By Toby Salamon

I walked the streets, silent as I’d always been. Not a word strummed at the weathered strings of my rotted, useless vocal chords. And yet beside me walked a friend, understanding enough as he was to find companionship in the expressions of my face. Jesse was his name, and I’d always supposed that he’d have had enough voice in him for the both of us, if only he could share. He’d always be saying something along the lines of “You know, Lily” (that was the name he’d given to me) “I really do believe that we’ll grow up to do great things–greater, in fact, than we could possibly fathom;” or “You know that little bastard who runs the counter at the butcher’s? That fat ginger fellow, with all the acne? Well, I swear to God the kid’s been jacking up prices on me. I swear it! Just the other day, the little jerk way overcharged for an ounce of some crappy beef. An ounce, I tell you!”

I’d always disregarded these statements, however, as the fantasies of a wonderfully delusional friend. And then there was the day at hand, which I’d expected to be no different. I’d walk, he’d talk, and I’d listen, intently. But such was not its destiny. Of course, it started off that way, as if to caress the innocence of my childhood before blowing it to pieces.

Jesse was talking to me about the results of his latest running meet. He was really quite fond of them, and was known to verbally attack those who questioned his admiration. Of course, I never was one of his victims. He had a tendency of picking up his pace ever so slightly while discussing these topics, slowly making his way up to a jolly skip, at which his pace capped off. Usually I would try to keep up with him, taking turns sprinting and walking, and sprinting and walking again. But that day I was tired, and decided not to keep his fervent pace.

We came to an intersection, at which point I was only a few meters behind him, still close enough to hear his final words quite clearly. He was talking to me still, as he knew I’d always be there, listening; “I really am quite tired of all the cheaters at these races. I think you should come to one, Lily. I’m sure you’d agree with me on this, if you could only watch.” It was then that I saw it.

The harbinger of my harsh reality came speeding down the street, in perfect alignment with one of the only true friends I’d ever have, who at that time was oblivious to all else but his ridiculous story of the injustices of his beloved track. I could see the terrible event take place, but that was all. I knew all too well that I could not scream, but in desperation I tried, exasperating my lungs until their last drop of air was expelled from my pathetic, gaping mouth. At last, I threw myself to the ground, mercilessly beating it, in a frantic attempt to save my only friend, from his horrible fate. But, alas, all I was given was a glance, a last look at Jesse’s thin, pale face, dotted with freckles along his wonderful, disproportionately plump cheeks, pronouncing the dark shade of brown, ever present in his eyes and hair. But yet, a glance is what it is, no more and no less, and the reality of a glance provides no prolonged condolences.

And a glance it was, as a moment later, Jesse was gone.