The weekend passed without incident but I felt so very isolated in that time. It still seemed like I was being punished for something, but neither of my parents said anything to me in the aftermath so I didn't address it. As Sunday came to a close, however, I was reinvigorated by the knowledge that I would see him again at school tomorrow – everything would be better then, I knew.
How wrong could I be?
I arrived at school and searched for him in the playground, but I couldn't find him. That wasn't unusual; sometimes he got there late. So I waited in the same place I always did until I heard the school bell but he still hadn't shown up. I became increasingly more anxious as I wondered where he might be. I thought that he might already be in class and perhaps I just missed him outside – surely he'd be there? My hope, however, was stricken from me as I walked through the door to find that not only was he not in his usual seat, but he wasn't in the class at all. My anxiety morphed into panic as I stood there because everything was wrong. He wasn't outside, he wasn't in class – he wasn't anywhere. I swallowed a few shallow breaths as I tried to understand the situation, but my thoughts were interrupted by the teacher telling us all to take our seats, so I did.
I couldn't tell you want the lesson was about because my concerns lay elsewhere. I just kind of stared at the blackboard while the teacher wrote on it, not taking any of it in. The first half of the day felt rather blurry; I knew things were happening but I didn't process them – I was on autopilot. I was ripped from my trance, however, by the ring of the school bell indicating in was lunch time. Oddly enough I didn't feel all that hungry, but I became roused enough to ask the teacher if she knew where my friend was. She said she didn't know and actually hoped that I might be able to shed some light on it because no one had called to explain his absence. I told her that I, too, had no idea why he wasn't here and that I'd heard nothing from him all weekend. Her expression changed when I said this, though I couldn't really describe it. She didn't reply to me but ushered me to go and eat something as we both exited the room. Because I wasn't feeling too much like eating I wandered around the playground for a while, trying to figure out where he might be and why. The true gravity of the situation, however, wasn't made clear to me until the end of the day when my teacher told me that he had transferred schools. My heart broke.
Somehow I managed to walk home through sheer muscle memory alone because I don't remember moving. I felt like I was lost at sea while the sky collapsed around me. 'Transferred schools'? I couldn't wrap my head around it. It seemed like I was in a dream, almost, where absolutely nothing made sense and that I might wake up if I tried hard enough.
Apparently I'd spoken to my parents, but I don't recall. However I do remember being at home, lying on my bed and staring at where he lay not three days before. And as I lay there I watched the room grow dark and felt the temperature drop, such is the duty of autumn. I think I cried a little at your absence and then cried a little more because, after all, I thought I'd never see you again. So I just pulled the blanket over myself and cried myself to sleep.
The next thing I knew the dawn was breaking. I was woken by some loud and fervent voices downstairs and I wondered what was happening. Experience told me that it couldn't possibly be good, so I chose to stay where I was, unmoving and silent. The voices continued for a while as I tried to drown them out with my thoughts, but to no avail. Then I heard someone walking up the stairs and so I braced myself for impact – loud noises and footsteps didn't have a great track record. I was startled to hear a knock on my door and someone let themselves in when I didn't answer. It turned out to be my father and his voice was soft as he tried to wake me up for school. My father could always be counted on for tenderness, unlike my mother who always seemed to be incensed by something.
I didn't want to go to school again because I knew he wouldn't be there and my heart was still heavy from the news. I wanted to say I felt sick so I wouldn't have to - and that wouldn't have been too far from the truth - but I didn't think I'd be believed. Even so, I suppose I figured that there was no harm in trying because I put on my best pathetic voice and weakly told my father that I didn't feel well. He made a noise of concern and told me he'd be back, returning a few moments later to put his hand to my head and make a diagnosis. I don't know if was sheer force of will or perhaps that I actually was ill, but apparently I was warm and off-colour. Better safe than sorry, my father made the decision to keep me home that day, a day which turned out to me one of the most defining moments of my life.
