Friendship

In many ways Aubin Tupper was a lonely child, with no children nearby he thought of as friends. Living out in the country with his parents and little brother, he had homeschooled since grade two—it hadn’t taken him long to find out that the public school nearest wasn’t for him. He didn’t hate learning, more the opposite of that, but so many noisy children and frustrated teachers got tiring after a while. He was a quiet, timid, scared little mouse that recoiled whenever someone approached. Aubin had had a love of nature and animals since he was born and a tendency to take refuge in make-believe worlds. He learned to read quickly and was soon consuming thick novels at a teenager’s level. He had a vivid, active imagination and often slipped into it, forgetting everything except the goings-on inside his head. It took Aubin’s breath away, the most beautiful sight he had ever set eyes on Since Mr. Tupper was a truck driver and away much of the time, the homeschooling rested in his wife’s hands. She did a good job, and soon Aubin and his brother, Forrest, were academically ahead of most kids their age. When Aubin was ten and Forrest was five, their family moved to a different acreage, this one bigger, beside a lake. In the midst of a scattered farming community, there was a school within walking distance, which the boys would hopefully attend and make friends at. To any stranger meeting Aubin he would appear mysterious, different and would probably provoke their curiosity. It was impossible to forget his appearance—wavy, red-gold hair tossed about by the wind; wide, thoughtful, clear, blue eyes and a fine-boned, small, yet strong and healthy figure, which resembled a deer when he sprinted across open fields. His physical being hid his personality; which surfaced only when he was alone, in nature. Aubin was rarely seen without Forrest, a mischievous little boy always running off and needing to be found. He was the best friend Aubin had. That is, the best human friend. When the Tuppers moved to their new home they brought with them the rest of the family: Annie (Mrs. Tupper’s horse), Jake (Forrest’s pony) and Guthrie (Aubin’s beloved black gelding); Whiskers—his companion of a gerbil—and Dan and Baily, two sleek, gray housecats. And of course Fifi, the family’s frisky border collie. Without those animals, Aubin would have felt as if without friends. His wanting for human friends was very small, as he didn’t want to risk anything. Because he was shy, and afraid, he thought other boys would make fun of him. *          *          * As he and Forrest stepped out of the van that bright day in August, one when you can just smell summer on the air, his first impression was that he’d love it there. He’d loved their old place as well, and missed it after three hours of driving, but this new home looked captivating. Raspberry bushes drooped heavily over the walk, their berries full and ripe, all the way up to a large green farmhouse. The paint on the house was peeling but Mr. Tupper had said they’d give it a new coat once they moved in, and other than that it appeared well taken care of It even looked as though people were already living in it; Aubin’s parents had moved everything in the past week-even a flower pot on the steps sprayed cheer across the yard. The yard itself was quite simple; a few shrubs had been planted here and there and a rickety; old toolshed overlooked a garden, bare except for a few overgrown perennials. Behind that a forest sprung up, which Aubin knew was hiding a stable with the horses already settled in, and a pasture beyond that. To the left patches of rippling blue water through the trees caught his eyes-the lake. Right away, he knew it was home. “Why don’t you two munchkins go and explore?” suggested Mr. Tupper, as his sons stared around, wide-eyed. “The stable is just down that path to the right of that shed.” Eagerly, Aubin nodded and grabbed his brother’s hand. Together they raced off, Aubin’s thick auburn and Forrest’s wheat-colored blond hair blowing in the breeze, their feet thudding in a steady rhythm before slowing as they entered the trees. Aubin was glad to see that the stable was in good repair and was more or less the right size for three horses; he cared deeply about the well-being of animals. Unbolting the door he stepped inside, Forrest close behind him. Three roomy stalls faced him, a horse in each. “Guthrie,” sighed Aubin contentedly, stepping toward his horse. Guthrie snorted softly as Aubin stroked his velvety black muzzle. “Good to see you again, boy. Those folks took good care of you.” He spoke with ease, and kindly, his gift with animals apparent. He loved all three horses so well-tall, high-spirited Annie with the fine chestnut coat, short and round little Jake with the sweetest temperament possible, and of course his own adored Guthrie, black as night, free as the wind. As he leaned against his horse, Aubin prayed inwardly that none of their new neighbors would take interest in the Tuppers, that the world would just leave them alone. That his life would remain separate from everyone else’s. *          *          * After eating lunch in their new, bright kitchen, Aubin wanted to go for a ride right away. “I was planning to go swimming, in the lake,” said his father. “You could come.” “No, thank you.” Aubin’s heart was set on Guthrie. “I wanna go!” exclaimed Forrest. “Sounds good,” smiled Mrs. Tupper, a horse-lover herself. “I’m too busy today to ride Annie, but you can take Forrest, Aubin. I’ve checked the trails and they seem fine.” Later, as they groomed their horses, Forrest begged to ride Guthrie with Aubin. “Jake’s puny,” he complained. Aubin smiled a little. “OK, but promise me you’ll ride him tomorrow.” “I will,” sighed Forrest. “But

Emily and I were the best of friends. I remember those times when we were four, licking melted ice cream off our fingers in the burning sun. I remember fifth-grade days spent frolicking in the pool in hot and freezing water alike. I remember the seventh-grade blues, where the sorrow of both of our failed romantic endeavors were shared equally and sympathized upon by the other. I remember that we were inseparable. Our birthdays were within a week of one another’s. Instead of holding one big party, as it seemed to be the tradition for friends like us, we held two huge ones. The sun smiled for us on our parties always. We were shocked the year that clouds sneaked up on us and hid the sky; it went against everything we had always believed in. Soon, it had us under the sheets for cover. “Hey,” I whispered in the barest scratch, pointing at the sky outside the window, “do you think that someone up there is mad at us?” I was afraid that whoever that someone was, he wouldn’t think twice before thunder-bolting a little girl who affronted him. “Do you think that someone up there is mad at us?” “I dunno,” she replied, revealing a profound secret, “but the Rainy Day Man isn’t mad. Mommy told me that he’s an old man who gives good girls presents on rainy days to cheer them up. She said not to tell anyone, ’cause if everyone knew, then everyone would be good on rainy days and he would become all overworked like Santa.” I nodded at this wisdom. Most kids were whiny on rainy days, and Emily certainly was a whiner. It was with hope and wonder that we waited for our gift until sleep arrived to harness us into her land of dreams. But moment passed with time and memory faded with moment. Seven, eight, nine, ten . . . We were still together, like I always knew we would be. Eleven, twelve, thirteen . . . We remained the best of friends in spite of everything life threw at us. *          *          * In our eighth-grade year, Emily caught a crush on Chris Hubbic, a black-haired, pale-skinned, pierced-eared Goth. For the life of me I could never figure out why, and she admitted that she didn’t know either. The very fact that the attraction existed was to be the most sacred of secrets. I, being the faithful friend that I was, swore to never tell. Alas, I should have known better. My mouth was never really good at following the instructions my brain gave it. “Really, I only told one person!” I whimpered, trying in vain to explain it to Emily the next day. “I really have no clue why everyone seems to know!” But what can words do to mend trust once ripped? I watched as she turned a deaf ear to my pleas, instead stomping off to weave through the crowds in the hallway until she was lost in the sea of students. The first day after, I almost wondered if she was playing some sort of twisted game. She avoided me on the bus, and moved to the opposite side of the room when I walked into my classroom first hour. And soon, I realized it was much, much more than a game. Our long-held belief that we would be companions until the end of creation had crumbled into dust beneath our feet. We gradually drifted apart, each adopting a new set of friends. Our mutual friends learned to never talk about one in front of the other. When Emily’s birthday arrived, I watched as all the members of our former set of friends were invited to her birthday party. All except for me. The day of the party, my rebellious feet carried me to a store, where I bought a small gift and some wrapping paper. I wrapped it up with surprising care—after all, why should I care if the present turned out messy?—and had my mother drive me to Emily’s home. Inside, music was blasting so heavily that it seemed to weigh down the house. I heard voices, and one by one I identified them. Jenny, Kelly, Shelly, and Erin. Julie, Megan, and Melanie . . . I paused there at the door for an eternity, wavering, deciding. Then, with a sudden burst of adrenaline, I realized that I might as well do what I came to do. Ding! The sound of the doorbell was faint to my ears and drowned out by the screams of laughter and music within. I waited, my nervousness rushing back and forming a knot in my throat. One minute, then two, then three. No reply. In a surge of rage, I dug my heels into the cement so heavily that I left a dirt mark with my shoe when I turned and left. If she hated me enough to not open the door, then fine. She wasn’t going to get a present either. The next week, for my birthday, I didn’t have a party at all. Perhaps it just wasn’t the same without Emily. Perhaps I wanted to show her that some people had the decency to not just go ahead and invite everyone but one person. In a way, the incident at her birthday party was like a final seal to a truth that way back somewhere in my heart I had refused to admit: Our friendship had been blown away by the wind, and it was not about to fly back. Something in me clicked that day. Somehow, I became the one who tried to stay as far away as possible on the bus and in the classrooms. After we graduated from middle school, we both departed to different high schools. Emily simply disappeared from my life. *          *          * High school was amazingly busy. So many clubs; so little time! I was a member of Future Problem Solving, Young Writers, Spanish Club, and Math