It’s been months since the crash. It hit the town harder than anyone could’ve imagined. The Hendersons were the glue that held our community together — especially their son, my best friend, Emory. He was the only one who survived. But I truly believe a part of him died that day. He lost his mother, father, sister, and oldest brother. And I’ll always blame myself for not seeing the signs until now. 

He lost everything that made him himself. He lost his arm—lost the baseball scholarship he’d worked for. He had to start physical therapy because his legs needed surgery. His aunty had taken him in—but it didn’t fill the hole in his heart. 

“Are you sure you want to give this to me, man?” I asked as I stared at the figure of our favorite character he’d bought two months ago. Emory had saved up for months doing odd jobs around the neighborhood just to get it. I remember how proud he was. That’s what made it worse as I held the figure. 

“It’s fine, really. Besides, you always wanted this specific figure,” he said in a quiet tone. 

I eyed him. I knew he felt it. I wasn’t dumb, and he knew that. He knew it, and yet…he wouldn’t say a damn word. I had been watching him these past days “decluttering,” which in all reality was him giving away everything he owned. It was like he was giving away literal parts of himself. 

“Emory, I can’t take this!” I looked at him, trying to fish for any hint of guilt, maybe panic…maybe fear. “You worked so hard for it—months—I couldn’t just take it!” I sputtered quickly. 

He looked at the figure and then away. “I did, but it doesn’t matter,” he said. 

He looked so tired. I felt like the worst friend ever — why? Because I could barely help him, keep him happy, and do everything a best friend should. I tried so hard to be good — to help! But all of it felt so, so idiotic. I felt my eyes drift to the figure again. I swallowed hard. 

“Emory, please,” I whispered. 

“What?” He looked puzzled, maybe even guilty. I couldn’t help but feel tears fill my eyes; I felt a lump in my throat and stuffed my face into my hands. Before I knew it, I was letting out a choked sob. “Emory, please — why, why are you doing this?” I felt him flinch as I sobbed. 

“Mateo —” he began. 

I cut him off. “I knew something was wrong with you — your room is clean for a change! You cancelled your phone service — and — and everything after September was torn off from your calendar!” 

My cries grew haggard, painful, shallow as I cried harder. “You’ve given away things you worked so hard for!” I tried to muffle my cries as I reached for him, my hands resting on both his shoulders. He looked guilty, terrified, worried. Maybe that’s what I wanted him to feel, maybe I wanted him to feel guilty. I wanted to be mad — but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine losing my family; I couldn’t imagine not being able to reach for my lifelong dream. I couldn’t imagine being him. 

“I know I sound selfish — I am selfish,” I finally cried. “I just…can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t stand the idea that my best friend is dying in front of me. You’ve been my best friend since I moved here,” My heart raced. “Emory, I can’t — I can’t bear it if you kill yourself.”  

I finally said it, the elephant in the room. And then I finally saw it — the guilt, anguish, sorrow. He finally gave me something I’d been begging for. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke, tears streaming down his face. “I — after the crash…losing my family, I just… It felt like I couldn’t live. I was drowning in a guilt that wasn’t mine.” He spoke fast. “I lost everything.” He let out a laugh. “I even lost you — at least that’s what I thought.” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” He pulled me in. Our cries combined and mixed. 

“I should be sorry,” I choked out. “I was selfish — I wanted you to be okay, not because you needed to be, but because I wanted you to be.” I cried harder as I gripped him. Our silent, tearful sobs felt like the only thing keeping us sane. 

“But please — don’t leave me,” I whispered. 

“I promise,” he sounded hesitant but determined. “Not just for you — but for everyone. Everyone who cares as much as you do.” 

We sat there for a while, in the mess of our own tears. And before we knew it, we were laughing —like all of it was some stupid thing, just like the kids we were.