We were best friends, [we had] fun to our heart’s content, swing sets soaring high, in the sky. I could only muster up a few memories of the times we had, chance encounters came to mind, so much more hidden behind a padlocked vault, longing, waiting to be opened, if only I could find the key. Random moments of the past that came flooding back, though gone as quickly as they came – mere ghosts of the past brushing against my mind, but disappearing without a trace. I could not remember the last time we hung out. All I do know is that it all became but memory then, and I was forced to say goodbye. Ultimately, even that memory would fade, leaving me with questions that only you might be able to answer.
I sit beneath the rustling trees, under the breeze, thinking of where you might be now, of who you became and what you do, and where we might meet now. Keeping loose ends unresolved and maintaining the flames of dispute were never my forte. I knew I had to start somewhere. But, where would I go? Who could I talk to, the bridges that crossed the vast expanse between you and I? Who would know better than neighbours we all used to be close to? So I set out on this quest to satisfy my curiosity and to put together those scattered pieces of this puzzle. With time as my greatest adversary, each moment that passed was a moment forgotten.
All these thoughts run through my mind as I gently knock on my friend’s door, standing in silence; except for the ghostly howl of wintry winds. The Christmas party has not started yet – I am a few hours too early. I knock once more. I am met with my friend in a thrown-together red-and-green outfit, his hair dishevelled. A freshly purchased Christmas tree, adorned with an assortment of baubles, photographs, among other trademarks of the season, stands out in the backdrop, drawing eyes away from everything else and, with them, for now, these curious thoughts.
“You’re here early! Can you help me set up?” my friend asks, and I agree.
I ask him whether he remembers you. I see his eyes widen with recognition, as his memories come flooding back. If only it were that easy for me. My mind is now a glass half empty. All our memories have run dry. But it’s also a glass half-full of levity, a story of fun and cheer ‘til July, and then some. The only memory that our friend and I share with you, is of some Christmas and New Year’s party, ten years ago, seven years since your move. That memory, in spite of the vast decade that spans the present and then is defined clearly in my mind, for reasons yet unknown.
As I sit there, various fragments of my mind desperately attempting to piece everything together, my friend snaps his fingers to bring me back to reality. He tells me that this Christmas, his parents have invited yours as well. My eyes widen. Will you come? Or will you not? Will I finally get answers? Or will this year end with me right where I was before? The ball is in your court now. It is your move. I wonder what you will do. Your sister and parents will join us, while your plans are shrouded in mystery.
I put you aside for a bit, as my friend decides that it is now time to get to work. I help set the table with confectionery and snacks, as we continue discussing you – if we can call it a discussion, given that more questions were posed, than answers answered.
Time flies by. We decide to take a walk downstairs in the apartment complex, one which boasts some of the finest Christmas décor I have ever seen. Will you get to see it? I wonder to myself, while our friend takes a call. It isn’t you. You probably won’t come. Perhaps my initial instinct was right, I think to myself as I continue to walk.
I sit underneath the stars, Saturn, and Mars, and I can only think about you now. Lights of the Christmas festivities illuminate the backdrop, as I sit in a cozy corner away from it all. I really thought you would be here. Alas, plans change. Hearsay distorts the truth. Perhaps you were never really coming. It may have just been my friend, or perhaps my mind, playing tricks on me. I don’t even know why this is so important to me. Perhaps it is the absence of closure on this enigmatic chapter that plagues my mind. Perhaps it is the curiosity to seek resolution, resolution to some of life’s ‘what-ifs,’ with you as my biggest one.
I am snapped back to reality, by the sound of guests, my friend’s classmates and their families, slowly trickling in. As I make my way back upstairs and join the friends that I do have, I wonder, “Do you ever think of the memories of you and me, or do they elude you too, now?” In fleeting moments of memories returning, I recall the sense of joy that we found in our imaginations, throwing paper balls, pretending that they were made of snow, in the town that used to be our world. Even in the festive spirit, it feels deprived of something, though I cannot quite put my finger on it. Thud.
Snapped out of my thoughtful reverie, I look up. I see you. In the flesh, it’s you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, flustered. Do you remember me? I wonder. You squint your eyes. You take a moment. I am ready to leave, and return to the charade of “not knowing” you.
“I don’t know if you remember me, but, we used to be neighbours,” you slowly introduce yourself to me. You add, “I wasn’t sure, but my friend had mentioned your name when he asked me to come. So, it got me thinking…”
I reply, “Yes, I remember you. It’s sort of foggy, but I do remember you.”
You reply, “Yes, it’s the same for me, too.” You laugh and say, “It’s been a while, a long while.”
We separate from the crowd to catch up for a bit.
And we sat beneath the trees, under the breeze, as dappled rays of amber sunlight hit the clearing. Your eyes lock with mine. I used to think to myself, “Where are you now?” Now, here you are before me, along with a whole lot of history waiting to be unearthed, and a whole world of possibilities and memories still in the works.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now, we make up for lost time,” you reply with a smile on your face.
We sit there for a while, basking under the vibrant orange hues of the sunset, and I can’t help but think, “It’s nice to have a friend.”