How his presence was like that comet, brief, but the impacts of his being in your life, has, that everlasting, effect, translated…
That last time a comet passed by me, the closest, closest to me it ever was, I was seven. As I’d, entered into the second grade, he transferred from another school in another city to our class, and, threatened my place as the highest test grade. But at the same time, we’d become, the best, of friends. The field trips during those years, there would be needs for the parents who are free from work at the office, and, brave enough, to step up, to separate us into groups, Comet’s mom was always there, and I was always the first one who’d assigned myself to his group.
To tell the truth, during those years of still learning the phonetic spellings, the multiplication tables, grades really, didn’t matter al that much, the only ones who’d cared about winning or losing are, the parents. What Comet and I cared for the most was, would we be first place in the partner jumping rope competitions. For most, double Dutch for others are like those, three-legged races, getting stuck in stagnation, not being able to, make the advances; but for me and Comet, we’d practiced between the classes every class, to the end, we could, almost run when we became, three legged. We’re, just about, undefeated.
a light so bright, that lit up, the darkness of life, like this???
And in the very end, we’d not had the school’s anniversary celebration due to SARS. Nearly two decades later, as everybody in this town started putting those masks on again, I’d, recalled all of these things, and, keyed in Comet’s name in the FB search column quietly in the middle of the nights, then, I’d found his pace, with, next to nothing, but his, photo.
Comet was there in my life for a very brief time, because in the third grade, I’d, switched school. And although we entered into the same middle school later, but, we’d, drifted from one another already. He’d become this, magical, and unstable existence in middle school then. Gotten into fights, gathered the members of a crowd to get into the fights, and, every now and then, he’d, crossed over that boundary between a child and an, adult; snuck in the puffs of cigarettes, ridden the scooters without anyone’s knowing………………he’d, waved goodbye, to too many, firsts in life. And yet, at the same time, he’d still, managed, to keep his grades high.
He’d gotten in to his first three choices of high school. That was, the surest thing I’d learned about Comet, the very last. Some told, that he got, held back a grade in high school, others told, that he never, even, graduated from high school; he’d transferred into and out of colleges, dropped out, that it was, forced, and, maybe, voluntary. These gossips were, very contradictory, yet, not so much so, anyway, around me right now, there is, NO news of him. He was like that comet that sailed across the skies one night, became the electrons, the protons that collided, and, separated in my night skies. It was beautiful, but, losing light at the same time, closing in, but, distancing too.
One the night I’d transferred to a brand new school, my father received a call from Comet’s family. I wasn’t there, my father told him, that he’ll relay the message to me, that I will, call him from our new number after we’d moved in. And, before bed that evening, my father had, told me about the matter. But don’t know why, I just, kept, never, making, that call.
I’m thinking, if I had, remembered to call Comet back, and, kept this guy inside my mind for sure, then, twenty years later today, could and would, things have turned out, differently?
Would we be able to see each other, in our, adult forms? I mean, the us that didn’t match up to our, parents’ expectations, but, matched up to our own expectations, of ourselves?
Maybe, for the rest of my life, I shall, never met up with Comet again. Even if it’s a comet like the Harley’s Comet with the short period of time, it would be, next to nil, to see it again in one’s own, lifetime. He now, orbits, on his own tracks, sailing across the icy cold, and quiet depth of the universe, nobody knew of, but, every now and then, maybe, he’d, still, glowed on, with his own, beautiful colored, diminishing, light.
And so, this, is how this young lad appeared, and vanished, just like the shooting stars, and the writer met this little comet friend of his back in the elementary school, and they became, the best of friends, but, life separated them onto, two separate paths, and, his friend went the wrong way, and, now the writer can’t help but wondered, had he, called his friend back, maybe, things could be, a whole lot different for him, but now, he’ll, never know, because he never, called his best friend then back…