the front row at the right side of the room next to him. A stranger just like all the other faces around me. It was fate that placed us seated next to each other, but it was our choice to become friends. The feeling of being left alone for the first time draw us together. I feel at ease with his presence the moment we first introduced our names. We became friends before our first recess, and by the end of our first day in school, we have found in each other’s company the joy of real friendship. I can not remember any other details of our days together, like I can not recall anything more about him. I just know that he made my first day in school less scarry to the surprise of my mother who anticipated the worse. I easily get over my separation anxieties and fear of strangers, I looked forward to being back in school and I always take home great stories at dinner time announcing to my family my newly found friend.

Days passed. Our school activities progressed, school became my second home. But one day, I found myself unusually seated alone in our desk. “Hanibal” was absent when our teacher checked our attendance. There is that certain longing I understand early on. I waited for him until recess, but lunch and afternoon class came and gone without him. The same thing happened the next day and days after that. Our teacher later on changed our seating arrangement, making me vacate the desk we shared in our classroom where the emblems of our friendship vanished.

I later found out that their family moved to another place and he transfered to another school far, that my young mind is unable to reach.

I was assigned a desk in the second row at the center isle of the room after that. From time to time I would glace at our desk wishing he is back. My new seatmate is faceless in my memory now, like the friends that I had after we parted. I remember only one name from grade one: Hanibal, and he is my first real bestfriend.

I am not sure if he remembers or he also think of me this way. It doesn’t matter anymore. It is sad to think that the road where we first met has narrowed and we never ended up building highways together. He may forget, but as long as I still know how the desk smells, I will  always remember. 

~

You’re like a needle that pricked my heart

My heart, my friend, you rift.

.

Come closer, see the wound in my chest

My heart, my friend, bleeds.

.

Blood filled my pen like ink

My journals, my friend, are stained.

.

Years tinged with pain since you left

The void, my friend, still hurts.

.

Comeback someday and heal this broken heart

Come home, my friend, I’ll wait.

~

“Solitude” oil on canvas, by: Jeques B. Jamora, 2007

___

For Writers Island prompt

“Lost Highway”

visit the island for details

http://writersisland.wordpress.com/2008/04/04/prompt-link-lost-highway/

~ by jeques on AMu2u1430 10, 2007.