Foe to Friend

You were an absolute prick back in the days, you know. I remember when we were 10 years old, in the same class together. You would always say cruel stuff and mess around with my things, making fun of me. The teachers didn’t care, no matter how much I begged them for help. A real shit school we went to back then. I can’t even remember everything you did to me. But some things I never forgot. Like the time you punched me in the face because I had an ugly bag, so you had to “make my already ugly face uglier” to make it better.

Yeah, a little shit you were.

I walked out of the glass doors to the school, clutching the straps of my backpack. You suddenly appeared right next to me. I found myself falling as you kicked out an leg, tripping me. I managed to avoid hitting my head, just scraping my hands on the pavement. The wind got knocked out of my lungs for a moment.

“What’s wrong? Too big feet?” You leered as a group of laughing kids walked around me. One of them stepped on my fingers, making me shout out in pain. You laughed harder, giving me a kick before walking away.

Nobody wanted to be friends with the loser kid who was bullied every day.

I’d accepted my isolation and my role as an outcast when I saw a new neighbor move into the house next to ours. A little flame of hope lit inside me, as I saw a young boy with ginger hair go after a man heading inside. But the flame was violently stomped out when I saw your freckled face as you turned. For a wonderful moment I’d seen an alternative future. Of me swinging on the swings, climbing trees, and playing football with some mysterious friend. Or whatever friends did together.

“What?” my mom asked curtly as I picked at the cold meatballs and lumpy mashed potatoes in front of me. Except for your cooking? I held my tongue, knowing better than to talk back. I’d been in a bad mood since you moved in next door, barely leaving my house. “You know the rule, eat up," Mom said, scraping together the last of the mashed potatoes from her plate. I wasn’t allowed to leave the table until I’d eaten every last pea; there was no waste of money in this house. My record was three hours at the table before finally giving in.

That night I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, but shouts kept me away from blissful sleep. I wondered if they were coming from your house. It must have been; my window was open and looking out over your house. I turned over, pressing my pillow over my ear. I finally had enough after fifteen minutes. I closed the window, shutting out the shouts and the grasshoppers' annoying chirps.

One evening every week, I’d turn the little dials on the television to channel three. And watch the new episode of my favorite show: Airwolf. I loved that show. My mom didn’t. So when I rarely left the house, other than school, she found me every day in front of that TV, watching reruns of Airwolf.

After a week of coming home from work and finding that I hadn’t left the couch since I got home, she grabbed my arm and dragged me to the door.

“That’s enough television for you.” She said, ignoring my protests and attempt to get out of her grip. She didn’t budge, and eventually she shoved me out the front door.

“So! Go play outside, be a kid!” she said before closing the door, clearly tired of my sudden laziness. The lock clicked from the other side, and that was that; no more Airwolf for me. I groaned out of frustration and anger. Forcing myself to push down the impulse to kick Mom’s stupid flowerpot down the front steps. I managed a deep breath and sighed, sitting down on the steps, looking over the front yard. I wonder how Hawke’s gonna get the helicopter. I let my thoughts wander. Musing myself by coming up with different versions of the show. And letting me be Hawke and wearing his helmet.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but I soon grew bored and found a nearby tree to climb. I was a skilled climber, hooking one foot in a branch and heaving myself up, upside down. I enjoyed the high view and the wind tugging at my clothes and swaying the tree crown I sat perched on. I had one moment of peace before I saw you.

“Are you a freaking monkey or something!” you yelled up from the ground, laughing at me. A few other kids from school were there too, laughing and pointing up at me. “You sure look like one with those ears!” you shouted, eyes gleaming with malice and an ugly grin twisted your freckled face.

I felt my cheeks grow red and hot. Out of anger, fear, or embarrassment, I didn’t know. You picked up a stone and hurled it at me, zooming past my right ear. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I almost strangled the branches, clinging on for dear life while you threw projectiles at me. Are you trying to kill me?! It felt like my heart was beating faster than the Airwolf helicopter. Tears burned in my eyes.

“He’s crying!” You laughed as I felt the tears stream down my cheek, despite my efforts to hold them back. The other kids burst out in laughter again. “He’s actually crying! Look at him!” I saw a stone flying toward me, getting bigger and bigger. I saw it coming but couldn’t do anything.

“It’s not that deep,” Mom said, briskly cleaning the cut on my jaw. I’d managed to cling to the tree after I got hit by the stone. And waited until I was sure the horrible kids were well away before I gingerly climbed down.

“It’ll heal before you get married.” Her favorite phrase. She brushed away the tears from my cheek and looked me in the eyes, smiling slightly. Sometimes she was as emotionally cold as a fork, but for a few moments, she could show that she really loved me.

“Can I watch TV now?” I asked, jumping at her moment of sentiment.

“No.” She answered with her usual curtness and smiled, patting me on the cheek before putting a band-aid on the cut. Worth a shot, I mumbled, feeling the little patch on my hurting jaw. I wiped away the remains of my tears with my sleeve and sighed, not sure what to do.

“How did you get that?” she asked, nodding at the wound. I avoided her gaze and fiddled with my sleeve, not sure if I should tell her.

“Some stupid kid threw a stone at me," I mumbled at last, still not meeting her gaze.

“Why?” she asked, not that invested in the conversation as she started on the dishes.

“I dunno! He’s a jerk!” I yelled, clenching my little fists. Mom gave me a warning stare, quickly shutting me up. “The best way to defeat your enemy is to befriend them.” She simply said, pretending to be a Yedi or something.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard," I muttered, hopping down from the chair and going off to my room.

I sat on the front steps and carved a little stick with my scout knife, trying to make a butter knife. The only sound was the peaceful song of the birds in the trees. A car started up nearby, startling the birds and making me look up.

You were carrying a big bag, heading for the car. A tall man, presumably your father, walked up to you. That was the first time I saw you scared. The man said something, pointing to the bag. He suddenly pushed you, making you fall onto the pavement. The man snatched the bag, shouting something. We made eye contact for a brief moment when you got back up. Fear and rage swirled around in your green eyes.

I quickly looked down; my heart beating in my throat.

I returned to my carved stick, not sure what to make of the situation. I wasn’t expecting you to be treated like that by your own father. You were popular in school, at least by the people you didn’t bully. Why would you behave like such a bully when you yourself knew how it felt to be treated like garbage?

Two weeks and two new awesome episodes of Airwolf later, I awoke in the middle of the night to a loud bang. I sat up hastily, thoughts groggy from sleep. I yawned and made it to the window, curious about the sound.

I saw you knocking on the door to your own house. I couldn’t make out what you were saying, but no one let you in. Somehow, I felt bad for you as I watched you sit down on the steps by the door. My heart jumped as I saw you wipe away a tear. What is happening?

I stood there by my window, looking down at your sad shape. The only light was the yellow street lamp on the other side of the road. Twenty minutes went by; nobody let you back in. I swallowed. Should I do something? Mom really wouldn’t appreciate it if I woke her at - I glanced at my digital alarm clock - 1:43 am. But somebody should do something.

I took a shaky breath, collecting courage worthy of Stringfellow Hawke, and went out of my room. Avoiding the squeaky steps of the stairs, I snuck to the front door.

My breath billowed out in a faint cloud as I tiptoed out. I managed to grab my jacket and crocs before I slowly closed the door behind me. Gravel crunched under my little crocs as I walked out into the chilly night air. The inky night sky twinkled with stars. The usually familiar street looked unrecognizable at night. One single yellow light from a streetlamp lit up the dim street. I passed the tree on the border of our front yards. Its dark branches twisting upward like gnarled fingers clawing at the inky night sky. The rustle of the dark leaves sent a cold shiver down my spine. I’d never been out this late before. Certainly never to visit my tormentor either. I was there to defeat my enemy.

You looked up as I turned into your house’s front yard. I swallowed hard and slowed my pace a bit, cold feet itching to turn back. If it all went wrong, I could just run the short distance home and lock the door. Sure, school and day-to-day life would probably be a lot worse if this did go wrong.

“What the hell do you want?” you demanded, glaring at me with contempt. I stopped a safe distance away, hesitating.

“Would you like to come inside?” I managed to get out, gesturing toward my house, trying to keep my voice steady and friendly. What am I even doing?

“No!” you yelled, “Fuck off, you stupid little piss ant!” You stood up, staring me in the eyes, fist clenched.

I couldn’t stop my body from taking a step back. But I managed to not run away. “If you change your mind, I’ll stay up for a while, so just knock on my door.” I managed to turn my back to you, despite my survival instinct screaming in protest. “Goodnight!” I said over my shoulder before I hurried home.

I watched you from the safety of my window. You’d sat back down, head in your hands. Another thirty minutes snailed by. You tried to open the door to your house multiple times, but it seemed to be locked. I watched you knock, but yet again, nobody opened. My eyes grew tired and I thought about going to bed when you suddenly got up and slowly made your way to my house.

Suddenly wide awake, I hurriedly snuck back down and waited for you to knock. But as the minutes passed without a sound, I decided to open it.

You stood there, one foot from me. I swallowed and managed a little smile, opening the door wider. You looked humbled and defeated, but stepped inside, head hung low.

You’d sleep on the couch that night, half-scaring my mom to death in the morning. And a few days later, you’d be on that same couch, watching Airwolf, our favorite show.

Little did I know, in that moment, a beautiful friendship was born.

Twelve years later, you would be the best man at my wedding.

I’d be the one encouraging you to go to law school. And the one that got passed-out-in-bush drunk, celebrating when you passed the bar.

You’d be the one who drove my wife to the hospital when her water broke. And the one to pick me up from work, getting me there in time to see my daughter come into the world. Rightfully earning you the honor of being godfather.

In turn, I was the best man at your wedding. And right next to you when you begrudgingly signed the divorce papers a few years later.

I managed to fish you out of the bottle and take you into our home as you got to your feet.

You were the one who gave me courage as I suddenly found myself with a newborn son and a five-year-old daughter.

I was there in the park, playing with my kids, when you bumped into your future wife. Convincing to go and properly talk to her.

After being your best man for the second time, it was my turn to give you courage as you became a father. And rightfully there teasing you about the little ginger fluff on your son’s head. Despite that, you made me the godfather.

We watched our kids grow up, spending every Christmas, Easter, and birthday together.

You were there for me when my mom passed away.

I was there for you as your stepfather also died, not that you needed it that much. He was a real arse. But, nonetheless, I was there for you.

You were the best uncle one could ask for when my son was diagnosed with leukemia. And the best friend I could ever dream of as he fought for his life, barely making it.

You were the one to give me strength through that battle in which I felt so helpless.

Years later, when your mom died, hitting you hard, I took you to my son’s piano performance instead of the bar.

You helped me practice for the father-daughter dance at my daughter’s wedding. And joking that my daughter would need steel-tipped shoes to make it through.

But eventually you’d leave me, way too early. Not that there ever would be an acceptable time to lose you.

I took a turn for the worse, as expected when one has a man-sized hole in one’s heart.

Had it not been for my family and the role as your son’s godfather, I would’ve followed you in death.

My dear old friend.