It was the end of September, and I found myself shuffling behind a mahogany coffin at Ashford Cemetery. The mourners moved in a slow, solemn procession, and I could barely keep my head upright. My thoughts were a cloud; I felt as though a part of me had already died, as if the body inside the casket were my own.
Eighteen years earlier, back when we were in Year 1 at Ashford Primary, Ethan and I got into a scuffle on the school playground. It started with a shouted challenge, and soon we were rolling on the grass, covered in dust and mud, while a crowd of boys cheered us on.
Go on, Ethan! Give him a good one! some shouted.
Hit him, hit him, Victor! others roared.
The fight went on until Ethan suddenly clamped his hand over my ear. I let out a yelp, clutched my ear, and the scuffle stopped. We sat there, panting, my cheek bleeding, as the school bell rang.
That was the moment we stopped being rivals and became inseparable. I turned out to be the teachers favourite, always raising my hand first, while Ethan was a perpetual underperformer, constantly getting scolded. Still, we shared a bench for ten whole years and discovered a surprising number of common interests.
In Year 9 we both fell for Emily, a lanky blond from the next form. Her eyes were the colour of a clear lake, and she spent her afternoons dancing. Ethan and I spent those breaks racing to meet her, each hoping she would pick him. Emily never rushed to choose anyone; she kept us both guessing as the school years drifted by. When we left school, we each took different paths.
I dreamed of going to university, but the competition was fierce and my family didnt have the means for a tuitionfee place. I ended up at a local technical college instead. Ethan, on the other hand, came from a comfortable background and didnt care much for books. He apprenticed at a garage, and that decision, against many expectations, proved to be a shrewd one.
Emily didnt head straight into higher education either. She joined a dance troupe that toured abroad, hoping to earn enough money for a fresh start. It was a oneoff chance, and she took it.
Even though we all scattered across the country, we kept in touch. Phone calls were frequent, and we never missed each others milestones.
Ethan and I still met up most evenings, hanging out in cafés or clubs. He was always the one tempting me into a new adventure, and life felt electric.
After finishing college, I took a job at the local factory and enrolled in a parttime degree programme. Ethan, after a few years of learning the trade, opened his own garage with a modest crew, and within three years he owned a sleek car and was running a thriving business.
When Emilys fiveyear overseas contract ended, she returned home. We arranged a gettogether to celebrate her return, all of us nervous about who she might favour. We sat at a table in the corner of the pub, waiting for her. My heart hammered.
Ethan, look, I whispered, tugging at the collar of my shirt, Does this look alright?
Dont worry, he replied nonchalantly, Take a deep breath, have a pint for courage.
The door swung open and Emilys voice floated over the crowd. Goodness, you two look dapper!
Hello, Emily, Ethan said, pulling her chair out and kissing her hand with a flourish.
Hi, I managed, my tongue stuck for the rest of the night.
We talked about school days, and Ethan spent the whole evening dancing with Emily while I sat there, feeling the odds stack against me. What are my chances? I thought. Ethans a serious competitor. Hes got his own workshop and a fancy car; Im still living with my parents, my savings are, well, nonexistent.
That night, just as we used to do when we were kids, we escorted Emily home. After a few more evenings, I gathered the courage to propose. I stood on her doorstep, rehearsing my words, and when she opened the door she said, Yes, Im serious! and kissed me. It felt like a dream.
Later I told Ethan, What did she see in me? I have nothing to offer. He laughed and said, Ive tried to ask her myself, but you know how that went. He confessed hed been turned down outright, despite his stable job and finances.
Why would she choose me then? I asked, bewildered.
Youre the steady one, Victor. She wanted someone reliable, not a rogue. We chuckled, clapped each other on the back, and talked for hours about nothing in particular.
Our wedding was a raucous affair. Emily used the money shed saved abroad to buy a new flat for us. I felt a touch out of place being the man with a wealthy wife, but she teased, Dont fret, love. Youll be making breakfast in bed in no time.
Emily proved to be a sensible, practical partner. She opened her own dance studio, earning a good living while we built our family life.
Ethan never stayed far away. He became a close family friend, sometimes even a little too involved. Hed drive Emily to the market, pick her up from work when the weather turned foul, and once hauled her to the hospital when she twisted an ankle during rehearsal. He was, in a way, the familys guardian angel, and the neighbours would sometimes whisper that I was a softie for letting Emily rely on him so much.
Victor, why is he always around? I would ask, trying to sound stern.
Stop moaning, love, Emily would laugh. What would we do without him?
The routine settled back into its familiar rhythm, like a carousel turning round and round.
One crisp autumn afternoon the phone rang in our flat.
Victor, its me, said a deep male voice. Its Ethans father.
Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Howard, I replied, surprised. Its been ages. How are you?
He swallowed hard. Ethans been in a crash. He didnt make it.
The words hit me like a brick. I was deafened by grief, a lump choking my throat. My best friend was gone. Sweat ran down my temples, and the world blurred.
Emily, who was eight months pregnant, stayed by my side. I didnt want to risk her health, so I went to the funeral alone. After the service, when the crowd had dispersed, I lingered by the grave, unable to move. I stared at Ethans smiling photograph and clenched my fists.
Ethan, my old friend, I whispered, my voice trembling, I thank God for the years we had together. Ill never forget you.
I recalled our childish pranks and schoolyard antics, feeling a protest inside mehow could I accept that he was gone?
Ethan, I said, Emilys due any day. If theres any chance youre still with us, let your spirit return when the baby arrives. I need you.
A year later our son was ten months old. We named him Ethan, after my late friend. He had the same sandy hair, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, even the tiny birthmark on his left forearm that Ethan used to have. I tried to convince myself that it was a sign, though part of me doubted whether my desperate prayer had been heard.
Ethan, I pleaded, holding my boy to the window, show us its really you. You were always the clever one. I miss you so much.
Suddenly the infant let out a highpitched squeal and tugged at the ear hed once bitten.
Is that you? I asked, halflaughing, halfcrying.
He scrunched his nose and giggled. The room filled with the sound of his laughter, and for a moment I felt my old friends presence settle back into my life.
