Ode to a Childhood Friend

Everytime I look at the empty television screen, I remember you dear buddy. The pig-tailed five year old girl with a missing tooth vehemently claiming "girls are better than boys", and you my friend, were wittier for a ten year old, raring to discard his shorts and embrace the long pants. 

The television is now "full HD" and each home has one too many, unlike the years when we would scramble into a neighbour's home that would house the lone B&W TV set to watch Lord Rama shoot magical arrows at Raavan's army. You would be there, leader of the crazy kids' group, the junior vagabonds who were mercilessly honest and outright supportive of a friend who may have been spanked for stealing a few mangoes from the nearby orchard. 

The coloured images flicker on the screen, the clock by my bed stead reads 3:00 am, and I cannot help but remember your beautiful face, the aquiline nose, the kind eyes that dreamt artistic dreams. 

I do not remember the last time we met; all that pops up is the image of the fine gentleman you had grown into. Yet always so kind, benign and oh so intelligent.

Another decade passes by and one day I am informed you left. Gone, just like that. An end, mere thought of which makes me break within. I wish I was there. I heard the "nice small town folks" abandoned you in your final journey. Nobody showed up to hold your tired, crestfallen father. 

You left us buddy, you are away from the steely chill of human apathy. You have taken your sunshine to another realm, well that's what I presume. Well, we will no longer receive the warmth of your love and benevolence. 

Yes, it is dreaded, yes it kills. So does hatred, unreasonable fear. Like a black hole, I am consumed by my own thoughts. It is a void that is seeking answers though I know there aren't any. 

How could they defile your death just because it was AIDS and emanate stigma that multitude of HIV  and AIDS victims are fighting against besides battling the disease? Yes, you could discard his being, yet you would never diminish the glorious light of his soul. 

The mist settles on the blades of grass,  soon to dissolve in the soil beneath. The moon is about to set. On a dreamless night, I just wish you could for once admit "Indeed, girls are better than boys", just one last time.