(So, it's been ages and ages since I've written anything. But today I finally picked up some inspiration. Friendship, love and loss are some of the most fertile themes about which I love to write. I think sadness is such a defining thing for humans, one of the things that makes us so alive. I've had the ending of this story, or a version thereof, kicking around in my head for many years. So here it is at last. I hope you enjoy it.
Andrew)
The River
As children, we spent most of our long summer days by the river. There was a spot that not many people knew about; quiet and private and perfect for childhood games. We would hide from each other in the bushes and the reeds. We would bathe and swim in the cool water. We would fight monsters and ghosts and aliens with water pistols and witty retorts. We would become each other’s heroes and laugh the whole day through.
Until the river tore us apart.
Tommy was my best friend. We shared a friendship that only childhood could make possible. We would tell each other secrets and share our lives in ways adults are too scared to.
The summer we were eleven was the hottest anybody could remember. Every night, newsreaders warned of a dangerous shortage of water in the reservoirs and told us to use our water wisely. Tommy’s mum wouldn’t let you flush her toilet unless… well, you get the picture. Tommy said the smell of stale pee was the most disgusting thing in the world. His mum said it was tough luck and we should do as the newsreaders said.
My mum and dad didn’t care for newsreaders, so Tommy spent much of that summer at my house where he could pee and flush to his heart’s content. And of course, there was the river. There was always plenty of water there, and I remember that Tommy and I could never understand the difference between the water in rivers and the water in reservoirs.
That year, we were into video games, and we would pretend to be Sonic the Hedgehog and Tails the flying fox. Tommy was always Sonic, and I was his faithful fox, following in awe. The river was perfect – the banks gave us all the greenery we needed to seek out the evil Dr. Robotnik and his badnik robots, and we could jump into the water and dive down, pretending to be in the ruined cities we had so often seen on our TV screens.
We played there from morning, noon and evening, losing ourselves in imaginary worlds and at the same time forming a strong bond in the real world. Two boys united in play is a recipe for real, lasting friendship.
And then it happened.
The summer was nearly over; the evenings had started to creep around sooner and sooner, but there was still sunshine and warmth before the sunsets. That afternoon, we had been playing in our usual spot and I suggested we go for a walk. We liked exploring as much as we liked our usual places, so we set off in some unspecified direction across the river bank. The grass turned to trees and the river carried on, cutting its way through woodland. The path was bone dry and dusty and we followed it eagerly, probably pretending to be explorers though I can’t quite remember.
Eventually, we came across a point where the river narrowed; the bank on the other side had drawn closer to the bank on our side. On either side, ours and the other, there were huge, rocky outcrops, the gap between both sides probably only a few metres. We both got down on our hands and knees and crawled right to the edge of the rock. We gazed into the water for what felt like hours; where we usually played, the river was calm and gentle, but here the flow of water was fast and loud. We could hear the force of the water, almost like the sound of a waterfall as it rushed through the narrow channel between the rocks. The water was deep there; as we looked into it, we couldn’t see the river bed, just a dark blackness.
I don’t know whose idea it was to jump over. I guess it must have been Tommy’s, because like I said, he was always the leader. He jumped first and cleared the gap easily. I followed him, and though I was a bit scared, I made it over safely enough. There wasn’t much on the other side, just rocks really, so we didn’t play there for long. There was no path on this side, either, so we had to jump back over to head home. This time, I must have been feeling brave, because I jumped over first. I remember Tommy being very impressed, and he did a comedy run up to the edge of the rock before jumping over to join me.
Even now, I can still see every moment of what happened next. Tommy leapt and landed on the rock I was standing on, but somehow he must have mistimed his leap, and he fell in a heap, very close to the edge. He scrambled to his feet, right on the edge of the rock, and tumbled backwards. I ran to the edge of the rock and dropped to my knees, reaching out for him, reaching down. I wasn’t fast enough. I saw him hit the water, and that was the last time I saw him.
The river pulled him under, and within seconds, he was gone.
It took him two days to find his way back to land. His body was found washed up on the river bank, not far from the spot where we used to play.
I don’t remember much about the days after he’d gone. I remember the funeral. Our class teacher, Mrs. Cormican, gave a wonderful reading. Lots of people cried. I didn’t. Not there. Not in front of all those people.
My tears fell in private, in my room, lost in thoughts of ways I could have saved him. I blamed myself for so long. Maybe I still do. I certainly never stopped missing my friend. And there are times when the sadness of his loss can still overwhelm me.
Sometimes, even now, all these years later, I go back to the river. I find the spot where Tommy fell out of my life all those years ago, and I crouch down on the rock, as close to the water as I dare. I stare deep into the river, right down into the darkness within.
As I gaze into the blackness, the sounds of the water rushing past thundering in my ears, punctuated by birdsong and frogs and crickets, with the sun shining down on me just as it always did, I can imagine, just for a moment, that the pain I’ve felt every day since I lost him was just a bad dream.
I can hear his laughter and his voice; see his smile, eleven years old forever, unchanged and untainted by the cruelties of the world. There, by the river that tore us apart, I can almost find him again.
It’s the closest I’ll ever get to him now.
