Yellow crayon
We met when we were children, in our small seaside town.
*
He was my new next-door neighbour, and also the new transfer student. In third period we had art, and he sat beside me. He asked if he could borrow my yellow crayon. I looked at his crayon box. His yellow one was a mere stub. I took the crayon from my box, broke it in two, and gave him the longer piece.
*
Everyone said my hair was funny, that I talked different. I didn’t understand why he wanted to hang out with me when nobody else would. He was the new kid; it was his chance to fit anywhere he wanted. A part of me wondered if it was because I made him look good: he wasn’t bad-looking, seemed okay at school, and could be pretty funny when he tried. Average him, below-average me. It made sense.
*
He was terrified of thunder. I found out when we were walking home from school during the rainy season and he’d jump every time the sky flashed bright, hands flying to cover his ears. He could only cover one ear because he had to hold his umbrella. I helped him cover the other one.
*
We went to the same junior high and ended up in the same class. He joined the swim team and started putting in a lot of work, saying he wanted to swim in the Olympics someday. On days he didn’t need to train he’d meet me outside school and we’d walk home together. As he grew into his looks he started becoming popular, and people started wanting his attention. There was a camp over the summer that taught us survival skills and such, all things I wasn’t good at. We shared a tent, and just after lights-out a classmate came over to invite him to a clandestine party by the lake. I pretended I was asleep. He went without trying to wake me.
*
One day I felt like I was nothing and had nothing, and I tried to die. He found out because he could see into my room from his, and I had forgotten to draw the curtains. He apparently scared my grandma into a fall when he burst into my house. After I came home from the hospital he showed up at my doorstep with a pillow under one arm and a duffel bag slung over the other, apologised for startling my grandma, and said he was staying with me for a while because he didn’t want me to feel alone. When I asked him when he was staying until, he said it depended on me. I wondered if this was what pity drove people to do. I really didn’t want him to like me out of pity. Unfortunately, being the plain-looking, unremarkable, suicidal teenager that I was, I didn’t know what else I could offer him besides pity. I figured that I could at least pretend that I wasn’t as wretched as life made me be-maybe then he’d actually like me. I didn’t want him to know that I was doing it for him, though. It was better that he thought I was doing it for myself. This way he wouldn’t see how much I liked him. I needed my feelings to stay secret. Why, I couldn’t exactly say.
*
After junior high he won a swimming scholarship and was supposed to move out of our tiny town to attend high school in the big city, but all his plans were put on hold when he found out he was sick. His parents enrolled him in my high school instead, and he’d come to school when he could, a bandana wrapped around his head to mask his hair loss. I visited him every day he was at home, and on days when he was warded for treatment, I’d cycle over to the hospital to bring him his homework. Some days he’d be throwing up. Some days he’d yell for me to go home-I usually did, but not before I told him I’d be back the next day. Some days he’d get really angry and fling things at people. He stopped when the TV remote he threw broke my nose. I found it hard to believe I had actually been happy when I heard he wasn’t going away, because everything about him was making me sad.
*
It took about a year for him to get better. He’d lost all his swimmer’s muscles, and became very thin. He smiled a lot less too. I became his only friend. I wasn’t sure that I liked that, even if at one point that was all I had hoped for. I didn’t know what I could do for him, so I made sure he was never alone. Some days the way he spoke to me made me wonder if he still thought of me as his friend, but then there were other days when he would just lie there and cry, and when I went to hug him he never pushed me away. I think it helped that he knew I understood what pain was.
*
A girl came into his life and turned things around. She was from the class next door, very pretty, and fought with him all the time. They got together, naturally. I wanted to be happy for him, but all I could think of was how the time I spent with him when he was sick never changed him, while it only took mere weeks for her to help him get out of his rut. It made me resent her. I kept praying that I’d be better about it, but my prayers always turned into something else that involved asking God to make him look my way.
*
Teenaged love tends to fizzle out quickly, and so did his. I was afraid he’d become his miserable, post-treatment self, but to my relief he remained okay. On graduation day I asked him if he still liked the girl, because he had no girlfriends after her. He said no. He asked me if there was anyone I liked. I lied, and said no.
*
We went to different schools for university, but we were in the same city and lived near each other. He still jumped at the sound of thunder, but he didn’t have to cover his ears anymore. We worked at the same part-time job, serving fast food some weekdays and most weekends. One year we saved up enough to travel to Brazil for the year-end holidays. We went to a club to count down to the New Year; he dragged me onto the dance floor right after the clock struck 12, and I danced for the first time in my life. I was surprised I liked it, but maybe I liked it because I was with him.
*
I stayed on in the city my university was in to became a programmer; he became a PE teacher in our hometown, teaching at our old junior high. I found myself missing him, so after I secured a few permanent freelance gigs I moved back too. The day I moved back I exited the train station to see him holding up a sign with my name. I was so embarrassed, especially when some of his students came up to him and asked what he was doing. He introduced me to them as his best friend, and probably the most important person in his life. I didn’t expect that. It made me really happy, though it also made my head spin and left me quite breathless.
*
He asked me over to his parents’ place to help him clean out his old room. We found a battered crayon box with a single crayon inside, and he shyly pointed out it was the piece of yellow crayon I’d given him when we were in sixth grade. I was surprised he held on to it. He said he was afraid he wouldn’t make any friends at his new school, and the night before his first day he exhausted his yellow crayon by drawing a few hundred stars in a notebook while wishing on every one for a friend. He thanked me for being that friend. I gave him an awkward hug and said ‘don’t mention it’, but what I really wanted to say wasn’t that.
*
I felt like I should have noticed something was wrong when he started spending a lot of time at home over the summer, but I let myself assume it was some kind of privilege teachers enjoyed during the school vacation. He didn’t let me believe otherwise, claiming it was because he had no club activities to preside over. He even asked me out on a short trip to the highlands, saying how it was too hot where we were, and that I needed a break from work. I went, of course, and let him lean on me as we admired the way the sunset painted the sky over the mountains.
*
It took me a couple of weeks to muster up the courage, but one evening I asked if he could come over. I made a simple dinner for us, of which he didn’t eat much, claiming he wasn’t hungry, and at the end of our meal I confessed I moved back home for him, and that I probably liked him more than a friend. I was half-expecting him to be disgusted and leave, but he told me he’d known for years. I was stunned, and definitely annoyed that he’d let me carry a torch for him for so long. I asked him how he felt. He said he'd liked me back for as many years as he’d known. Mind reeling, I asked him what was next. He gave me a sad sort of smile and said he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to be together. I had to know why; he said he couldn’t tell me yet. I told him I’d wait, as long as he needed me to.
*
I got a call from him a few days later, and when I realised the address he gave me belonged to the hospital where he received treatment in high school, everything fell into place. He was already hooked up to tubes when I got there, and he told me to let him be selfish a little longer. I asked him what he meant; he said he didn’t think he could die in peace if he knew we were together. He wanted me to promise I would be okay even when he was gone; I told him it was too early for him to say something like that. Still, he insisted I promise. I told him I’d promise only if he let me stay by his side. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either, so I did.
*
One morning we found him gone, fingers loosely curled around that bit of yellow crayon. I never told him again that I love him, but I think he knows.
*
He was my new next-door neighbour, and also the new transfer student. In third period we had art, and he sat beside me. He asked if he could borrow my yellow crayon. I looked at his crayon box. His yellow one was a mere stub. I took the crayon from my box, broke it in two, and gave him the longer piece.
*
Everyone said my hair was funny, that I talked different. I didn’t understand why he wanted to hang out with me when nobody else would. He was the new kid; it was his chance to fit anywhere he wanted. A part of me wondered if it was because I made him look good: he wasn’t bad-looking, seemed okay at school, and could be pretty funny when he tried. Average him, below-average me. It made sense.
*
He was terrified of thunder. I found out when we were walking home from school during the rainy season and he’d jump every time the sky flashed bright, hands flying to cover his ears. He could only cover one ear because he had to hold his umbrella. I helped him cover the other one.
*
We went to the same junior high and ended up in the same class. He joined the swim team and started putting in a lot of work, saying he wanted to swim in the Olympics someday. On days he didn’t need to train he’d meet me outside school and we’d walk home together. As he grew into his looks he started becoming popular, and people started wanting his attention. There was a camp over the summer that taught us survival skills and such, all things I wasn’t good at. We shared a tent, and just after lights-out a classmate came over to invite him to a clandestine party by the lake. I pretended I was asleep. He went without trying to wake me.
*
One day I felt like I was nothing and had nothing, and I tried to die. He found out because he could see into my room from his, and I had forgotten to draw the curtains. He apparently scared my grandma into a fall when he burst into my house. After I came home from the hospital he showed up at my doorstep with a pillow under one arm and a duffel bag slung over the other, apologised for startling my grandma, and said he was staying with me for a while because he didn’t want me to feel alone. When I asked him when he was staying until, he said it depended on me. I wondered if this was what pity drove people to do. I really didn’t want him to like me out of pity. Unfortunately, being the plain-looking, unremarkable, suicidal teenager that I was, I didn’t know what else I could offer him besides pity. I figured that I could at least pretend that I wasn’t as wretched as life made me be-maybe then he’d actually like me. I didn’t want him to know that I was doing it for him, though. It was better that he thought I was doing it for myself. This way he wouldn’t see how much I liked him. I needed my feelings to stay secret. Why, I couldn’t exactly say.
*
After junior high he won a swimming scholarship and was supposed to move out of our tiny town to attend high school in the big city, but all his plans were put on hold when he found out he was sick. His parents enrolled him in my high school instead, and he’d come to school when he could, a bandana wrapped around his head to mask his hair loss. I visited him every day he was at home, and on days when he was warded for treatment, I’d cycle over to the hospital to bring him his homework. Some days he’d be throwing up. Some days he’d yell for me to go home-I usually did, but not before I told him I’d be back the next day. Some days he’d get really angry and fling things at people. He stopped when the TV remote he threw broke my nose. I found it hard to believe I had actually been happy when I heard he wasn’t going away, because everything about him was making me sad.
*
It took about a year for him to get better. He’d lost all his swimmer’s muscles, and became very thin. He smiled a lot less too. I became his only friend. I wasn’t sure that I liked that, even if at one point that was all I had hoped for. I didn’t know what I could do for him, so I made sure he was never alone. Some days the way he spoke to me made me wonder if he still thought of me as his friend, but then there were other days when he would just lie there and cry, and when I went to hug him he never pushed me away. I think it helped that he knew I understood what pain was.
*
A girl came into his life and turned things around. She was from the class next door, very pretty, and fought with him all the time. They got together, naturally. I wanted to be happy for him, but all I could think of was how the time I spent with him when he was sick never changed him, while it only took mere weeks for her to help him get out of his rut. It made me resent her. I kept praying that I’d be better about it, but my prayers always turned into something else that involved asking God to make him look my way.
*
Teenaged love tends to fizzle out quickly, and so did his. I was afraid he’d become his miserable, post-treatment self, but to my relief he remained okay. On graduation day I asked him if he still liked the girl, because he had no girlfriends after her. He said no. He asked me if there was anyone I liked. I lied, and said no.
*
We went to different schools for university, but we were in the same city and lived near each other. He still jumped at the sound of thunder, but he didn’t have to cover his ears anymore. We worked at the same part-time job, serving fast food some weekdays and most weekends. One year we saved up enough to travel to Brazil for the year-end holidays. We went to a club to count down to the New Year; he dragged me onto the dance floor right after the clock struck 12, and I danced for the first time in my life. I was surprised I liked it, but maybe I liked it because I was with him.
*
I stayed on in the city my university was in to became a programmer; he became a PE teacher in our hometown, teaching at our old junior high. I found myself missing him, so after I secured a few permanent freelance gigs I moved back too. The day I moved back I exited the train station to see him holding up a sign with my name. I was so embarrassed, especially when some of his students came up to him and asked what he was doing. He introduced me to them as his best friend, and probably the most important person in his life. I didn’t expect that. It made me really happy, though it also made my head spin and left me quite breathless.
*
He asked me over to his parents’ place to help him clean out his old room. We found a battered crayon box with a single crayon inside, and he shyly pointed out it was the piece of yellow crayon I’d given him when we were in sixth grade. I was surprised he held on to it. He said he was afraid he wouldn’t make any friends at his new school, and the night before his first day he exhausted his yellow crayon by drawing a few hundred stars in a notebook while wishing on every one for a friend. He thanked me for being that friend. I gave him an awkward hug and said ‘don’t mention it’, but what I really wanted to say wasn’t that.
*
I felt like I should have noticed something was wrong when he started spending a lot of time at home over the summer, but I let myself assume it was some kind of privilege teachers enjoyed during the school vacation. He didn’t let me believe otherwise, claiming it was because he had no club activities to preside over. He even asked me out on a short trip to the highlands, saying how it was too hot where we were, and that I needed a break from work. I went, of course, and let him lean on me as we admired the way the sunset painted the sky over the mountains.
*
It took me a couple of weeks to muster up the courage, but one evening I asked if he could come over. I made a simple dinner for us, of which he didn’t eat much, claiming he wasn’t hungry, and at the end of our meal I confessed I moved back home for him, and that I probably liked him more than a friend. I was half-expecting him to be disgusted and leave, but he told me he’d known for years. I was stunned, and definitely annoyed that he’d let me carry a torch for him for so long. I asked him how he felt. He said he'd liked me back for as many years as he’d known. Mind reeling, I asked him what was next. He gave me a sad sort of smile and said he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to be together. I had to know why; he said he couldn’t tell me yet. I told him I’d wait, as long as he needed me to.
*
I got a call from him a few days later, and when I realised the address he gave me belonged to the hospital where he received treatment in high school, everything fell into place. He was already hooked up to tubes when I got there, and he told me to let him be selfish a little longer. I asked him what he meant; he said he didn’t think he could die in peace if he knew we were together. He wanted me to promise I would be okay even when he was gone; I told him it was too early for him to say something like that. Still, he insisted I promise. I told him I’d promise only if he let me stay by his side. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either, so I did.
*
One morning we found him gone, fingers loosely curled around that bit of yellow crayon. I never told him again that I love him, but I think he knows.