The Friend

By Aria D’Amico

From afar, he looked like he had it all—parents madly in love, siblings healthy and happy. But for him, something felt a little different; nothing was quite “right.”

He’d go to school, an undersized four-year-old in a room full of fives. It made friendship difficult, and that difficulty lingered. He couldn’t find where he belonged, ostracized for his size, his mind, his demeanor. His empathy was his gift, but the world didn’t reward it.

One day, we became friends.

It happened the way all great connections do: two souls cross paths and recognize something they need in each other. I hadn’t realized I needed a friend as much as he did. He would talk, and I would listen. I tried to speak back, but the words never came out right; they weren’t the words he needed, not the ones he created. Still, despite my silence, I was constant.

He told me I was his only friend. He swore there was something wrong with him, that people would never understand what it was like to be him. I listened, reassuring him as best I could. He once said he wished he had superpowers so people would love him. Then he said he’d settle for someone simply saying “hi.”

When he had a good day, his smile radiated. When the days were tough, he would sit there silently, just looking at me, trying to make sense of who I was to him, why I stayed.

He told me everything—his dreams, his fears, his joys and losses, his family, the pressure to fit in anywhere. He wanted to be an Olympian, imagined himself on a podium with a gold medal wrapped around his neck. For a time, he believed he could do it. I did my best to show him I believed it too, though each drop of rain blurred my view.

He loved to sing, to listen to music only if it truly spoke to his soul—and his soul was (im)perfect in every way.

Through the changing seasons, I stayed close. I watched him play basketball, football, baseball; games that let him feel like a kid, like he was normal. The laughter from those days still moves through the air. I still hear him. I can still see him. Memory lingers, even when it aches.

When one dream slipped away, I tried to guide him toward another, pointing as best I could to the next path.

For fourteen years, I stayed by his side. I was there in moments of pain and quiet despair, when the world felt too heavy. I saw it in the tears he tried to hide from everyone else. He never let them fall for long.

Then, in what felt like the blink of a season, he became a man.

I don’t know how he grew so fast. It took me much longer. He learned to love, and he loved deeply. He brought light into the world, into people, into places that needed it. He was kind, loyal, and carried an emotional understanding I had never seen.

He didn’t see how much he was loved.

I did.

He came to me less in those days, but he never forgot me. The day he got into college, he ran to me, excited that someone had finally seen something in him worth choosing. He said he never would have made it without me, that the easiest thing he had ever done was talk to me about life.

That day, the sun shined on us both. I still feel that warmth.

I knew things would change. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. He needed to see the world, to find where he fit. I understood my place.

He was supposed to reach for the stars.

But the world dragged him down.

I remember the last time I saw him. It was October, a cold and unforgettable Halloween. There was a sharp chill in the air, a few early snowflakes drifting down. He came to say goodbye, like he always did, a quiet ritual between us.

He stood there for a while, silently. His eyes were different that night; they said so much without him saying a word.

That was the last time.

I never got to tell him that I loved him. That is my greatest regret.

When spring came again, he wasn’t there. I felt empty, sad…but there was nothing I could do.

When summer arrived, the world carried news back to me. He had gone to where others like me lived, searching for the one thing that made him feel less alone. Nothing was there; I wasn’t there.

This time, the weight was too much. He looked for me one last time, but I was too far away—my branches unable to reach him.

He only ever cried in the rain and I understand that now.

I do the same.

I am, after all, just a tree.

And he is gone.

At night, I look up and hope he found his place among the stars, right where he always belonged.