Death Of A Friend And Another

When it comes to friends, the superlative word “best” doesn’t apply to only one. The rules of grammar should be changed.

I have a handful of best friends, one in each season of my life.

One of them was a guy in high school. We were inseparable. The school tried to break us by placing us in different sections. It didn’t work. We were stubborn.

I never understood the reason why the school would want to separate us. I got my answer when I studied teaching in college. At least I learned that my teachers in high school did their homework. I also realized why the school just let us be together. We didn’t exactly fit in one of the deviant behaviors being described, as I supposed it was. I have other good friends. He also has his. We both have common friends. We didn’t live in a separate world. We were just close, closer than brothers.

After high school, we were separated. I had the opportunity to pursue college education. He didn’t. I work two jobs. It was the only to survive. I worked in school and out of school. The situation prevented us from seeing or at least be updated with each other. Going home twice a year would be an overstatement and we didn’t live in the same neighborhood. The inventor of the cellular phone was not even born yet. We lost contact.

After several years, I heard he got married. He married a classmate in high school, one of our very good friends. They were like brother and sister in high school. They both have relationships with other students in school. I was glad to know they ended up together. At least they know each other very well.

I got his contact number through other friends and classmates. I met him in one of my trips which passed by at the place where they live. We talked very shortly at the bus terminal. It was very short because the bus had to go.

They have a small business and the business is doing well. I was happy to know.

We exchanged text messages. There were plans of meeting again among other things. I thought he had a good business idea. He thought I had the resources. We thought the business would do well.

One night, a call woke me up. I did not recognize the voice of the lady. She was crying. He told me that Fred is gone. He died of dengue. It was the first time I heard of an adult died of dengue and he was my best friend.

I refused to believe the news. I lied to myself. I vehemently lied that I actually believed it. I was invited. I was expected. I did not attend the funeral.

My absence cost me his wife, my very good friend. I lost her too.