I had one.. once. Well, to be honest, I’ve had a few. To be exact: two.
I’ll speak about her first; although he existed before her. They are both equally important- in very different ways. They both shaped me.. taught me.. to trust and distrust.
She was born in my month, September; and in my year, 1986. She was a female too, and of African (although not Nigerian) origin. Her name was Picherie (name unchanged). I loved her. My clothes were hers; so were my undies. My room was hers, my bed too. My parents were hers, my family too. There was not one thing we did not share. When I went to school, she walked with me; when I finished, she was there. We walked round the streets of Vienna- being silly, and getting into trouble. We were real friends. I was a better friend than she was- on many levels. But she loved more. She cared more.. or so I thought. Just to find out, it was more about herself.
I was there to correct when she went wrong.
There to protect, ‘though she thought she was strong.
I was there to lead whenever she went astray,
There to bring her back when she missed her way.
..and still she ran. Literally. She left me. Left the house.. my life. With a letter. A letter I’ve kept all these years. I still have it. It’s dated 2004. A letter telling me she could no longer be my friend. Well, she didn’t use those words, but it said exactly that anyway. A letter telling me she didn’t deserve my love, my family, my home. But I knew what it really meant. I knew why she left. She was no longer willing to be my friend. So she ran.. far away. “Off to France!” I was told. I wept.. bitterly. The first night was hard.. difficult.. unusual. It was my first night in a long time without Picherie. I cried a bit more.. prayed the Lord would keep her safe. I did not eat for some time. I could not, for I feared for her safety. You see, I’m not the emotional type, but I do have heart.
She later came back telling me she never really left town.. I fainted.
She gave me an envelope containing €20- a gesture of remorse.
Need I say more?
Months later she disappeared again. She knew I loved her, and would accept her back. But it was obvious things would never be the same.
She left Austria soon after. It’s almost been 8 years.
Tomorrow she is taking me out- yes; she too lives in London now. She can’t do next week, she said. “I’m going to Moscow to visit my best friend.”
.. and funny enough, I feel sad. She might not have been a good friend, but she was a close one.. and now she belongs to another.