Missing You...

Chapter One

Have you ever looked at your best friend and wondered, "What would I do without you?". There is always that one special person in our lives that we absolutely love to pieces, and we think we could never live without them. You two are the best of friends, through thick, thin, and every consistency in between. But relationships don't always stay concrete solid. I myself have had many "best friends" turn on me and disappear, without even having the decency to say goodbye.

Let's face it. Friendship don't last forever. Even the strongest bonds wither away eventually. This happened to two very good friends. Everyone, including themselves, thought they would never split up. But that wasn't the case. These two people disappeared from each other's lives for years, and this is the story of their reunion...

* * * *

Wednesday 26 November, 1980

Tick - tick - tick.

Paul glanced down at his watch. It was nearing midnight yet he was too anxious to sleep. He was sitting alone in his parlor, surrounded by mountains of old, dusty cardboard boxes. All day long Paul had been cleaning out his box room; sorting things, throwing rubbish away, and deciding what to keep and what to keep in storage. Being surrounded by such a large quantity of boxes gave him a somewhat uneasy feeling, but he couldn't figure out why. Maybe he was tired? Maybe everything he found reminded him of something? Paul didn't know. 

With a huge sigh Paul pulled another box onto his lap. He opened the flaps and began digging around inside. This box wasn't full of the usual items you would find in a box room, like old clothes, broken kitchen appliances, and childhood toys. This particular box was full of photos. Paul cautiously picked a one up, holding it warily as if it were a miniature bomb. He stared at the person in the photo. His heart began racing. His hands shook violently. 

"I know you." he whispered. "Why are you here?"

The photo didn't answer, of course. Paul's face became as dark as a rain cloud, his hands balled up into fists. He stared downwards as angry tears filled his eyes, sliding down onto his cheeks. Paul rifled through the other items in the box, discarding old photos and newspaper clippings as he went, growing angrier and angrier. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't go through with his life like this. Paul seized his initial photo, glaring at the person inside it.

"I thought we were friends." he muttered furiously, "I thought we had something special."

Paul's violent emotions got the best of him. In a sudden splurge of emotion, he took the photo in his hands and began tearing it to shreds. He became more riotous with every action and a certain ineffable anger pulsating beneath his skin. He then, almost mechanically, grabbed the other items from the box and tore them to pieces, too. Little shreds of newspaper clippings and scatterings of photos fell to the ground and landed in small piles on the carpet.

Nearly everything that had been in the box was now lying completely destroyed at Paul's feet. He let his hands fall limply to his sides. He was breathing heavily, sweat and angry tears running down his face in snail trails. Paul was about to stand up and go to bed when something caught his eye. There was one more photograph lying in the box. He picked it up, his hands shaking. The man in the photo smiled brightly at Paul. He had such a warm, cheeky smile that Paul couldn't help but grin right back at him. He glanced around his parlor. The carpet had become a sea of ripped photos and shreds of newspaper. Paul suddenly realised what he had done.

"Oh no..." he wailed, falling to his knees. He tried to gather up all of the paper fragments and piece them back together, but it was a vain attempt. Paul clutched the last photo to his chest, tears rolling down his flushed face. He felt awful, as if he'd ripped the actual person in the photo to bits and scattered him around the room.

"I'm so sorry." he whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't believe I did that."

Paul gazed down at the man's smiling face. A tear rolled down his cheek and splashed onto the photograph, causing it to smudge. He gently wiped the tear away, sighing heavily. Why was he so angry? Why was he tearing up his most precious memories? He knew why. Paul had been hurt by his best friend. He knew he had every right to be angry, but it made him feel awful.

"I can't stay mad at you." Paul said to the photo. "I love you too much. I wish you knew that."

Sobbing softly and with a heavy heart, Paul folded the photo up neatly, careful not to crease it too much, all ready to put it in his pocket. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek and got to his feet. He looked at the mess of torn paper at his feet. Paul felt like crying.

"I'm so sorry, John." he whispered tearfully. "I miss you so much... and... I think... I think I love you."