Hit By A Truck

Pierre

Our moment was gone as soon as we entered Robin's room. His mother and father sat there, looking miserable. Sure, it was normal enough, but the horrible mood wasn't something to be lovey dovey in.

A nurse stood awkwardly between Robin and his parents. He was ignoring them as they tried to talk to him, I soon realised.

Robin stared beyond the wall, through to the parking lot, and beyond that the playgrounds and parks which he used to frequent.

Now, he could never, and would never go there.

Ron went up to the bed, and I followed behind him. "What's wrong?" Ron asked immediately.

Robin turned to look at him. He used to be cheerful and happy all the time, but now, his tears streaked down his cheeks.

"I'm going to die." He whispered. "In a few hours, I'm going to die, and... I don't think I'm ready for it."

That seemed to hit Ron like a bullet. He slid to the ground by Robin's bed, and whispered, "Why?"

No one answered. Ron knew why. My father had hit him with that huge truck of his, and he was going to die, no matter what. It was inevitable. Not that my father was to blame for any of that.

It hit me as well. Not as much as Ron, though. His tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he was silent except for a muffled sniffle.

"I'm sorry." Robin whispered. "I wish I got to enjoy life with you more."

Then, he turned to me. "I'll miss you, too, Pierre. You were a nice friend, and I have no doubt you'll continue to be like that to Ron."

I slid a hand into Ron's, who squeezed back. "I wish I were a part of your life before you were bedridden." I whispered.

I didn't think of Robin as "the bedridden guy", but all my memories of him were bedridden, or on the street that day. He was - in my vision - the person who'd been bedridden for all the time I'd known them.

I wish it wasn't like that, but whenever I thought of him, I remembered him in the bed. I wanted to see him, standing upright. Walking. Happy.

Yet I couldn't imagine it. It was just too hard.

"Me too." Robin answered.

"We all do." Ron interjected between sniffles.

I clenched our intertwined hands firmer, and Ron slowly leaned into my side. "Not yet..." He murmured. "No, not yet."

Turning so he could lean into my chest, I pulled him close with one arm wrapped around his torso, the other stroking his hair.

"I see..." Robin muttered.

That was relieving, at least. It would be kind of awkward to say, "Hey, I know you're about to die, but Ron and I like each other. Or something." Even if I sugarcoated it, that's basically what it is, right?

It was only a matter of a few hours till Robin died, and Ron, Mr. and Ms. Johnson and I stayed there up until the very end.