I was 8, clumsy and sheepish. She was almost 10, with a personality of bright sunshine mixed with copious quantities of thunderstorm. Mr. Bishter’s field was her favorite playground where I helped her steal the sweet red strawberries and carried them around in my Pokemon themed denim pouch. One of the first times we did this, I had asked her why she wasn’t scared of Mr. Bishter; he had a reputation for anger and loved his damn strawberries. She said it was because she had me.





Me?! She felt safe because of this small guy with not enough guts to even enter this field, let alone face Mr. Bishter? She laughed and said, only half-jokingly “Well no, it’s because I just need to run faster than you to avoid getting caught.” I chuckled then but one of the evenings ended up with us running from Mr. Bishter, her outrunning me easily and my hind parts facing the terror of Mr. Bishter’s wooden stick.





On the way back home she was waiting for me right outside the gate and, forgetting all about the strawberries I almost gave up my life for, just hugged me and promised upcoming retribution on Mr. Bishter. Despite everything that happened, I just felt great about the day and even now, 25 years later, would not wish to change a single moment.





The man in the mirror, clad in a black suit with just a hint of a stubble , looks sharp albeit is missing a tie. The church bells ring, 6:00. We'll be starting any minute now and I need to get ready. Regardless of what I feel, it’s necessary and polite to keep up appearances, all her family and friends have traveled long distances to just be here today with her.





Sam, my elder brother and the only one from my family present here today, peeps through the door. “Hey Champ, how’re you holding up?” he asks with a little caution to his voice. I shrug. He’s probably the only person I don’t have to pretend to. He greets me with a bro hug, hands me a tie and leaves me with these words, “Today’s for her, man. I’m sure she doesn’t want to see you in a bad shape. Keep your chin up, at least for Evelyn.” Evelyn! Her face flashes before my eyes. I realize that I’m not capable of ever doing anything to let her down. My eyes fall on the sunflower vase kept on the side table.





It was the high school play. She was the sunflower, not just any sunflower but The Sunflower, the main character of the play. I was the little shrub in the background with a whole of 3 lines to speak. Those were nevertheless important lines, the pressure was mounting on me and I turned to my only friend in the theatre club. We had not been as close in the recent years, me being the nerd and she being the second most popular girl in the school, just like anyone could have guessed all those years ago. But she smiled, winked and said “Cheer up, you glum dummy, if you screw up we’ll all just run off backstage and leave the audience guessing just what happened. Unless you don’t run fast enough and Mr Bishter gets you with his stick.” Those words, the reference of that dreadful incident and the mention of being left alone on the stage should not have calmed my nerves, but they did. Or maybe it was just the wink that did it.





We used to be best friends, partners in crime and childhood sweethearts. Well, at least that’s how I remember it. Since the night of the incident on the field, all I dreamt of was growing old together with her but somewhere down the line it dawned on me that we were very different people and life may throw us on entirely different paths. Though we never drifted off too far, the fate of my dream was in flux for too long. At times it was firmly in my grasp until the next moment, when it was not. Today, I officially stand awoken, the dream has completely disappeared leaving only an indelible longing of what could have been.





As my heart sinks again, I rise. I leave my room and walk up to the church. I look at the crowd inside - her family, friends and distant relatives, the kind that only appear during weddings. I see Evelyn with her grandmother on the stage. Her face glows radiant like a single ray of light in a cold dark dungeon. I wonder when will she, if ever, understand the pain this moment brings me. As I trod up to the stage, I feel evermore increasing eyes on my back. The room becomes quieter and noisier at the same time as sparse conversations give way to pervasive murmurs.



