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Join date : 04/12/2010

PostSubject: IF ONLY...   Wed Jun 15, 2011 4:03 pm

Lately I take a long walks by myself...I think about life and death - things everyone wonders about, I suppose. Sometimes I walk for hours, but I always end up at some place.

Today it was a crisp June afternoon. Not one person was in sight when I arrived. My feet moved towards the little mound of dirt, just as they had yesterday, the day before, and the day before, every day for the past month.

I took my usual kneeling position beside the small stone inscribed with these sad tidings: Here lies Moy, Born May 23, 2000; Died May 14, 2011. " The words sent new shocks up my spine, just as I knew they would. For even after a month I still I could not believe it. When I thought of Moy, I thought of a semi-curly haired boy hurrying off to school or a basketball practice, not a cold form here with all these strangers.

Something else troubled me, and I don't think I will never forget it. I had come from school after a long and hectic day. Our teacher had decided our reports were due tomorrow instead of next Friday. Our history teacher was kind enough to warn us our test on the last five chapters to be given tomorrow. Anyway, dotted here and there among these big headaches was my usual homework - algebra and biology. I had come dragging into the house with my "it's been a hard day" look. Mama knew better than to ask my day.

As I headed for my bedroom, I heard two small voices laughing. I opened the door, and there sat Moy and a little neighbor friend at my desk. They weren't making a mess. In fact, they were being very careful not to. Anyway, this was the straw that broke the camel's back and I lost my temper. I told them to get out and never to come into my room when I'm not at home and to "stay out of my stuff", you little pest! I must have to call him a pest four or five times. How could I have been so crude?

Moy's face turned beet red, and I knew he was sorry and ashamed. He even apologized, but oh no, I couldn't let him get away with it. I had to be firm.

At the dinner table Moy was usually quiet and didn't eat much; but I guess I was the only one who noticed because Papa and Mama were talking away. After supper I excused myself and got down to work. While I was working I felt someone watching me. I turned, and there stood Moy in the doorway.

"Please close the door," I said curtly.

He hesitated, then slowly closed it, with a hurt, puzzled look.

"I will make it up to him," I thought, then turned my thoughts back to my work.

The next morning was warm, and I felt fatigue as I climbed out of bed. I hurriedly dressed and dashed out to the breakfast table. Mama was cooking eggs in the kitchen. As I sat down, I felt his warm, brown eyes on me, and I met his imploring gaze with a cool stare.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked.

"I suppose so," ... I really wasn't, but I felt he hadn't learned his lesson yet.

"We'll see," I said cuttingly. Then hurriedly gulping the last of my breakfast and grabbed my books, purposely ignoring him. But as I hurried out the door, something about the sadness in his eyes brought a guilty feeling, and I remember thinking, "I'll make it up to him later." That was my trouble. I was too busy in too much of a hurry to get close to him. I was too busy with algebra than to go to his school play. I was too busy with my debate to go to his basketball game for an hour.

That was the last time I saw him alive - there at the breakfast table.

I had come home from school as usual with my mind full of my usual thoughts. I noticed my brother's badly twisted bike on the lawn. I suddenly felt panic sweeping over me. I ran for the house, my heart beating in my throat. The kitchen was quiet. The living room door was shut, and I was terrified of the circumstances that were happening on the other side; but the silence of the kitchen was too much to bear and I found myself pushing the door open.

Mama was sitting in the rocking chair with Papa kneeling by her side, holding her shaking head. Their faces wore identical expressions - very pale with eyes staring straight ahead. Mama saw me she stood and took me in her shaking arms. I expected the worst from that action, and my fears were confirmed as Papa related the events of the last half hour.

Moy had been in a hurry to get home and start on the new model airplane Mama had brought him. He must have been looking as he came racing across the street. The driver of the car didn't see him until it was too late. I had read this type of thing many times in the newspapers, but it happened to other people, not to me, not to my family.

The next days were full of tears. I cried until my eyes were dry and red and the tears just wouldn't come anymore. I couldn't eat for days. I couldn't sleep very long. I would always have the same dream of coming home from school that day.

I remembered so many small things he had done for me - things like getting me a glass of water while I was studying, polishing my shoes when I was in a hurry, showing me his new basketball shirt (which I thought was a bore). I am sure everyone has thought, "If I could do it again. If only I had one more chance."

Suddenly I wished more than anything to talk to him if for just five minutes. And when he would ask me, "Are you still mad at me?" with his brown eyes studying my face, I would take him in my arms and say, "No, my darling Moy, I'm not mad anymore, and I'll never be mad at you again."

I slowly got to my feet from the misty grass. My legs were cramped and stiff from kneeling so long. I pulled my jacket tighter. Then I started for home...
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