My Best Friend

Nick had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. There
had never been a time when Nick had not been there. We were neighbors,
and Nick and my brother Michael had been best friends before Michael
died.

I never even got to meet Michael. He died in a car crash shortly
before his 13th birthday, two months before I was born. Nick's father
was driving the day Michael died. The boys were going to a weekend
camp, when out of nowhere this van appeared and hit the side of the
car. Apparently Michael died instantly, while Nick, who sat next to
him, did not have a scratch. Of course he wasn't to blame for the
tragic accident, but Nick felt guilty and adopted me as his little
sister. He was a great brother. Sometimes I wondered what kind of a
brother Michael would have been. Nick used to describe him to me, his
kindness and fairness, the way he would stand up for weaker children
even though he was not exactly tough himself. Nick used to say he
wanted to be like Michael, and I suppose that was the highest
compliment he could pay him.

Nick was more than just a brother though, he was my best friend. Being
13 years older than me, he had already been wherever I was going, and
was able to dispense good advice and dry my tears when I decided not to
follow it. He always had time for me, even at 2am on occasions when I
was a suicidal teenager. While he was always happy to listen and
advise, he made a point not to fight my fights for me. At times I hated
him for that, but now of course I realize that he was only doing what
was best for me. He was a great friend and a great brother.

I remember one occasion when Nick broke up with his boyfriend because
of me. It was one of the 2am occasions, I must have been about 15 and
desperately upset about something or other. Now I cannot recall what it
was, but at the time it was enough to keep my finger on Nick's doorbell
until he opened, tired but evidently worried about me. He let me in,
made some tea and discreetly placed a box of tissues on the coffee
table in front of me together with some biscuits. I remember sobbing my
heart out, and in the middle of my tearful report of whatever it was
that was wrong, his boyfriend walked in. He told Nick to throw me out.
Nick sent him packing instead. At the time they had been together for
several months, but for Nick there was no question who came first. His
boyfriend left and Nick stayed up all night with me. That was the kind
of person he was. I don't think I told him at the time how much I
appreciated him being there for me that night, and I wish I had the
chance to put that right.

I remember my 17th birthday. I was madly in love with this boy Oliver
at the time, and I had invited him to my party. It was not even much of
a party, apart from Oliver I had invited Nick and his current
boyfriend, and my two best friends and their boyfriends. I was thrilled
to bits when Oliver accepted. I had had a crush on him for ages but he
kept ignoring me, why he agreed to come I will never know. Possibly I
caught him by surprise and he could not think of an excuse quickly
enough, but when he came he did not hide the fact that he did not want
to be there. He ate, drank and sat in the corner, joining in the
conversation only to make spiteful remarks about gays. I hated him for
ruining my party and for not being the person I thought he was, but
most importantly I hated him for hurting Nick.

When everybody left, Nick stayed behind. I sat down in the corner and
cried and cried and Nick picked me up despite my struggling and just
held me. At first I was fighting him, but then I gave in and just cried
on his shirt. He didn't mind, he held me and stroked me and whispered
soothing things in my ear until I had calmed down. When I looked up at
him I realised that it wasn't Oliver I was in love with. It was Nick.
It had always been Nick. So I kissed him.

He didn't kiss me back. When I realised he wasn't kissing me I
stopped. I was confused and just looked at him. He planted a kiss on my
forehead and smiled at me. He told me it was okay, but I didn't want it
to be okay. I told him I loved him. He said he loved me too and that I
was his little sister. I didn't want to be his little sister. He kept
smiling. You know who I am, Anna, he said. You know I can't love you
like that. I screamed at him to get out. I just screamed and screamed
until he left. He kept talking to me but I didn't really hear what he
was saying. I just wanted him to go.

I had made such a fool of myself. First Oliver, and then Nick. I
didn't know what to do the next day. Nick left me alone at first, but
when he hadn't heard from me by lunchtime he pushed a note under the
door. He wanted to talk. I wanted to talk, too, but I was terribly
embarrassed, so I put the note back through his letterbox telling him I
had nothing to say to him. He caught me as I posted the note, grabbed
my wrist and pulled me inside. He sat me down and made some tea, and we
talked. Our friendship was stronger because of it. I still loved him -
to this day I can honestly say that I have never loved another man as
much as I loved Nick - but I understood that he would never love
me.

Five months after my 17th birthday, I thought my world would end. I
didn't even know it for almost a day, until Richard, Nick's boyfriend
at that time, knocked on my door. Tears were streaming down his face
and I just knew. He came in and sat down and cried, and I joined in not
even knowing the details, just knowing that Nick was dead. Slowly
Richard was able to tell me what had happened. It had been a car crash,
and the irony of Nick dying like that was not lost on me despite the
situation. He had been working late and was on his way home, when
another driver ignored a red light and crashed into the driver's side
of Nick's car at full speed. Nick died in hospital a few hours
later.

I didn't know what to do. I thought my life had ended with his. The
pain of losing my best friend, the man I loved, was unbearable. I went
into deep depression. The funeral was a blur because the drugs the
doctor prescribed nearly knocked me out. I cried for weeks. Nobody
could console me, not even Richard who shared my pain and spent every
spare minute with me.

Eventually I came out the other side. I never thought it would happen,
but it did. One day, I stopped crying. A week later, Richard made a
joke and I smiled. I was almost shocked, it felt like a sacrilege but
Richard smiled back and hugged me and told me it was all right. Nick
wouldn't want me to be sad. I knew he was right but it still didn't
feel that way. In my mind, I was betraying my best friends memory by
simply carrying on living without him.

Well, I carried on living but not without him. There isn't a day I
don't think about him. I have photos of him in my room and in my purse.
I keep thinking about the fun we had together, how wonderful he was and
how much he meant to me. I keep thinking that I never told him that. I
still I miss him so much every day.