The Last Throw
I got a text from my friend asking me to come over since his parents were away.
I sent him a message saying, "Sure, I'll come," not knowing it could be the last text I would ever send him.
Before leaving, I grabbed the American football we always threw around and put it in my backpack.
On the way there, I sat next to an old man who looked like he had nobody. He stared out the window quietly, his hands resting in his lap.
I told him that I used to have no friends too, until I met this guy. I told him how my friend taught me how to play video games, how he always knew how to make me laugh, and how he was the best friend I had ever had.
"You'll find someone too," I said. "You just have to keep looking."
The old man was silent for a moment. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I wish I was as optimistic as you," he said quietly.
As I stood up to leave, he looked at me one last time.
"Make sure you tell your friend that while he's still here."
I smiled politely, not really understanding what he meant.
When I arrived at my friend's house, I saw a rope hanging from the ceiling.
"Don't joke about that," I said.
My friend looked me dead in the eyes.
There was no smile.
"Can we just talk one last time?"
My blood went cold. A tear ran down my cheek.
"Why?" was the only word that came out.
After he explained everything, we both sat there looking at each other for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, I spoke.
"Can we at least throw this ball one last time before you go?"
He took the football from my hands.
We stood outside, throwing it back and forth.
For five minutes, neither of us spoke.
Eventually, I said, "You could throw a football to me perfectly from a mile away, but there's no ball in the world you would catch."
I heard a slight laugh.
I threw the football to him again.
This time, he let it fall to the ground.
Without saying a word, he walked back into the house.
When I entered, he was already walking toward the rope.
"Just so you know, the problems, stress, and pressure you have don't disappear when you go away."
He stopped.
He didn't turn around.
He just stood there with his back toward me.
"You give all of it to the people you care about most. Along with the grief."
He remained frozen.
"You're the most selfish guy I know."
I was crying now.
"You're my only friend who would die for me. But I don't need you to die for me."
My voice shook.
"I need you to live for me."
He slowly turned around.
He didn't look angry.
He didn't look sad.
He just looked tired.
An immediate wave of memories flooded my mind.
The football.
The video games.
The first day we met.
Every laugh.
Every conversation.
Every throw.
And then I was back.
The old man's words finally made sense.
"Make sure you tell your friend that while he's still here."
But it was too late now.
The stool had already been kicked.
It scraped across the floor until it came to rest beside the football lying next to me.