Supporting One Another

not my picture…

Besties, translated…

My friend and I played ball together since we were growing up, we are very good together, our movements became like mirrored images, we’d known one another’s next moves.  And, as we’d played our games, neither one of us would let the other have it, and we’d often, guarded one another tightly, to see who outlasts whom.

Then, we entered this reality of the adult world, with our separate twists and turns of life.  After high school, we’d gone separate ways, some thirty odd years later, we’d, met back up again: I’d become a doctor, he’d worked, inside a tall building, using methods I’d never imagined of, to make the big money.

He’d played golf most often, but, table tennis had, awakened that world that we’d loved so very much again.  We’d made the dates, to play together, to take a breather, to reminisce over the good old days.

This weekend, was just like the other weekends, we’d worked hard, hitting, that little white plastic ball, to one another’s sides; I’d gotten to know, from other friends, that he has cancer, and it was, the incurable kind.

To this age, there would be those, long-forgotten, but familiar voices that sounded.  A lot of the acquaintances from a long time ago, would recall this sad business that I’m in, and, in a panic, a little misunderstanding, tell me that they needed me to, get a bed for them, or, to sign them up for a doctor’s visit.

But, he’d not mentioned it at all to me.

Is he still, in the beginning stage, denial, about his condition?  He knew, that I should be the one, who’s the least scared, upon hearing the word “cancer”, knew that I could ask my colleagues to look out for him more, he knew, that I can, lead him to the most advanced clinical trials………but he’d just, rather not, disturb me at all.

His shoulders were, strong and muscular, the moment he’d slammed the ball, his biceps would get hard.  His moves were very connected, as if, every single muscle fiber is, focused on hitting the ball to where he wanted it to go.  As he’d attacked, his feet were, in the right spot, glided with that gracefulness about him.  You couldn’t see, that he was scarred, from his biopsy at all.  He’d not gotten short of breath, and would cough from time to time, but, there was, no blood, coughed up.

He’s fine!  I gladly believed, that something MUST have gone amiss.

After the games, he’d complained to me, “the way you’d received my ball was way too conservative, and, your backhand had, lost its edge too, some of the balls, you should’ve caught, after they flew off the tables!  And, what happened to your killshot?  I hadn’t seen a single one today!”

And, all of a sudden, I’d, cherished how my old battle mate could, give it his all.  I shouldn’t have, been, so distracted.

Or maybe, he’d still not wanted to deal with, being forced off the playing fields yet.  Or maybe, what he’d needed of me is, being a faithful buddy in sport, an honorable opponent, not someone who offers him those annoying medical advices.

I’d not prodded anymore.  Before he’d made the decisions, to involve me into the storms of his life, we can still, help each other out, in this small way we’d, interacted with one another in.

He knew: when he’d slowly, lose his strengths, his self-confidence gets away from him by the day, when he turns to me to ask for assistance, I will, always be there for him.

And that, would be the love AND support you can show your friend, and, this man, is the narrator’s childhood playmate, and, they grew up together, and that, is why, they’re very close, and, they’re competitive with each other, and, even after the friend got sick, he’d still wanted the narrator, to treat him as if he was very  healthy still, and, the narrator will, honor his friend by being there for him.