In Memory by CJ Lyons Read Free Book Online Page B

lacking equal cutting skills at that moment .
    He took it hesitantly, and took a kind of obligatory reluctant bite, looking at me for approval to see if he did it right.
    S miled encouragingly, not really sure what to make of that.
    “This is…” he began, before pausing, “…friendship, isn’t it?”
    “Um…” I nodded, “Yeah, I would say so.” I smiled widely, “So since we’re friends, we can share lunch.”
    “That’s all there is to it?”
    “Umm, we can share stories, and listen when the other talks…” What else do friends do…? “Let’s see, f riends act as support, and…” C ouldn’t think of what else friendship meant, so I reached for my dictionary. This is what it said:
    friend | frend |
    noun
    a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of family relations.
    ORIGIN Old English fr ē ond , of Germanic origin; related to Dutch vriend and German Freund , from an Indo-European root meaning ‘to love,’ shared by free .
    He nodded. “I am familiar with the term. I thought there was more to it than the definition.” He took another bite of the sandwich, and smiled.
    “Is it good?” I asked.
    “It’s really good. Thank you.”
    He smiled!
    Progress! Even more!
    156 Days, 24 September, Wednesday
    In English today, I think I figured out who hurts him. I really hope I’m wrong, but…
    K now it was his father. He hasn’t told me, or placed any blame on his father to confirm my suspicions, but I just know.
    From the way his eyes burned and a blush rose in his face as we read a short story in class praising fathers, which brought on a discussion about ‘your favourite memory of your dad’.
    For me, it was a long time ago, before I moved here, I just remember walking, holding his hand and marvelling at how thick and strong it was in comparison to my own. And the way he would smile and lift me into his arms, and hug me tightly but gently. It’s simple, but it’s one of the only memories of him I have.
    Noah didn’t contribute to the discussion, even after mild wheedling from the teacher. On the other side of the room, girls rolled their eyes and the boys would mutter amongst themselves and then laugh.
    The blush on Noah’s thin face rose at this, and the teacher moved on.
    When my turn rolled around, I gave my short, simplistic memory, somehow wishing I had declined as well, to act as support for him.
    As the recollections of all the students went on, he slowly put his head on his desk and hid his face in his arms.
    D on’t think anyone but me noticed the way his shoulders shook as everyone recounted their happy memories.
    It seems strange, but I wish I didn’t have the same happy memories as everyone, so I could relate to him.
    W anted to stand up and yell ‘Shut up! Don’t you see you’re hurting him! Keep your happiness to yourself!’ Of course, I’d be yelling at myself too.
    They wouldn’t care if they hurt him though.
    He’s the bad luck boy.
    After that class, he left the room first, and I couldn’t find him for the rest of the day.
    W ent to work, and carried out my tasks sort of numbly. Bee, my boss, kept asking me if I was okay. Argh . I’m just generally confused now.
     
    155 Days, 25 September, Thursday
    Noah did come to school today, I found him during our second block spare.
    A pproached him in the second library/study room, he was sitting at a table in the corner, with his head down in his arms.
    He di dn’t react when I said hello, think he might be sleeping or something. Maybe I should ju st leave him be for a while. S hrugged and opened my Physics textbook, beginning the chapter on Harmonic Motion systems.
    After a few minutes of not understanding anything in the chapter, I sighed deeply, hoping the noise would be enough to make him look up.
    He didn’t move, so I tried a more direct approach, poking him gently . Again, no reaction, he must really be sleeping deeply. I sat back, diving back into the