- Half the Man -

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“I’m half the man he was,” he said. “And he was barely even eighteen.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee.

“Why?” He laughs at this before adding sugar to his coffee. He notices me staring at the sugar sachet.

“I need something sweet,” he explains. I nod, understanding. He pauses again and I motion for him to continue.

“He saved her life, you know.” He runs his free hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to use. “Me and Tim just stood there as he jumped in front of her. I could barely see anything due to all the smoke.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a can of Altoids. He offers me one but I decline politely. Taking a piece of candy, he turns back to the story.

“Me and Tim always looked up to him. He seemed invincible, he was the gentleman, the guy who always saved cats from tree and yet… he lay there on the ground motionless, dying slowly. We were so sure that he had grabbed her and rushed her off to safety.” The waiter comes by and refills our coffee cups. We both stay silent until the waiter leaves.

“The bullet hit him right in the chest. Damn, he lost so much blood I thought he was already dead. Tim grabbed the car and drove him to the hospital. It was hopeless though. He had lost too much blood.” He swallows. “What kind of teenager saves someone without a thought that they might die? He was… oh, was he one of a kind.” I hated to destroy his pretty little image of his friend but I had no choice.

“He was anything but noble,” I tell him. He looks surprised, then hurt.

“How can you say that?” He murmurs, staring down at the table.

“He planned on dieing,” I inform him. His head jerks up. “And he could have cared less about that damned girl.” His trembling hand reaches to pour milk into his coffee. He spills most of it on the table but he doesn’t notice.

“Why would he want to die…that would be…” he mutters mostly to himself.

“Suicide,” I finish the thought for him. “Yes, it is a wonder – but it’s true.”

“How do you know this?” Finally he has the nerve to ask me this.

“He told me,” He looks confused but I answer before he could comment. “I visited him after you brought him to the hospital. He could barely say it but he felt that he had to tell someone – and that someone happened to be me.”

“Why?” He croaked; his best friend’s image thoroughly shattered.

“Because he loved you,” I said, trying my best not to smirk. “And he knew you wouldn’t return those feelings.” He stayed silent. “He couldn’t take it anymore.”

“How did he know I wouldn’t…wouldn’t…”

“Love him back?” I finished. He nods. “Give me a break,” I say. “You were a teenager – young, naïve and hormonal. You wouldn’t have understood your emotions any better than a five-year-old. And you were right about one thing – he was one of a kind. He understood himself better than you and I do at our age.” He tries to swallow this in but fails.

“But I would have…anything to stop him from dying. He was my best friend.” I nod and smile sympathetically.

“Of course he was.” I stand up and grab a few dollars from my pocket and drop them on the table.

“Why did you visit him?” He asks suddenly.

“I had too,” I explain. “I mean, he did just save me after all.”

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Thank you for reading.