My Buddy

Hard to express, anxious I feel;

Buddy I bless, he knows how to heal.

Her long transparent raincoat was drenched under the heavy battering, seeking respite from the incessant rain under the dense shady trees spread out around the walking trail. As the wind caught her coat, the raindrops propelled off its oily surface, creating a sparkly fractal around her; a few drops escaped under the hood, gliding along her brunette bangs and joining her tear-brimmed blue eyes, causing a salty deluge on her otherwise flushed, dry face. She squeezes her eyes empty and tightens her mouth to swallow the painful lump building in her throat. Her breathing, already heavy with all the running, strained further, causing her to stop mid-sprint and double-over panting. “No more, Buddy. Come back!” she gasps, realizing a second later she was not running behind her dog, her companion of 9 years. As the realization freshly hits her for the umpteenth time, she straightens, trying to calm her breathing for a minute, and continues her sprint. 

Running helped her avoid thinking, so she ran to evade reality or maybe to keep Buddy alive in her daily routine; she didn’t know which. This ingrained ritual consoled her in ways no one ever could. In his more youthful days, Buddy loved sprinting along this course each day, despite the season, challenging her to compete with his loving, innocent eyes, and she did enthusiastically. He seemed to comprehend her social anxiety and the need to avoid strangers, leading her to this end of the park, which few frequented. Her parents may have left her socially disabled forever, but Buddy had saved her from loneliness.

 As it continued to pour, she curved around the wet, slippery path, and a small red metal bridge built over a now overflowing creek appeared. Slowing down, she clambers to the middle of the bridge and faces west beyond the creek’s rushing waters. In recent days, with reduced energy levels, Buddy would tread, panting heavily over this bridge and watch transfixed until the glorious sun melted slowly into the far, bottomless orange-hued horizon, and she would do her daily stretches. But today and every subsequent day, she will have to stand alone and welcome the darkness, grieving for her sole friend, her best buddy, lost to old age. 

The first time she had held Buddy was in the most challenging phase of her life when her granny arrived and dropped him in her lap as a tiny puppy. Until then, dogs scared her for no reason, but suddenly, as this cuddly thing squirmed around in her lap, attempting to lick and sniff simultaneously, a different kind of love filled up the hollow in her chest, residual of her parent’s divorce.

   As the night enveloped her with no sign of the rain clearing up, she turned around to go back down the way she came. Feeling dismal, she retraced her steps, sneakers squelching on the wet, gravelly pathway, lost in thoughts when she saw the figure of a tall male in his mid-20s, in a blue shirt and black slacks, approaching her from the opposite direction. He was running without a raincoat, his damp, curly black hair now plastered to his forehead, oblivious to the rain. She stops and, recognizing him, feels disconcerted. 

She and Buddy had first met this guy on their regular walks on this side of the park. Though generally friendly, watching Buddy run up to a stranger was highly unusual. But that day in April, Buddy jogged to this guy and started sniffing and nosing him on seeing him tying his shoelaces. The guy petted, massaged, and hugged him like an old friend while chortling at Buddy’s enthusiasm. She used to watch from afar, mentally urging Buddy to come back to avoid making conversation with this Buddy-loving stranger. After a few minutes, Buddy would hobble back to her, his tongue lolling, tired but looking delighted and satisfied. It repeated a dozen times in the past month, the last time just three days ago; sometimes, she would make eye contact with this guy, who looked to be her age, and nod at him in acknowledgment but mostly stood back until Buddy returned from his exciting rendezvous.

Today, the guy, noticing her, slows down to a walk, nods at her with a smile, and glances around her waist level with a questioning look. He is gone, she tells him in her mind and looks down, unable to voice it out. Realizing that he had stopped mid-step, she runs past him down the path, unable to provide him with the bitter truth, not looking back.

She glances at her watch as she pulls her shoulder-length hair into a pony and ties it. It was 5:15 in the evening, and the day’s warmth had dried up all the wetness of yesterday’s rain. As she started to run, she regretted not wearing her shorts, as the heat was unbearable. At least she made it to the park, she thought, making a beeline to the secluded walking trail past the picnic shelter. She had spent the last 15 minutes debating whether it was best to stay in bed, snooze, and forget or avoid running from the truth by actually going for her daily run. Her love for Buddy overcame her depressive state and brought her to their favorite haunt. She will not run away from the truth, she thought. Buddy was brave until his last moment, and she would honor his memory by being brave for him. Though her heart cringed at the thought of his final moments, she sped through the narrow, gravelly terrain lined with towering shady trees, blinking rapidly, thankful for a slight breeze. In a few minutes, hearing heavy footsteps behind her, she looked back to find the guy from yesterday behind her by 20 paces. Her heart starts to thump, and she speeds up to avoid him. Even if, for a second, she pretended that talking to a stranger came easy to her, the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Buddy’s final moment. But he may have just come for a run, just like me, she reasoned, slowing down to climb up the red metal bridge. As it was too early for sunset, she didn’t stop and jogged down to the other end of the bridge when she observed that the guy was still 20 paces behind her on the curved path. She shrugs off her paranoia and continues down the path, reflecting on the valuable time she shared with her beloved friend.

As days pass, she feels a tad better, especially after her daily runs. While her daytime drags listlessly with her monotonous work, she looks forward to her evening routine when she can return to the familiar, comforting paths with her friend Buddy in her reflections. Even now, she encounters the Buddy-loving stranger guy on her sprints, always in her visibility, the same reassuring 20 paces. While they never say a word to each other, both seem to find solace in each other’s presence, filling the void left by Buddy.

The summer passed, welcoming the drop in temperatures; the dense, shady trees of summer prepared for a brilliant spectacle of fall colors, a last hurrah before the parting of their beloved companions of this season. As a strong wind blew, a few crimson-shaded leaves bid an early farewell and showered happily on a couple with a dog on a leash, jogging together past the tree. The small dog stopped to sniff at the fallen leaves but, not finding them intriguing enough, pulled free of his leash and escaped up the path to the red metal bridge, wagging his tail in excitement. “Oii Buddy! Be careful!” she cries, dashing to catch up with him lest he falls into the cold creek underneath the bridge. Her companion catches up to her, quickly grabbing Buddy with one arm and fondly taking her hand into his. She smiles cheerfully at him, and the three turn to look west, beyond the creek, to see the sun taking leave to wake the other side of the planet. She looked on happily, remembering her long-gone friend. Though Buddy may be beyond reach, he had made sure not to leave her alone in a stranger-filled world. Content, she leaned her head on her companion’s shoulder. Her Buddy-loving stranger guy, patient, thoughtful, and compassionate; he did not feel like a stranger anymore!