“Byrdes of on kynde and color flok and flye allways together” he used to tell me, it’s not like I actually under stood it- mainly because it was written in the 16th century.
Sam was like that, he never made sense until the next day, sometimes the next week. It was infuriating at times while other times I found him really wise. This boy: this blue eyed, tatty clothed, ancient literature lover of a boy was all I had in life.
After 10th grade I'd had enough of my socialist wannabe lifestyle and ran, to the only place I loved that nobody else knew about, the forgotten orchard behind Thatcher Beach.
A few years ago when my dad was still alive we used to come down to build a tree house in the biggest apple tree we could find. After dad passed away I kept coming here, it was more like a home to me than my real one, after all, this one had dad in it.
Sam knew very little about me but didn’t mind, and vice versa. We came here to get away from everything not drag it along with us, but then again I lived there and he just visited.
Soon my thoughts worried me whenever he came to visit. His back, arms and shoulders were constantly bruised to the point where I’d thought it was a disease. Sam never spoke about it, instead he laughed and adored every moment we had.
We still had our bad days when we would simply sit on the beach with a blanket wrapped around us and just be there appreciating each other’s presence. To me it was the perfect life, never any trouble and the only thing I had to worry about was finding food but then again, I lived in an apple tree. It was all so easy.
Until Sam came scuttling up the ladder – out of breath from running - he asked if we could go sit on the beach for a while. I obediently grabbed the sandy blanket as we headed down.
My thoughts, like fireworks, gracefully exploded questions with potential answers thrown out at all angles.
We had finally gotten comfy when he started talking. He told me how his father abused him for never being good enough to be his son; he told me how people at school would shy away from him because they saw him as a disease.
He was about to tell me what had caused him to run to the tree house earlier when, suddenly, he wasn’t beside me anymore.
I still think to this day that Sam gave up his will to live after the first round his dad gave him that day, long before the ambulance had gotten there and long before that wretched man had come up with some sick lie about finding him there.
Although I will always know that he was there when I tried to stop everything from happening, I saw the hope in his eyes.
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