My image of immortality was shattered. He had left me too, like everyone else I had ever known. I never realised how much his presence truly mattered. He was always just there and life without him was unimaginable. Now the nightmare that seemed so distant was here.
The word trust was nonexistent in my vocabulary, until I met him. He promised to be there forever, he promised to share his life with me, and he promised he would never leave.
Now he has left me here... alone.
I never loved him. He was just a friend. I watched him grow up and he watched me.
Our nights were spent together, practicing our music or learning new marching steps. Grass and sweat were our second clothes in those times and we wore it proudly after a long, hard practice. Our secrets were held in the confidence we had between us, whispered to one another during the long summer nights at band camp. We'd hold each others warm hands as a reassurance that both of us were there and that neither of us would leave.
The one time I let go of his hand, even if for just a moment, was when he grew up... and I followed. We took our own turn on the road of life, but no matter what, our lives always seemed to be intertwined. We both could not forget the childhoods that we shared. We joined our hands for a second time as if nothing had ever changed. We were two trumpets playing our music together again and showing the world that we were there. Everything seemed to be so perfect.
His hands slipped slowly from mine though. He found love and had his own kids to take care of. I followed as I always did and married as well. It was different after that and our friendship slowly became part of the past.
All of the times he saved me from the cruel laughter of other kids during marching band, all of the times we practiced together, and all of the times we spent trying to further our music began to fade. Our instruments were put in the attic to be remembered at a later time. Pictures of us were put in boxes and replaced on our mantles by the pictures of our children. We forgot about each other and moved on.
The day I got a call from my past life was when I realised how removed I had become and how deeply I had just been pushed back into it. I had one last chance to make a connection between him and me.
But... I was too late.
The next time our hands joined again was different. His was lifeless and mine... well mine was there. The hands that so beautifully once held an instrument were empty and lifeless. That was the last time I ever saw him. No, that wasn't him at all. His memory was stronger than that lifeless form that was in front of me. It didn't even look peaceful. It was emotionless
Who gave him the right to go off and die without me? He was the person that gave me life and then took it away with him. Why did he have to leave?
The day of the funeral was blurry. It was full of people that he despised, people that he didn't know, people I had met briefly, and the people that didn't care about him. They didn't deserve to mourn for him. They didn't even understand that he was gone.
Our trumpets which had long ago been covered in dust were taken down from the attic in memory of what we used to share. They were rechristened at the saddest and most mortal of times. A time both of us had never been willing to consider.
On that day instead of two happy children holding their trumpets as they once had there was the silhouette of a lone being holding her trumpet against the setting sun. Music that had rusted only with time broke the silence that was held by the dead. It neither spoke of a beginning or an end just of the life of a dearest friend of mine that had never had a chance to finish his life.
That was when the true rain started and all of reality came falling down. My life was his and his was mine. But, he was gone.
Now it was time to move on once again and keep what I knew to be dear close to me.