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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 03/12/2021
Best Friends
Born 1960, M, from Orange Park, FL, United StatesThe morning was my favorite time of day. I would be sitting at the kitchen table slowly sipping a cup of hot coffee, when there would be a quick pounding of tiny feet coming down the stairs. The swinging bar doors leading to the kitchen would slam open and in would run Timmy.
Timmy’s my son, one of those energetic little four-year-old’s who seems to have nothing on his mind but finding a way to avoid eating breakfast. He would run halfway to the back door by the time I could catch him and carry him back to the table. “But daddy, Jackie’s waitin’ for me!” he would say.
“He’ll wait until you’re through with breakfast.” Would be my answer.
Timmy would then sit up to the table and eat in record time. As soon as he was done, out the door he would go, slowing down only to grab his little red ball.
Jackie was Timmy’s best friend, and how they loved to play catch with that beat-up old ball. Neither one of them caught it very often, but the enthusiasm was always there, always there until that fateful morning in mid-August.
I was standing at the kitchen window absorbing the warmth of the new day. Timmy and Jackie were playing as always with that little red ball. Timmy had the ball and was winding up with all the expertise of a big-league pitcher. He released the ball and it sailed right past Jackie’s head where it hit the walk and began to roll. Jackie, undaunted as always by the miss, turned and began the seemingly unending pursuit of the little red ball. He chased it down the walk, nearly catching it once, but he stumbled on it and it kept rolling. The ball continued into the street with Jackie close behind.
I began to run for the door, but it seemed my legs were bound by their own weight. I heard the piercing squeal of tires against the pavement. As I reached the door, I saw Jackie holding the ball up in triumph. All in one short instant Jackie’s life like that moment of triumph, had ended.
In the weeks that followed, Timmy was without spirit. He would come down for breakfast, late usually, and sit staring at the little red ball by the door. There was no longer and mad dash for freedom or breakfasts of record speed. There was only grief and a little boy who had lost his first and only friend.
Day after day, Timmy would sit quietly on the walk holding the ball and staring at the street. It was as though he expected Jackie to come running up the walk eager as always to play.
I came home from work last night and as I started up the walk, I saw Timmy sitting there staring as usual, but there was some-thing different about him. As I drew nearer, I saw tears welling up from within him. I stopped beside Timmy, placed my hands on my hips and after summoning all my strength I looked down at him. Our eyes met and all at once Timmy’s voice, filled with feelings of grief, sounded out to me. “Jackie’s gone dad…. Jackie’s gone!”
I carried Timmy up to his room and as I laid his tiny body on the bed, the little red ball dropped from his hand. I knew then Timmy had finally let Jackie go. I hesitated for a moment, then bent down and picked it up. On my way out I gently set it down on Timmy’s dresser, right beside a picture of his best friend… his dog Jackie.
Best Friends(Steven W Kimball)
The morning was my favorite time of day. I would be sitting at the kitchen table slowly sipping a cup of hot coffee, when there would be a quick pounding of tiny feet coming down the stairs. The swinging bar doors leading to the kitchen would slam open and in would run Timmy.
Timmy’s my son, one of those energetic little four-year-old’s who seems to have nothing on his mind but finding a way to avoid eating breakfast. He would run halfway to the back door by the time I could catch him and carry him back to the table. “But daddy, Jackie’s waitin’ for me!” he would say.
“He’ll wait until you’re through with breakfast.” Would be my answer.
Timmy would then sit up to the table and eat in record time. As soon as he was done, out the door he would go, slowing down only to grab his little red ball.
Jackie was Timmy’s best friend, and how they loved to play catch with that beat-up old ball. Neither one of them caught it very often, but the enthusiasm was always there, always there until that fateful morning in mid-August.
I was standing at the kitchen window absorbing the warmth of the new day. Timmy and Jackie were playing as always with that little red ball. Timmy had the ball and was winding up with all the expertise of a big-league pitcher. He released the ball and it sailed right past Jackie’s head where it hit the walk and began to roll. Jackie, undaunted as always by the miss, turned and began the seemingly unending pursuit of the little red ball. He chased it down the walk, nearly catching it once, but he stumbled on it and it kept rolling. The ball continued into the street with Jackie close behind.
I began to run for the door, but it seemed my legs were bound by their own weight. I heard the piercing squeal of tires against the pavement. As I reached the door, I saw Jackie holding the ball up in triumph. All in one short instant Jackie’s life like that moment of triumph, had ended.
In the weeks that followed, Timmy was without spirit. He would come down for breakfast, late usually, and sit staring at the little red ball by the door. There was no longer and mad dash for freedom or breakfasts of record speed. There was only grief and a little boy who had lost his first and only friend.
Day after day, Timmy would sit quietly on the walk holding the ball and staring at the street. It was as though he expected Jackie to come running up the walk eager as always to play.
I came home from work last night and as I started up the walk, I saw Timmy sitting there staring as usual, but there was some-thing different about him. As I drew nearer, I saw tears welling up from within him. I stopped beside Timmy, placed my hands on my hips and after summoning all my strength I looked down at him. Our eyes met and all at once Timmy’s voice, filled with feelings of grief, sounded out to me. “Jackie’s gone dad…. Jackie’s gone!”
I carried Timmy up to his room and as I laid his tiny body on the bed, the little red ball dropped from his hand. I knew then Timmy had finally let Jackie go. I hesitated for a moment, then bent down and picked it up. On my way out I gently set it down on Timmy’s dresser, right beside a picture of his best friend… his dog Jackie.
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