Before Nightfall

CHAPTER 3: Mango Tree

It is thirty minutes past 4 o'clock in the afternoon. The sun is still glowing, creating silhouettes of the trees. "This one's my favorite," Hernan tells from behind me. "Me too. The sparkles reflected in the river makes it more majestic." I replied, still gazing at the mango tree by the river near the schoolyard. We stand there for a few more minutes until our teacher tells us to go home. We race each other to our houses. Since Hernan and I live across one another, we do all kinds of things together. I became his first friend when his family moved into our neighborhood. His father has this job where he needs to be at a certain place for a long time, which is why his family moves a lot.

It's amazing how we have a lot in common. We both like the sunset more than the sunrise, cloudy days more than any weather, how we both agreed that orange is the superior flavor of all fruit drinks. But despite all our similarities, Hernan is a very obedient kid, and I'm not. He does whatever his parents tell him to do like he's afraid of them. One time he fell off the mango tree and scrape his knee, they forbid him to play outside for a week, to which Hernan submissively complied. The moment he's allowed to go outside, I taught him how to climb a tree, which he learned faster than I thought.

While I was pretty engrossed in pulling the weeds off the schoolyard, looking at how satisfying it is. Hernan, coming from the far end of the yard, squats beside me and continues ridding the Earth of its weeds. "My family's moving out soon," he brings out. I hear those words and return to my sanity. I knew this day would come, I prepared myself for it. But when I think about Hernan leaving, I don't know what to do anymore. I try not to show how miserable my face is so I look down and continue pulling weeds. "When?" I ask. "On the 28th of this month. I know it's too sudden. My father only told me last night." He replied, trying to pull the same weed he's been at since he came. That's four days from today.

On the day of his departure, we promise to write each other letters. He left that morning and I cried until the afternoon. The next morning, I look outside my window to see if Hernan decided to come back and stay, but he didn't. I have a few other friends besides Hernan, so I have a company during break time. But I think about him the entire day and wonder if he already found some friends, it saddens me thinking if Hernan is eating alone right now or if he's walking home from school all by himself. I hate it. I despise the idea of him being alone. If only I were with Hernan, he wouldn't be lonely. I come home to a letter from him saying he's alright and I shouldn't worry because he met new friends. I am so happy I write back immediately and tell my mother to send it right this instant.

We exchange multiple letters while we are apart. I keep all of them inside this mahogany chest my father made for my birthday last year. I am very excited when I heard he convinced his father to drive him and visit me next week. At last, I'm going to see my best friend after a long time. He told me to wait at the mango tree by the river near the schoolyard. I write him back saying how delighted I was after reading his letter and I can't wait to see him. Three days after I sent the letter, it was delivered back to me, the postman says Hernan Santos doesn't live there anymore. On the day of his promised visit, I waited until sunset, and as I stood there gazing at the silhouettes of the mango tree, the sun's ray reflects on the tears rolling down my cheeks.