For the prompt ‘write about something you’ve lost’ in Creative Writing a few weeks back, I came up with this. ENJOY!
I made a discovery today. I lost someone and I’m sad. But I suppose, in the end, I was grateful to have had him. It was my friend Peter, and I am a better person having known him.
Peter was there everywhere I went. When I went to school, there was Peter. When I was at dinner, there was Peter. I suppose you could say Peter was my best friend.
I can’t really remember ever meeting Peter, or what he looked like. His description is kind of vague in my mind, hazy even, like he was a cloud or a shadow. I guess he just left that much of an impact, that those sort of things don’t matter. I do seem to remember piercing blue eyes though, ones that gazed intently at me. Always looking, always gazing.
I suppose gazing makes it seem like it was an uncomfortable act, but I found it soothing. Like he was always looking out for me, as if he was a protective older brother. I always felt safe around Peter, knowing he was there to protect me from the bullies, or help me patch up my knee when I scraped it on the tarmac. Peter was always there for me; rain or sunshine.
In fact – I do remember one occasion, where a bright August day had faded into a dark evening and returned as a dark day plagued with heavy rain. Peter was there almost instantaneously, playing games with me and making sure I didn’t feel upset at the lack of sun. We played cards, and listened to the radio, which was crackly due to the heavy storm. Then we ate jam sandwiches that my mother had prepared to me, and attempted to convince our teddy-bear friends to join in.
They didn’t join in. In fact, they sat motionless, not eating the piles and piles of sandwiches that I’d convinced my mother to prepare. I imagine she was probably angry at the waste, because she was always going on about those starving children in Africa. Peter probably soothed the situation though, because that was the sort of thing Peter did.
Another time, Peter taught me how to skip. I’d found a skipping rope on my short walk home from school, and having watched all the older girls jump for hours and hours in the playground, I’d wanted a go. They called me names and told me to go play with the girls in my class. None of the girls in my class liked me, and it seemed like none of the girls in the other classes did either.
It was okay though, because Peter was there. Sometimes I would wonder if I should try and find Peter again. Check him out on facebook, or see if mum had any photos of us together. See if he was listed in the phonebook (oh that ancient thing).
So I asked. I asked mother what happened to Peter and she gave me a blank stare, her forehead creasing with confusion. She didn’t remember Peter. Didn’t remember Peter! How was it possible that my mother didn’t remember my best friend in the whole world?
She continued to frown, searching her brain for an answer until she laughed. “Well you did have that one imaginary friend…”
My heart sank. Peter wasn’t ever real. But it doesn’t mean Peter wasn’t there for me. Because he was always at my side, even if I only thought he was. So I lost someone today, but I’m still happy. Happy to have known him, happy to have grown with him. Thank you Peter, for everything.