We pulled into the driveway, that overcast spring afternoon.
There you were with your Mum and Dad.
I craned my neck trying to get a closer look at the people standing outside the house next door. Our new neighbours.
"Stay away from them, girls. That boy doesn't look too friendly," Mum warned us.
And you didn't look that friendly. A tall, lanky boy with a shaved head and dark freckles covering your face and some that had slipped down on to your shoulders. Your eyes were something different altogether though. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul but your windows seemed to have the curtains closed.
You wandered over to us, hands stuffed in your pockets, a grin on your face. With a hand outstretched you offered your name. Fred. You didn't look like a Fred or even a Freddie but then again does anyone really look like their name?
Your eyes were stuck on the emblem of my school uniform. I asked if you were going to be coming to our school. With a shrug of your broad shoulders and a cheeky grin you replied, "Nah, too cool".
I decided then I liked you.
Summer came and you would arrive at our house, strolling in the front door and plonking yourself on the couch beside me.
You would grab the remote and listen as I moaned about my day.
I never let you moan. You didn't go to school so what could you possibly have to moan about?
We'd sit all evening, sometimes watching rugby or I'd wrestle you for the remote so I could watch the Kardashians.
You always seemed tired, though. Your eyelids seemed as if they held the weight of the world, and some days you would give in to the weight and doze off; your breathing heavy. Your chest fluttering in and out, your eyes lost in a world of dreams.
I remember one day when I was at home sick and you came over to keep me company.
Everything about you screamed lethargic. Your shoulders heavy and rounded, your face drawn out as if the life had been sucked out of you. I knew something had made you so tired, but you just said you slept rough. I didn't believe you, but you ignored my persistent questions. You were a man of very few words when it came to talking about yourself but I knew there was an encyclopaedia worth of words floating in that shaven head of yours.
The summer months passed and autumn too and finally winter arrived. You despised winter. You couldn't stand the cold and I'd accepted the fact you wouldn't venture over to my house. But you surprised me.
There was no particular reason and it was probably the coldest day of all winter, but you appeared, standing at our front door. I was glad to see you but you didn't stay for long. We talked meaninglessly about the weather, school and what had been on TV recently. Your brown eyes told me nothing of what you'd really been doing. They seemed distant, as if your head was in another country.
If only I'd known the truth. If only you'd told me the truth.
We talked about the weather that day. Wasted minutes talking about nothing. Wasted.
You were sick, all that time.
But you never told me.
And now; now you're gone.
• By Zoe Robson, Year 13, South Otago High School
