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The band’s drumline is on the field, facing off the other team’s drumline. People ring the battling drums and crashing cymbals, eager for a good show. I’m there as well.

Only I’m too short to see anything. I look for a pathway to the inside of the ring. Dancing people are squashed together, bumping into one another. Seeing is impossible. I look for a tall friend whose back I can climb onto. I spot one: he’s one of my best guy friends, he’s about six foot three, and he’s just standing there.

I walk up to him. I say hi, place a hand on his shoulder then jump onto his back. He staggers under the unexpected weight. I press my legs around him tightly but not painfully and clasp my hands at his chest. I rest my chin on top of his head and enjoy the show.

Suddenly, he had to leave.

“I’m gonna let you down now.” He says.

I release my grip and slide down his back. I join a small group apart from the ring and dance.

I never guessed how those words could haunt me.

Three months later, my closest love perished, life snatched from the body. I was thrown into despair. I didn’t know what to do.

I came across my best guy friend. He smiled, he laughed, he made me feel all right. I couldn’t pretend that I had no feelings for him.

But he couldn’t hold me up, keep me on his back, so I couldn’t see.

He let me down.

I lost all sight. I lost all hope. I lost myself.

Misery loves company, but anguish loves loneliness. Anguish, akin to death; anguish, brother to depression; anguish, father of suicide.

I joined a new, elite, elect group, dancing on my own now. I don’t have to worry about seeing. There is nothing to see.

I was always too short anyway.





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