Bromance

I have been admitted to the university, but we both pined for this. I know I'd have to leave, they would push me if I didn't, my parents.

"We will leave together. Stay in the hostel, and chase lots of girls." He had lied. It's just me now.

Right about now, I can still see a lanky boy with crooked teeth and a slight limp. Like a sorcerer conjures an image to life, I want to do the same. It seems like a lifetime ago, but a year has barely passed.

"How do you think we will cope?" I had asked him. He was sitting with his legs stretched out front like he liked, and picking at his nails.

"Mark, everyone survives."

"But Pastor's daughter came back pregnant."

"Are we the Pastor's daughter?"

"And even David ran mad with marijuana. We might not even get admitted anyways."

"So?" Jibril asked me, a hint of anger in his voice. He said I was a pessimist. I regarded him as a contained ball of fire ready to explode. His temper was like that.

"

Bro, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a pessimist"

"Whatever bro. You are." His knitted brows relaxed. Before I could blink, a pebble flew past my ear, and I jumped. Jibril laughed out loud.

"I got you."

"That was not funny." I said as I stood up and dusted my well-worn jeans.

"Bro. Wait! I want to show you something."

"Show me tomorrow." I called back.

That tomorrow will never come. That day my confidant and friend left. He had a headache, and that was it. My father called me a sissy.

"Pull it together. Jibril has gone to rest." He said.

Who said he needed rest? I wondered. He was as strong as a bull. He worked harder than anyone, got his straight As while I barely tagged along.

I find myself here everyday, praying. Sometimes, racked with agonizing tears as dirt caked my clothes. The breeze is extra strong today, I rub my arms to keep the chill away. It seems like his soul lives here, luring me always.

We had met when we were five, Jibril and his mother were the new neighbours. First time he saw me he threw a spoon at me. He said my eyes were too big. His mum left him with us whenever she travelled. It took him a while to say a word to me. One day we sneaked out, found the tree and it became ours.

"Mark."

I freeze. Am I hallucinating now? I carefully turn my head, afraid to move. There is nothing, except for a pigeon perched on a low branch. I am sure I hear the voice I want to hear the most. People trudge along on the path, seemingly unaware of my predicament. Our tree is off the path, a little obscured. I can see everything from here, but one has to veer off the road to get a clear view of our tree and its environs.

"Mark."

This time, I start to shiver. The chills are getting stronger, and I can't move. My throat is parched. I feel my bowels getting out of order.  The restroom is my comfort when in trouble.

"Mark."

"What?" I stuttered. Then it all grows quiet. I run blindly. I am panting with my t-shirt soaked when I get to my room. I double over, both hands on my knees.

"Mark."

"What!" I yell instinctively. I look up and he is here, sitting with his legs stretched out. I almost pee on myself.

"No. Jibril. You are dead." He gave me a side eye.

"Bro, are you sick somewhere? Shall I throw something at you?"

"Didn't you die?"

"I did and now I am not." He limps nearer and thumps my head. I feel it.

"You are not dead!"

"That's what I said. Now let's pack for school."

"How?"

"Some spirit answered your prayers."