Tory sat underneath the tree, shaded against the noon sun. Laid against his knee, that he had raised towards his chest, was a notebook, opened to a blank page. Tory held a pen in his hand and began to write. Sentence after sentence, he crafted his inner monologue, expositing the pent up emotions that he suppressed for these last five years. Reaching its final form as basic chicken scratch on a page, Tory looked upon the chaotic writing. Numerous black splotches were scattered around the pages from the words he scribbled out. Yet, as he read through his ramblings, he was satisfied. He felt that he acknowledged every fault that deemed attention. He expected only a page of text; he received four. But for what purpose will it serve? Who could he share it with? No one, unfortunately. This he will shield from everything but himself.
"Tory?" he heard a voice call to him. His face glowed with surprise, almost scared as he was taken off guard with his name being called. He quickly looked around him to find the origin of the voice, and, as his heart sank into his body, he found the perpetrator.
"Tory!" Lan smiled as he walked towards him, "What's up, man? I haven't seen you in forever."
"Hey... Lan..." Tory forced a smile on his face, his heart continuing to sink further and further as he realized he still held the notebook on his lap.
"How've things been?" Lan asked, finally reaching the tree where Tory resided, "The team has never been the same since you left."
"Sorry about that..." Tory laughed awkwardly, closing the notebook he held, "I—it, it just didn't fit in my schedule anymore."
"I understand..." Lan replied, "That happened to me when I was younger. Not much you can do about it, unfortunately..." The two became quite for a moment.
"You still play, though?" Lan asked.
"I... ugh, I volunteer for the youth team every friday." Tory replied, "I help them practice and stuff like that..."
"That's cool!" he smiled, "I always wanted to do something like that, but the team takes up too much of my time. And, even during our off season, there aren't any teams playing."
"It's a lot of fun." Tory said, "Kids are a lot of fun to play with."
"I bet!" Lan laughed. Tory began to laugh slightly with him.
"You know, there's this one boy on the team who always seems to miss the ball when he kicks," Tory began to laugh some more, "And, one day, during one of their games, he actually managed to kick the ball down field to his teammates. He was so excited that he started to run victory laps around the field while the game was still in play."
"No way..." Lan laughed with him, "What did you guys do?"
"We kept trying to yell at him to get back in the game," Tory replied, "But we were laughing so hard that we could barely shout."
"Sounds like you have a great time." Lan commented.
"It's so fun, dude." Tory replied, "Honestly, you should volunteer too—" He stopped speaking. He instantly realized what he said. A fog of fear dominated his mind. For the first time, since that day, he managed to overcome his guilt and communicate with an old friend. He was caught off guard. Yet, the guilt still manifested itself within his system. He regretted what he said.
"I'll check it out." Lan smiled, "But you said it was on Fridays, right? We have practice on Fridays..." A moment of silence. Tory was petrified. Did he just accidentally reintroduce Lan back into his life? And if Lan is reintroduced, so would...
"Actually..." Lan's countenance showed that the gears in his head were turning, "Maybe I could talk with Coach about it. Maybe he could let me skip Friday practices in order to volunteer.
"Wait!" Lan's face beamed with eureka, "What if we practice with the youth league on Fridays? I mean, they practice at the park, right? That's only a couple blocks from the school. We could run there, you know? Some practice before the actual practice. It's the perfect plan!
"Plus, we could get to see you again!" Lan nudged Tory's shoulder, "I'll definitely talk to Coach about this tomorrow during practice." Tory's fear was justified.
"That's... great..." Tory tried to sound enthusiastic. Yet, he felt terrible. Is this not what he wished for in his writing? Is this not what he hoped for? This wish will never come to fruition unless he is able to absolve this regret. But that he did not know how.
"What's with the notebook?" Lan observed, "Writing down some thoughts?" He laughed, nudging Tory, once again, on his shoulder.
"Hehe..." Tory struggled to smile, his heart sinking further into the abyss, "N—no... Just... just looking over some notes from class, is all."
"Look at you: studying..." Lan smiled, "You were always smarter than me."
"Don't... don't say that..." Tory smiled slightly, "What you lack in intelligence you make up in skill."
"Make up in skill?" Lan asked, "I must be smarter than I think..." Lan and Tory both laughed.
"You don't give yourself enough credit." Tory replied, "You were always the best out of all of us."
"Now, Tory," Lan pretended to speak in a stern voice, "We talked about this. You were always the better player. We always lost when you were on the other team."
"Lost...?" Tory asked, surprised, "I thought you always won."
"What? Don't get crazy on me, now." Lan chuckled, "I don't think I ever won a game against you."
"Even our first?" Tory asked, "You had to have won that game, right?"
"You mean the game where I almost crippled you?" Lan asked, "You destroyed us. It was something like 0 and 4."
"Oh..." Tory mumbled, looking slightly to his notebook.
"Whenever we looked at the schedule and saw that we were playing against you, that was it." Lan continued, "You should have seen yourself on the field, Tory. You were fast, aggressive, and accurate."
"Your just hyperbolizing..." Tory reddened slightly.
"I wish..." Lan said, "You were quite an asset to our team. We really struggled after you left."
"That's not true!" Tory objected.
"You can ask Coach yourself..." Lan replied. There was a moment of silence.
"What happened to you, Tory?" Lan asked, "We used to hang out all the time and play soccer together, but after I started dating—..." A pause.
A look of concern developed on Lan's face. Tory turned and looked at Lan. He held his breath in absolute fear. Was this it? After all these years, this is how it ends? How stupid did he feel for coming to some place so public like a park! See?! This is what happens! This is what happens when you can't absolve your past! What an idiot he was. What a retarded fool he is. He could feel is heart sinking further and further and further. The emotions that laced his inner soul have been released. Five years of grief and regret, floating to his surface, perverting his very being. He prepared for the worst. He prepared to lose his closest friend. A friend whom he rejected for these last years.
"Tory...?" Lan asked. Tory's heart was no more. He knew what was coming.
"I—It... It's not..." Tory struggled, coming to his feet, "It's not what you think, Lan..."
"Tory... I—I had no idea!" Lan began to speak, "Wha—Why didn't you say something?"
"Lan..." Tory tried to interrupt.
"How could I not have realized?" Lan continued, "Why was it not obvious to me? It's as clear as day, now!"
"Lan, please..." Tory repeated.
"If I knew, I never would have asked—"
"Lan!" Tory shouted, "Lan, it's not what you think."
"You hate me, don't you?" Lan asked, "That's why you quit the team... That's why you stopped coming to the park..."
"No, Lan..." Tory replied, "I... I don't hate you. I never hated you."
"Then what happened?" Lan asked, "What made you leave?"
That tone! That same distinct tone! Where did he hear such a voice? That apologetic color? Why... yes! Of course! The soccer game! The rainy morning, the muddy field, the aggressive steal, the rush to the goal, the unfortunate fall, the punctured calf, and a concerned Lan... As if he was transported back to that scene, he could smell the turf of earth, feel the spaz of his leg, the flowing of blood from his calf, and he could feel the hands of Lan wrap around his shoulders, lifting him up, consoling him, apologizing to him. Seated at his bench, the wrapping of his leg was distinct to him...
"Hey, man," you said to me, "I'm so, so sorry for that. I—I never meant to step on your leg like that."
"Don't worry about i—ah!" I whined as Coach began to pour some alcohol on my open wound.
"The worst is over." Coach affirmed to me, placing the cap back on the alcohol bottle, "We'll just wrap this here bandage around your leg and you'll be limping in a jiffy!"
"Limping?" you spoke up, "I didn't sprain anything, did I?"
"No, no, I don't think nothing like that happened." He reassured him, "Just a couple punctures. It'll be sore for a day or two and scab over. Ain't nothing Tory can't handle." Coach winked at me.
"I should've been more careful, man; I'm sorry." you repeated to me, "I knew that the field was all slippery and whatever, but I never slowed down or nothing."
"It's fine, dude." I smiled at you, "It ain't nothing serious. You were playing tough defense; that's what your supposed to do, right?"
"I'm supposed to steal the ball from you, not steal your walking ability." you replied, "I should've been more careful."
"Lan!" I heard your coach call for you, "Come back on over here! He's alright! He's taken care of!" You gave me one final look before trotting back across the field to your bench. You paid closer attention to the field, avoiding all of the obvious mud puddles.
"What a great kid..." I overheard Coach say to the referee, "You ain't never see another kid like that for another ten years, I promise you; he overstays his welcome sometimes, though..."
"I don't deserve a friend like you..." Tory mumbled. He was broken, destroyed.
"What?" Lan asked, confused.
"I— I don't hate you... How could I hate you?" Tory continued. He looked at Lan one final time before turning and beginning to run away, notebook in hand, "I hate myself..."
"Tory?" He heard Lan shout from behind, "Tory!?"
Tory was wandering through the streets, trying to occupy himself from his encounter with Lan. His heart wasn't able to handle something of that sort. It had torn; the fracture that formed all those years ago reopened, and it hurt more than ever. His mind was clouded and foggy. He couldn't think of anything else. The hatred he had buried of himself had been resurrected, and there was nothing stopping it.
As he was fumbling through the streets, he came across a peculiar book store. Displayed in the glass window was a yellow-orange novel that shined in the sunlight. The alliterate title encapsulated him, stealing his eyesight: "Some Sunday's Summer's Steppings." He stood there, staring at its cover, woefully aware of its implications. He wanted to leave, he wanted to runaway from this place; yet, his legs rebelled his commands...
"Are you lost?" you asked me, smiling.
"Um... N—no, no." I stuttered, stupidly, "J—just making my way through..."
"I apologize," you replied, "You just seemed a little oblivious to me."
"O—oh, I'm, I'm sorry about that." I said, "I didn't mean to be so... oblivious."
"Being distracted isn't always a pejorative," You giggled, "My father always told me that if you're distracted, you're thinking."
"Then... then I must think an awful lot." I replied, instinctively. You chuckled at my response before turning back to the book in your hand. I wanted to walk away. Our conversation was over, but my legs did not move. Still, I stood there... oblivious, but not in a pejorative way, fighting with myself. As if I was possessed by something else, my mouth opened:
"Wha—what book are you reading?" I asked. You looked to me with a somewhat surprised face, before turning the book to its cover.
"'Some Sunday's Summer's Steppings.'" you said, smiling, "It was written by a Jennifer Raika. Are you familiar with her?"
"I—I've heard her name... I think." I lied, "But I never read her books."
"Well, this book is about a woman named Sunday who takes dance lessons in the summer." you explained to me, "She meets a guy and they fall in love, of course."
"Sounds kind of cheesy." I said. You chuckled at me.
"It's a chick-flick in book form, basically." you replied, "But that's what Raika is known for, her cute, wholesome romances."
"Wholesome?" I asked, "They release these things in parts, now?"
"No, no...!" You laughed, your hand instinctively rising to cover your mouth, "I mean, like... good-feeling. It makes you feel nice and happy."
"Oh!" I said, "Yeah—yeah! Of course... right..." You giggled at me.
"Want to join me?" you asked, pointing your hand to the empty space next to you.
"Oh! I—I couldn't..." I excused, "I'm not smart enough. I'll... I would just slow you down."
"What?" you flabbergasted, "Anyone with a brain can read. You don't need to be overly 'smart' or anything like that."
"Well... I have a brain, right?" I said, walking and sitting next to you underneath the tree, "I guess I could join you."
"That's the spirit!" you encouraged, "You have a name?"
"People tend to call me 'Tory'." I answered.
"With an 'i' or 'y'?" you asked.
"'Y'. The best way to spell 'Tory'." I joked, "What about you? What's your name?..."
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Tory struggled, for he couldn't even say it. Numb, he once was; numb, he is no more. The name itself still preserved power that scorched his very soul. He felt tears begin to fill his eyes. His anger began to rise. The pain he felt intensified.
"I should feel happy for you..." he mumbled, turning from the window, "I should feel joyous for you..." He continued down the street.
"But I don't..." he confessed, "Why? Why do I not feel glad for you?" Passing building after building, Tory sustained his persistent retreat.
"What friend am I?" he asked, "What friend am I?!" The blackness of the abyss began to emanate from his heart. Tory's breath quickened as it started to affect his lungs.
"You deserve someone better..." he spoke, "For I should have never stopped for you. You should have never invited such a failure to be with you..." His vision blurred as it spread to his head. It was consuming him. It was corrupting him. Soon, it would dominate him.
He came across a soccer field. Empty, it was. The white lines defining its shape were old and slowly fading away. The grass was overgrown and filled with weeds. The goal posts had their nets removed. The only thing left were two old wood benches sitting across each other on opposite sides of the field. Reaching the first of its benches, Tory sat down on its old wooden top.
"How could I ever think of such a thing..." he said, looking to the indent in the grass where the stands used to be, "Why would you cheer for such a... for such a pissant!?" He turned his attention to the notebook. His hands were shaking, as it extended to his arms.
"They would be so much happier without me..." he said, "They will be so much happier without me..." He raised his head to the middle of the field. He sat there, silently, not knowing what to do. But, the tears in his eyes welled too greatly, and few began to fall down his face. His nose began to sniffle, and soon he could no longer control his emotions. He cried.
"I'm sorry..." he cooed and cooed, "I'm so sorry..."
"I just want to be with you again..." he confessed, "I just want to be happy with you guys again..."
"You were my best friends..." He attempted to stand, but it had already contaminated his legs. They buckled under his weight, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Absolve me!" he whined, "Absolve me, god dammit!" He threw his hands to the ground. His notebook fell to his side. He kneeled there, idle, panting as tears uncontrollably fell from his eyes. His chest tightened and tightened; it became almost unbearable as it spread to his back. He felt his arms become more and more numb as a tingling sensation washed over them. His ears were ringing, and his mouth was dry.
"Tory?" yet another voice called, "Tory are you okay?!" The voice sent a sting throughout his body, causing him to release a small gasp. He knew who the voice was. It was only a matter of time before she arrived. It was only a matter of time before she, as well, was dragged back into his pity. He felt her presence beside him.
"I—I... I don't..." Tory gasped, "Hate—... hate y—you..." His vision transformed from blurriness to blackness, and his hearing nulled. He collapsed into the tall grass.
As he awoke he found himself in a hospital room. Next to him were multiple monitors evaluating, surely, his vitals and other necessary measurements. An IV was connected to his arm. He looked to his left and saw a nurse fumbling around near a sink. He felt weak, and his head still throbbed slightly like before. Yet, the pain he was feeling previously was gone (or at least reduced). The sensation of his arms were restored, and the tightness in his chest was gone. He turned his head to the right of the room. Some posters hung on the wall, and a chair and couch were placed near the window. The door to his room was open, and he could hear movement and other activities in the hallway.
"I'm glad to see you awake." Tory turned his head to face the nurse, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm—I feel fine." Tory answered, "How did I end up here?"
"That's quite the story." the nurse replied, "A friend of yours found you collapsed in the middle of a soccer field. She called the paramedics, and, as they arrived and brought you into the ambulance, they discovered you were experiencing a heart attack. But you're fine now. You're safe here at the hospital."
"A... heart attack?" Tory asked, "I had a heart attack?"
"Unfortunately..." the nurse answered, "Somebody your age should never experience a heart attack, which makes your case very special." He slowly began to remember what transpired before his collapse. Meeting Lan in the park, Lan's realization, his running away, the book in the window, the old soccer field, the pain in his chest; it all came back to him.
"Are you taking any medications?" the nurse asked.
"Um... no." Tory replied, "I don't take any medications."
"Okay..." the nurse wrote down Tory's answer, "Do you take or have taken any illegal substances recently?"
"No—no." Tory reassured, "I don't do drugs..."
"That's what I thought." then nurse commented, writing his other answer down as well, "You seem like a good kid..." The nurse reached and retrieved the sphygmomanometer hanging on the side of the bed. Wrapping it around Tory's left arm, she took his blood pressure.
"You're blood pressure is perfectly normal..." then nurse thought aloud, "And all of your other vitals are perfectly normal..." She glanced at the monitor.
"You haven't shown any issues since the EMT's admitted you with aspirin..." she explained, noting some other things on the clipboard in front of her. She began to move around the room for a few moments, writing down a few things on two other pieces of paper.
"So I heard you used to play soccer." the nurse said as she began some miscellaneous chore.
"Well, I still do, technically." he answered, "I volunteer for the youth league and help them with practice and stuff."
"You're kidding?" the nurse agaped, "My son plays for that league— wait! That's where I've seen your face before! I see you every Friday when I drop my son off at practice!"
"It's a small world..." he smiled.
"Oh! The kids just love you there. They always spoke of a Tory, but I never thought they were speaking of you." the nurse confessed, "We'll get you back on your feet and back on the field in no time." There was a quick moment of silence.
"Who... Who told you that I played soccer?" Tory asked.
"Your friend did—the one who found you, remember?" the nurse replied, "She was able to give us quite a bit of information about you. The poor thing was worried sick."
"Worried... about me...?" Tory mumbled.
"I thought she was going to have a heart attack as well. She's been sitting in the waiting room the last time I saw." the nurse shared, "Now, I know it's not proper protocol to allow visits at this time, but I'll go see is she's still there. I'm sure she'll feel much more relieved seeing you awake like this." The nurse left the room. Tory didn't know how to handle this scenario. Combination of the medicine he was given and his tiredness did not allow him to panic like he had done previously. Yet, a question did persist in his mind: what would she think of him?
He stared at the door. Everything became silent. Time seemed to stop. Each breath felt like hours, and his vision seemed to slow. Then, in the distance, he could hear footsteps. Louder they became as the footsteps arrived closer and closer. He held his breath. His eyes couldn't ignore the door. The time had finally come. Rounding the corner, the woman made herself known. Seeing him, a look of relief washed over her, and a smile so bright shined from her face.
"Hey..." she appeared lost for words.
"Mayl..." Tory spoke. Five years... He hasn't spoken her name in five years. A wave of relief shocked his system, and he felt a smile form on his face.
"How are you feeling?" she approached the side of his bed.
"Pretty well, all things considered." he chuckled.
"You had me scared to death!" Mayl chuckled back, "But I'm so happy to see you recovering..."
"Well, you know, sometimes you just have to have a heart attack." Tory joked, "It's like turning yourself on and off again. Refreshes the system." Mayl laughed, lifting her hand to cover her adorable laughter.
"I'm sure there are other ways of 'restarting yourself' that doesn't involve heart attack." Mayl continued, "Have you tried yoga?"
"Oh! That takes too much time." Tory laughed, "This is quick, easy, and you can do it at any time." Mayl laughed once more. They fell silent as they looked at each other.
"It's been a while since I've seen you, Tory." Mayl spoke, "I just never thought we'd meet again under these... circumstances..."
"I'm sorry that I worried you..." Tory replied, "I never expected this, either."
"But... you're okay now." Mayl said, "Right?"
"The nurse said that my vitals are normal." Tory explained, "So I'm assuming everything is alright."
"That's great to hear." Mayl smiled, "So, how have things been? I haven't seen you in what felt like years."
"Nothing much..." Tory answered, "How about you?"
"Same." she replied, "Just reading, mostly."
"You did always have a book in your hand..." he chuckled.
"Yeah..." Mayl replied. The two fell silent once more. As if possessed, like all those years ago, he opened his mouth:
"Are you and Lan still dating?" he asked.
"Yeah..." Mayl answered, "Five years."
"I'm happy for you." he smiled, but he felt his body reject his statement, "He's a great guy."
"He sure is a character." Mayl chuckled. Another moment of silence, disrupted as the nurse entered the room.
"I apologize to interrupt, but it I'm going to ask you to leave now, unfortunately." the nurse explained.
"Oh, that's no issue." Mayl replied, "Goodbye, Tory. I'll see you later. I hope you get better!" Mayl smiled at him.
"Bye... Mayl..." he said.
"Don't you worry about him." the nurse spoke to Mayl, "He's in good hands, and he'll be home in a day or so." Mayl made a final goodbye and left the room.
"As for you, Tory," the nurse directed her attention, "I'm sure you're extremely tired because of the medicine. I'm going to give you some time to sleep, catch up on some rest. I'll be back later to see how you're doing." Tory nodded in acknowledgement, and the nurse left the room. He was alone, now, with only his thoughts. At this moment, something dawned on him: Where was his notebook? Surely, he thought, it was stranded on the old soccer field where he collapsed. He smiled slightly to himself. That was probably for the best.
Two days have passed since Tory was released from the hospital. He was sent home with medication for his heart and instructions to call for emergency services if he felt any symptoms of a heart attack. He felt better, and the pain that plagued him previously seemed to have gone. He was happy once again. Yet, he heard a knock on the door. A visitor? Who could it be?
"Hey, Tory." Mayl greeted him as he opened the door.
"Mayl?" Tory was surprised, "Wha—what brings you here?" He noticed she was wearing a satchel over her shoulder.
"I heard that you were released from the hospital..." Mayl explained, "I wanted to come see how you were doing."
"Oh... Great—I'm doing great!" Tory replied. He stood in the doorway for a moment. Realizing his silence, he retreated from the door and invited Mayl inside. She thanked him as she entered the home. He led her a few feet into the house, into the living room, where they again stood in a moment of silence.
"Um... the doctor prescribed to me some medicine to help with my blood circulation." he took hold of a pill bottle that was placed on the coffee table next to them and showed it to Mayl, "It feels to me like it's working."
"That's good." Mayl smiled, "I hope it prevents you from 'reseting yourself', as you phrased. I would hate to see you like that again."
"I don't think I'll be doing that anytime soon." Tory replied, "I already enrolled in a four o'clock yoga class for this afternoon." They both laughed.
"I have also come to return something in which I believe is yours." she said as she opened the satchel at her side. She reached inside and pulled from it the notebook that Tory had dropped in the field.
"Oh." Tory was slightly petrified to see it in Mayl's hands, "This..."
"I meant to return it to you when I first visited you," she explained, "But I forgot it in my bag in the waiting room, and I didn't realize that I forgot to give it to you until after I left the hospital."
"Do not worry yourself about that." Tory replied, "I thank you for returning this to me." He held the notebook in his hands as another moment of silence dominated their conversation.
"Tory," she started, the emotion on her face changed slightly, "I... I just want you to know that I do no think lowly of you." He was taken aback at her words. What would cause her to confess something like this to him? He looked down to what he held in his hands and returned his gaze to her.
"You read it," Tory asked, "Didn't you?"
"After Lan described to me his encounter with you, curiosity got the best of me..." she confessed, "I was only concerned about you, Tory." He looked to the ground and walked a few steps away from her, placing the notebook on the coffee table.
"Those words were never meant for you to read." he explained, "I'm sorry... You must have cringed, I'm sure."
"I thought no such thing." Mayl objected, "I found it empathetical."
"Empathetcal?" Tory scoffed, "You can look at me? Look at what I wrote? And think 'empathetical'? Surely, the word in which you meant to say was 'pathetical'."
"Do not think so harshly of yourself, Tory." Mayl tried to calm.
"For how can you think that?" he continued to ask, "Me? The idiot, jealous fool? Envious of the man who would have given you up for the pitiful emotions of I?"
"Tory!" she scolded, "You must stop thinking such thoughts!"
"What friend am I?" he inquired, "What happiness do I feel for you? For Lan? I feel nothing! Nothing but emptiness and covetousness, and I hate it!" Mayl walked to Tory and grabbed him by his shoulders.
"But you are a friend!" she exclaimed, "You are a friend, and a great friend at that! Do you not know how confused Lan and I were when you deserted us those years ago? You leaving the team, you not coming to the park, we were immensely confused as to why. We missed you, Tory. I missed you. Who else would I read with? Talk with about books and literatures and themes and symbolisms? Lan was never the reader like you. And the improvement that you experienced! Have you read your ode? The vocabulary used is bright and colorful, and, yes, Tory, you speak with the pretentiousness and prestige as I, but you have overcome my skill. For I do not consider myself smart, but you have actual talent. I would never be able to write like you. I find your piece empathetical because I was in a position similar to yours. I adored both you and Lan, and I rued the day when I may have to choose between one or the other. For whom would I choose? My choice is obvious, but it is not simple. He was the first to ask, yes; and, our childhood friendship contained influence on me, but that does not mean you were instantly negated. What you feel is normal. Jealousy and envy are normal! But you must not let it dominate you. You must move on!"
"That I fear I cannot." Tory replied, "Oh! Mayl, for I have tried for five years to escape this blackness that dominates my heart, but I fear I may never win."
"But you can!" she assured, "For Lan and I are with you. We do not hate you. We want to help you. I do not want to see you deprived as you were those days ago. I do not want to see you suffer anymore than you already have. I can feel your pain in your words. I can bear your weight with each paragraph, with each sentence, with each syllable from your pen. You must win!"
"But my heart still yearns for you..." Tory confessed, "How will I overcome such powerful forces?"
"It is okay to love others." Mayl said, "Even love those that may... seem... unrequited."
"For a friendship with you is a blessing in itself, correct?" Tory asked.
"No, Tory..." Mayl answered, "You are the blessing."
"You treat me with too much kindness..." he chuckled.
"What are friends for?" She smiled at him. She wrapped her arms around him and embraced him. Nervous was he but soon he, too, wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace.
"I wish you and Lan happiness." he said.
"I wish you happiness as well, Tory." she replied, releasing her grasp, "And remember: For I am with you."
"I will." he smiled.
"Well... I must leave. I have other commitments I must see through." she turned and began walking to the door.
"Mayl?" he called to her.
"Yes?" she replied, turning towards him.
"May you inform Lan that I am doing well?" he implored.
"Most certainly." she returned a smile to him. They both shared their goodbyes and Mayl left. Sitting down on the couch, exhausted from the exchange, he reached and grabbed hold of the notebook he placed. Opening to its first page, he decided to re-read through his penmanship. Content, he was; content, he will be.
I returned, the next day, to that same trail to that same walnut tree to a that same woman. Seated next to her was the same man whom I so respected, his same arm surrounding her same shoulders and same eyes whose sight focused more on the same her than the different book she held in her same hands. As you looked from your novel, and saw me approach, you smiled and waved with such enthusiasm and welcomed me under your tree. You both were so excited to see me again, for, with your help, I have conquered the pain that plagued me for these many years. Gone was my jealousy, replaced, was my envy, with trust and understanding. I was free from the purgings of my soul, free from the resurrection of my pity and self-hate. Gone were my sorrows, invited were my life's pleasures. I was now able to enjoy my friendship. I was now able to enjoy my friends. For, after so many years, I finally absolved myself.
Ode to my broken heart?
Nay... Not anymore.
For this is now another ode, an
Ode to my loving friend.