The leaves above me were sliding through the air, like waves lapping across the ocean. I was trying to determine whether it was the wind shaking the delicate branches, or if I was seeing things. They had told me everything might start to look different, and I was sure that I had never seen leaves move like that. I was also sure the heat that I felt wrapped around me like a blanket of feathers was coming from a fire inside my chest, and not the one raging in front of me. The one that shimmered like the leaves, and mesmerized me with its dance. Voices floated in the air around me, laughing, crying, shouting, but I could not look away from the flames. Not until I realized that one of the voices, the one coming from the chair next to mine, was being directed at me.
It was my best friend, whose birthday we were celebrating tonight. Looking at him now, he reminded me of the leaves on the tree, and I remembered a name that I had given him years ago — Figwit. It was a mythical, tree-elf creature that I had made up on a whim, of whose race my friend was the only member. It was just one of the many jokes we shared. I smiled and remembered that before I had become distracted by the waves, we had been reminiscing about all of the adventures we’d had over the last 13 years.
Now, Figwit was talking about the time when we’d had to work together to save him from a close friend who had lost too much and threatened Figwit’s life. He told me I was the only one who he trusted to help him then, and I thought that we were like the characters in a fantasy story. Except, those characters were always friends who met on the road, and we were brothers. As far as I was concerned we were brothers.
“All I ever wanted was for you to be able to rely on me,” I told him, and it was the truth.
At that moment, Figwit’s father, whose huge, bushy beard reminded me of a tree Ent, which seemed fitting, swam into my blurry vision. He’d overheard our conversation, and his eyes seemed glossier than they should have.
“I’ve never heard anyone say something like that to a friend from school,” he said.
“‘All I ever wanted was for you to be able to rely on me,’” he repeated with wonder and a crack in his voice. He looked me in the eyes and reached out his hand. “Thanks, D,” he said when I took it, “Thank you for being such a good friend to my boy.”
It was at that moment, when I held his hand, looked into his eyes, and saw that they held tears of gratitude, that the spear of guilt pierced me. Memories of the years since the time Figwit and I had fought for his life surged through my clouded mind. We had been on countless adventures together, and for those most dangerous of moments, I was there. What about those countless moments I wasn’t, though? I’d said that I wanted him to be able to rely on me, and that was the truth, but I knew it wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth was I had failed.
No longer after the danger to his life had been averted, Figwit began living with me. My best friend, my companion, my brother, living under the same roof. It should have been an incredible joy. A chance to go on more journeys together than ever. Instead, I let myself be drawn away from the things I should have been holding onto the tightest. Figwit didn’t stop facing horrible difficulties or fighting dangerous battles, but I wasn’t there for them. For years, I left him to fight the demons alone. And yet, when I needed him to fight by my side, he was always there.
In the last year, I had faced the darkest time of my life, and Figwit had helped me through it all. We were closer than we had been in a long time. On nights like this, though, when sobriety was a distant memory, and our emotional guard was lowered, I would always be reminded of my mistakes.
“I never saw you,” Figwit would tell me, in a tone of voice that I rarely heard. “I lived just down the hall, and I never saw you. You weren’t there.”
Now, as I looked into the grateful eyes of Figwit’s father, the memory of those words tore apart the clouds that had been swirling in my mind, making everything shimmer and dance.
“Thanks, D.,” the kindly Ent repeated.
I looked away, staring once again into the flames that surged at my feet.
“No problem,” I heard myself reply.
I knew that I should have been telling him not to thank me. I hadn’t been reliable at all. I had failed. But I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the father’s happiness, or maybe that was just an excuse.
I should have apologized then.
Instead, I stared into the fire, but its movements no longer mesmerized me. All that I saw in the shifting light were the words, “I’m sorry,” printed in angry shades of red, and orange, and yellow, repeating countless times. I couldn’t look at my friend. I wondered what he saw in the flames.